Re: Boy in the Striped Pajamas
Posted: Sat Aug 18, 2012 3:05 am
I have not seen the movie, nor read the book, not yet.
Fictional stories can reach into the depths of the phantasmagoria of humanity's intransigently destructive hatred of humans as no scholarly accurate reconstruction of fundamentally literal recitation of allegedly historical events may ever pretend to imagine as possible.
Anyone see the connection of the Eunuch Archive fiction stories with other forms of historical fiction, apropos of bringing toward the surface of conscious awareness aspects of terrors vastly horrible far beyond that which is both immensely beyond too painful ever otherwise remember and incredibly more important than can ever be forgotten?
A while ago, I was at a live stage performance of the musical, "Chicago." While I have a DVD of the movie version, I find some aspects of the live stage version to be poignant beyond what I find that movies can ever contain. In both the stage and movie versions, Roxie's once upon a time husband sings a song, "Cellophane Man." There but invisible, and not actually noticed by anyone. Toward the end of the stage play, other characters ask for "exit music," and the orchestra plays their exit music. However, when the Cellophane Man husband asks for his exit music, the music is a short variation of the John Cage work, 4'33". The sound of silence, which sound is never actually silent.
My wife sometimes is somewhat flummoxed when she asks me some seemingly simple question that I experience as having an unexpressed fallacy in the form of an implicit false premise. Because the way in which I am autistic apparently has ruled out my ever learning to experience thinking in words or in pictures, such implicit premise fallacies being experienced by me as inseparable from the otherwise-useful question, I am generally rendered bereft of words in response to such questions.
Folks who are not well versed in the ways of autism have commonly regarded my being autistic as an absurdity, as I can often disperse compound plethoras of wordage. When I attempt to give an account for this, often by saying that I collect all the words I can find in the oft-vain hope that one or more will actually work to convey a meaning I experience as worth sharing, many folks have access to the beauty of extricating themselves from my presence. I may understand more of the Cellophane Man than I will ever understand.
A few minutes ago, on Wikipedia, I found the following, '... Roger Ebert proposes that the film is not even attempting to be a forensic reconstruction of Germany during the war, but "about a value system that survives like a virus." '
What else could functionally condemn humanity into unrelentingly, unwittingly striving to save itself by first destroying itself?
Who remembers the My Lai strategic hamlet? Who understands completely what happened there?
Fictional stories can reach into the depths of the phantasmagoria of humanity's intransigently destructive hatred of humans as no scholarly accurate reconstruction of fundamentally literal recitation of allegedly historical events may ever pretend to imagine as possible.
Anyone see the connection of the Eunuch Archive fiction stories with other forms of historical fiction, apropos of bringing toward the surface of conscious awareness aspects of terrors vastly horrible far beyond that which is both immensely beyond too painful ever otherwise remember and incredibly more important than can ever be forgotten?
A while ago, I was at a live stage performance of the musical, "Chicago." While I have a DVD of the movie version, I find some aspects of the live stage version to be poignant beyond what I find that movies can ever contain. In both the stage and movie versions, Roxie's once upon a time husband sings a song, "Cellophane Man." There but invisible, and not actually noticed by anyone. Toward the end of the stage play, other characters ask for "exit music," and the orchestra plays their exit music. However, when the Cellophane Man husband asks for his exit music, the music is a short variation of the John Cage work, 4'33". The sound of silence, which sound is never actually silent.
My wife sometimes is somewhat flummoxed when she asks me some seemingly simple question that I experience as having an unexpressed fallacy in the form of an implicit false premise. Because the way in which I am autistic apparently has ruled out my ever learning to experience thinking in words or in pictures, such implicit premise fallacies being experienced by me as inseparable from the otherwise-useful question, I am generally rendered bereft of words in response to such questions.
Folks who are not well versed in the ways of autism have commonly regarded my being autistic as an absurdity, as I can often disperse compound plethoras of wordage. When I attempt to give an account for this, often by saying that I collect all the words I can find in the oft-vain hope that one or more will actually work to convey a meaning I experience as worth sharing, many folks have access to the beauty of extricating themselves from my presence. I may understand more of the Cellophane Man than I will ever understand.
A few minutes ago, on Wikipedia, I found the following, '... Roger Ebert proposes that the film is not even attempting to be a forensic reconstruction of Germany during the war, but "about a value system that survives like a virus." '
What else could functionally condemn humanity into unrelentingly, unwittingly striving to save itself by first destroying itself?
Who remembers the My Lai strategic hamlet? Who understands completely what happened there?