Brutalism
Saturday, September 19, 2009
Memory Lane
Remember your favorite storybooks from childhood? When you'd nestle into your parent's arm and listen to tales of familiar characters that you'd begin to think of as your friends? And how that opened up your world? Like the story about Babar, the sweet little elephant, gigolo?
Mon dieux!
Brutalism
Brutalism
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16 comments:
Hey! You just blinked an idea into my brain. Thanx. Will tell you soon! Thanx thanx thanx thanx thanx :)
I just remember getting beat by my parents....
Jaky -- Cannot wait to hear it. Divine Miss M -- I hope you are kidding or that is the saddest thing I have ever heard.
Oh, sure, blame the poor elephant...what about the geriatric John? (Or...I guess we call her a "Joan", huh?)
Babar is to geriatric bestiality fetishists what Liza is to gay men or Madonna is to lesbians. At least that's the word on the street.
Ri -- I know. Poor, young, impressionable Babar -- alone and in the big city. (Later in the book his young cousins visit him. Then he ends up marrying his cousin. It is all very, very disturbing.) I blame the old lady.
Tante -- I honestly cannot wait until someone finds brutalism by typing in keywords "geriatric+bestiality+fetish" -- you're a giver.
You're destroying my childhood innocence one book at a time! ;)
Too funny :)
I bet you will get all kinds of people finding your blog that way. I would bet that people such as Patrick Swayze, Barack Obama, Oprah Winfrey, and Michael Jackson will be all over it like Joe Wilson on the supposed lies in the healthcare bill.
That should cover it, yes?
Well done, Tante. I forgot to mention that I hope Kanye does not interrupt my next blog post.
You forgot "Rob Miller campaign contribution."
And let's face it, poor Babar is being exploited here. He's not working the street. He's a fish out of water--elephant out of the savanna, if you will--on some French street, driven out of his home by forces over which he has no control. Clearly this woman knows what she is doing, and it is not an act of charity. It is an act of control.
You see, Babar was born in the literary crucible of post-war France, when Camus and Sartre were at their height. The French psyche was in turmoil after two devastating wars, a crumbling empire, and constant political instability.
France had grown tired and bored. Perhaps everyone was suffering from acute fibromyalgia. They needed a distraction. Le Petit Prince had become passe. Clearly, presiding over the exploitation of an innocent elephant--a euphemism for just about anything you can imagine, particularly revenge on those former or then revolting colonial subjects--for a few days was all that stood between a continued existence of detached bemusement and contemplating suicide over espresso and Gauloises.
French still suffers from the excesses of this era. Just look at the backward laws enacted to prevent the wearing of headscarves by schoolgirls or the ghettos of Algerians and West Africans. It all comes back to little Babar.
Tard - Uh-huh, um-hmm, I like what you've said here. Yes. Uh-huh, nice point. (Babar is actually on some French "rue", if I may.)
P.S. What's an IQ like yours doing on a blog like this?
P.P.S. Now geriatric bestiality fetish Camus and Sartre will bring people to Brutalism, so to speak.
heh heh. sarte sounds like fart
especially when you spell it wrong. sartre, dammit.
Yo, Brutalism I let ya finish, but
Dumbo the best elefant inna world.
Inna world!
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