ANALOGIES ОR INCONSEQUENTIAL MEANDERINGS OF A BORED MIND

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I dare you crawler

on March 19, 2026

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NEED SOME SPACE?

on August 19, 2020

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Bugonia or Clockwork Orange - a movie review

This is a movie trying hard to resemble art , be original and failing miserably just as all Lathimnos movies do. A huge waste of money. It’s not a movie. It’s a radio drama at best nodding at Anthony Burgess’s Clockwork Orange where brainwashing and mind control theme is unleashed upon us severely. The Emma Stone character is being brainwashed/tortured to the Green Day Basket Case Song. Wow. Do the script writers and their mentors see us all as basket cases?. Yes they do. Those who have eyes can see through this cheap but highly visually suggestive film. This Greek director got the green light by Unholiwood (what does it profit to gain the whole world type of thing) while other Greeks, bread and born in America, are not good enough it seems. Lathimnos (I don’t care if I spelt his name correctly ) has obviously made it into the big league. Based on what merit? A rhetorical question. As usual I’m not buying into this pseudo intellectual /“sci-fi” nonsense tha...

ALAN WATTS ON CHESTERTON

I want you to have in mind an enormously fat man wearing a black cloak and a rather large, wide-brimmed hat, with pince-nez secured to his nose, and prevented from destruction by a large, black, long ribbon fastened around his neck, who speaks—as fat men (Text sourced from https://www.organism.earth/library/document/on-g-k-chesterton) do—with a certain luxurious voice rather like Charles Laughton, only with a slightly grieved tone in everything he says. What I would call a humorously grieved tone. And this is G. K. Chesterton: a person whom—I discover—has had an enormous influence on my life. Because when I was a late adolescent—and when I was, for a while, a priest in the episcopal church—I read this man’s works very carefully and I have, by osmosis, imbibed an enormous amount of wisdom from him. The funny thing is: not so much in terms of specific ideas as in basic attitude to life. Because this is a man who, above all virtues, had—I think—what is one of the very greatest virtues, wh...

MONGOLIAN CIRCUS

Anu arrived in Bayan-Uul with a suitcase, a stethoscope, and more doubts than luggage. Her mother, Altantuyaa , was outside the small veterinary clinic yelling at a goat chewing on the signboard. The wind stopped to listen. The goat didn’t. Anu stood still. Even the dust looked embarrassed. The village had ten houses, two dogs, and one endless smell of sour milk. Anu had returned after her father’s death—a man who spent his life chasing horses and wind, until both outran him. Her mother still ran the clinic alone, scolding animals and people with equal precision. At dusk, a caravan of squeaky wheels and bright colors rolled in from the horizon. The Mongolian Circus had come to the steppe. Leading it was Alexei Vladimirovich Morozov , a tall Russian whose moustache appeared to have ambitions of its own. He bowed to the villagers like a monarch greeting his livestock. A parrot on his shoulder swore fluently in four languages. Bat-Erdene , the driver, was trying to park the circus t...

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