Everyone was so excited and Rai, Bow and Iris travelled all the way back over the rainbow to tell Princess Sapphire and Prince Sebastian about the marvellous place they had discovered all those thousands and thousands of miles away. The Prince and Princess were delighted that a part of their kingdom was now at Rainbow's End. They decided that they should send some of their very special people to play, to laugh and to have lots and lots of fun with all the children.
So Princess Sapphire is now at Rainbow's End as well - if you don't see her, it is because she has popped back over the rainbow to see how things are going, but don't worry, she will always come back. Come and meet them, they will share the magic with you Find out more about Kidz Kingdom.
Loading Search He is tolerant and forgiving. However, to the extent that the omniscient narrator is a God, he is a non-interventionist God. He does not intervene to improve anybody's circumstances. He simply houses them under the curve of a giant rainbow and leaves them to their own devices. Conversely, these people reflect the colours of the rainbow. The cover of the book I read hints that some seven-clawed beast whether God or Beelzebub or something else has gouged the earth, and from the incisions or wounds has grown the rainbow-coloured beauty of humanity.
That said, just about every character suffers, far more than an average white middle class person might in a contemporary western economy. Tenderloin Rainbow style Just Because Just as Vollmann doesn't set out to judge, he doesn't set out to explain or to blame. He doesn't purport to be interested in causation, why people and their circumstances are as they are. He describes the present, not the past or the future.
He doesn't seem to be motivated by middle class guilt or embarrassment. Vollmann paints a picture of the world as it is. He observes and reports like a journalist, at least one who doesn't frequent the opinion pages.
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There is no endeavour to complain about or remedy or minimise immorality or evil or oppression or abuse or violence. What is, is right, for the very reason that it is.
It is implied that there is no moral or political purpose in trying to change things, people, life, reality. Unlike Jonathan Franzen, there is no moralistic desire to "correct" the world as he sees it, perhaps because that would derive him of subject matter as an author? As a result, there doesn't seem to be any sense of, or sense in, collective political action.
Moral Calculus My concern is that, if your greatest aspiration is survival, you rely on and facilitate the continuation of the current order, with all the violence that implies. Whatever forces of structuralism and determinism might be at play will continue to work their way, generation after generation. The Skinz live out the conservative belief that "Politics is the exercise of power. Power is the ability to inflct pain. In the Preface, he mentions that "my attempts to do good [have] been disasters thus far.
As a blonde in "The Visible Spectrum" laughingly exclaims, "Oh, shit! How passive! However, I would like to get a better understanding of the reasons for his silence. Is he prepared to sit back and let Ayn Randian Social Darwinism work its way through society ad infinitum? After all, he does so much more than other authors to make sure that what happens on the street is made known through fiction.
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Why does he stop at mere reportage? Inside the Nihilist Cocoon Vollmann writes for, or is read by, primarily an audience of mainly male white college graduates who are well versed in literary theory and continental philosophy. He ventures onto the street on our behalf, so we can remain seated in front of and behind our computer screens.
He perpetuates our belief that we are street-wise and hip. However, equally, he allows us to sit back and belittle the liberal left who, for good or bad reasons, think of these issues as problems and try to do something constructive about them. Vollmann's fiction runs perilously close to being easily-digested fodder for solipsism that ironically denies the reality outside the digital cocoon of the 21st century middle class.
Inside the cocoon, solipsism becomes nihilism, and nihilism becomes nothingness. Stations of Whose Cross? Fellow novelist Madison Smartt Bell argues that, "If [Vollmann] is the god of his own texts, he offers himself up for crucifixion every time. Vollmann portrays himself as an Angel or the Holy Ghost, not Jesus Christ who after all was the one who was crucified.
Besides, the wounds that he shows us are those of his characters, not his own. His rationale, the motto for this collection: "The prettiest thing is the darkest darkness. If so, I haven't seen what he has to say. However, on the strength of this book alone, he leaves himself open to charges of literary voyeurism. The result of his effort is often more profane than divine.
If Vollmann just wants to observe and report, there is a risk his work might never transcend journalism and, like yesterday's news, it might end up being ephemeral. If he addresses these concerns, I hope that future readers might regard his body of work as truly visionary. He has all the chops.
I just don't know yet, on the basis of my limited reading whether he has the will. Being and Dranothingness. Blue sky, blue heaven.
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I looked up at a guy, lean, muscular, taller than me, clothed in jeans, t-shirt and tats. What's the charge? I got him out on remand, and I was his new best friend. I didn't think I'd ever see him again. He was working on the gas fields. A month later I was glad to feel his shadow over me again. I'd bumped into a punk at the bar at a gig, and straight away he had me on my back on the floor. He was about to kick me in the head with his Docs.
As far as he was concerned, I had worked some kind of miracle to get him out of prison. We kept running into each other at gigs. I was actually on the door for the Iggy Pop concert and they were all there. When I got time off to watch the band, I found myself up the front, where Bez had broken a glass on a table and then dived, shirtless, onto the broken glass. There was blood everywhere. Even Iggy stopped to watch.
Bez and Banger decided that they were going to start up a punk band. Bez was singer and Banger, needless to say, was the drummer. I saw them half a dozen times over three or four months. They were actually pretty good. A triumph of energy over skill. The Mystery of Sixes. One night after a gig, Banger came up to me and said that the police had been hassling him outside the club. Would I come out and help him?
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I stupidly agreed. As we walked through the door, he told me that one of them had stolen his pen. I shrugged my head in disbelief. I was going to introduce myself respectfully to the two cops, neither of whom looked familiar, sort something out, and go our separate ways. As we approached the road where they were standing, I asked Banger, "Which one was it?
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That was the end of my suave act. They soon had me held down on the bonnet of their car, until I told them I was a lawyer. They let go of me, took my details, asked me where my car was it was in the car park across the road, though I was going to leave it there overnight, because my girlfriend, Drea, and I had had a few drinks too many.
Eventually they told both of us to fuck off.