Broder Salsa
Banned
Anyone in here read Ada or Ardor? I've only gone through the 6 first chapters and I'm having to take it slow as it can be real confusing, sentences just keeps on forever and with parentheses adding often not very important info. But it's also its charm and by the time I was done with chapter 3 I was already sure that I would love the book, when he was done explaining a woman's schizophrenia :
So good and I expect it to keep it up all the way through.
She developed a morbid sensitivity to the language of tap water—which echoes sometimes (much as the bloodstream does predormitarily) a fragment of human speech lingering in one’s ears while one washes one’s hands after cocktails with strangers.
Upon first noticing this immediate, sustained, and in her case rather eager and mocking but really quite harmless replay of this or that recent discourse, she felt tickled at the thought that she, poor Aqua, had accidentally hit upon such a simple method of recording and transmitting speech, while technologists (the so-called Eggheads) all over the world were trying to make publicly utile and commercially rewarding the extremely elaborate and still very expensive hydrodynamic telephones and other miserable gadgets that were to replace those that had gone k chertyam sobach’im (Russian “to the devil”with the banning of an unmentionable “lammer.”
Soon, however, the rhythmically perfect, but verbally rather blurred volubility of faucets began to acquire too much pertinent sense. The purity of the running water’s enunciation grew in proportion to the nuisance it made of itself. It spoke soon after she had listened, or been exposed, to somebody talking—not necessarily to her—forcibly and expressively, a person with a rapid characteristic voice, and very individual or very foreign phrasal intonations, some compulsive narrator’s patter at a horrible party, or a liquid soliloquy in a tedious play, or Van’s lovely voice, or a bit of poetry heard at a lecture, my lad, my pretty, my love, take pity, but especially the more fluid and flou Italian verse, for instance that ditty recited between knee-knocking and palpebra-lifting, by a half-Russian, half-dotty old doctor, doc, toe, ditty, dotty, ballatetta, deboletta … tu, voce sbigottita … spigotty e diavoletta … de lo cor dolente … con ballatetta va … va … della strutta, destruttamente … mente … mente … stop that record, or the guide will go on demonstrating as he did this very morning in Florence a silly pillar commemorating, he said, the “elmo” that broke into leaf when they carried stone-heavy-dead St. Zeus by it through the gradual, gradual shade; or the Arlington harridan talking incessantly to her silent husband as the vineyards sped by, and even in the tunnel (they can’t do this to you, you tell them, Jack Black, you just tell them …
Bathwater (or shower) was too much of a Caliban to speak distinctly—or perhaps was too brutally anxious to emit the hot torrent and get rid of the infernal ardor to bother about small talk; but the burbly flowlets grew more and more ambitious and odious, and when at her first “home” she heard one of the most hateful of the visiting doctors (the Cavalcanti quoter) garrulously pour hateful instructions in Russian-lapped German into her hateful bidet, she decided to stop turning on tap water altogether.
So good and I expect it to keep it up all the way through.
