Posted on Monday 11 April 2005
ccitam u lrb tekst o smrti. dok dorucckujemo, priccam sa terese o o razlici izmedju osmrtnica objavljenih u newyorktimes-u i ove ovdje.
‘95, zagreb, u kancelariji ondassnjeg UNPROFOR-a, ljudi izlaze, unutra ja, ms. sontag, njen sin, neko drugi, ispred ljudi ssto ccekaju da udju. od finskih birokrata ccekamo ‘entry permit’. moja je generalna, njena je avionska.
sin ne ide.
06/95. imam i dozvolu i autobusku kartu do sarajeva. do tarccina, preko igmana, konvoj. sretoh LDlh, ima kola, treba mu neko ko zna i domaci i engleski. meni treba prevoz. dok silazimo, gledamo nedzzarice, od tamo puca po cesti. L. mi daje svoju kacigu, pancirku nosim od kako sam prossao pazaric.
dvadeset dana sarajeva. ne vidjeh ms. sontag. but, there she was, in palo alto, “lickety-split she was off – dashing in a feverish crouch from one boutique doorway to the next, white tennis shoes a blur, all the way down the street to Restoration Hardware and the Baskin-Robbins store. Five or six perplexed Palo Altans stopped to watch as she bobbed zanily in and out, ducking her head, pointing at imaginary gunmen on rooftops and gesticulating wildly at me to follow. No one, clearly, knew who she was, though several of them looked as if they thought they should know who she was.” [cijeli tekst je ovdje.]
Svira/Play: let 3 – nafta (11 meg file)