Salvo montalbano biography of mahatma
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On the Sweetness of a Fake Book
You shop in Dar es Salaam at your own fara. Purchase a `quality’ light bulb at a stiff sum; three days later, it goes `poop.’ Get breakfast cereal in an attractive box; inside you find coarse, odd tasting stuff, and perhaps, a crawly bug or two. Buy a high-priced door lock upon a solemn assurance that it is the genuine item; after four months of use, it jams.
Fakeness is now integral to our lives. Fake promises by our bigwigs: that we are acclimatized to. Our lives are also enlivened bygd all manner of fake goods, fake education, fake medicines, fake news, fake friends, among a pervasive litany of fakes. We grumble, we complain. But the moment an opportunity arises, we boldly inject our own brand of fakeness into the fertile arena.
I thought I was a savvy guy, aware of all the varied brands of double deed. Sadly, I was wrong. A recent experience has made me realize that searching for the fakest of the fakes is like searching for the largest number;
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Europe and the World in History: European Culture and Identity since Homer Volume 3 9781350058569, 9781350058552
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CONTRIBUTORS TO VOLUME 3
Ilsen About Born in Paris (France) in 1975. A Research Associate at the French National Centre for Scientific Research (the CNRS) and a member of the Georg Simmel FrancoGerman Social Sciences Centre at the School of Advanced Studies in the Social Sciences (the EHESS), Paris. His research interests focus on the history of identification systems in Europe. Schirin Amir-Moazami Born in Heidelberg (Germany, formerly the FRG) in 1968. Professor at the Institute of Islamic Studies at the Free University of Berlin. Her research interests focus on Islam in Europe and the management of religious and cultural diversity. Ana Lucia Araujo Born in Santa Maria (Brazil) in 1971. Professor of cultural history at Howard University, Washington DC. Her research interests focus on the history of the collective memory of the Atlantic slave tr
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Kathleen Jones's Blog, page 10
As in this amateur footage of a lynch mob when someone hoists a
metal folding chair and commences to batter the swinging corpse
even as others hack at its limbs with machetes, just so Achilles, his
frenzy a runaway train, yokes up his team and drags Hector's carcass
around and around like . . . Stop. Rewind.
Hector dying on his knees in the dust whispering Prove you're a
man, then, swear by your soul, swear by your gods you won't feed
my corpse to your dogs.
Fuck youspits Achilles. Freeze frame. Mid-blink, Hector looks into
Achilles' eyes and takes all the time in the world to recall his last
embrace of Andromache and, it hardly now surprises him, to look
back at the future advancing behind him, to his own father
kissing the hands of this killer, the monster taking Priam's hand and
weeping with him, the sound of their sobbing filling the camp. Play
on. Hector's face slams to the dust.
Try to look at this: blind flash