D lready said yesterday in a fake scoop, August 18, Actes Sud: CosmoZ, Claro. A (very little) less than two months to wait - two (large long) months to drool.
So So So.
to wait and for those who do not facebookent three extracts.
Copy / paste the page CosmoZ.
(We loved it. So therefore So: we share.)
Here they are in the order they appear on the screen.
Preview # 1:
Elfeba and Dorothy come across a convoy of jeeps, but no one pays attention to them. An hour later, at the corner of a bush, they find themselves on the threshold of a small valley and are then grown to its size, the item that caught their attention a little earlier.
The thing is so huge that they need to do several times around before deciding on its nature.
is a single whale and the wind was still breathing in it. No matter where it comes from, if removed from the oceans thousands of years ago they have failed here finally, no matter if the sky had suddenly forgotten imagining surf the fact that it is biblically based out of the land of ghosts of the ancient Indian Oscuro, dead to all appearances, punched through the skin Brotherhood of crabs, vents still warm and vibrating their tails all pockmarked sand and mica, impressive in the silence of its origins, and be proportionate to oblivion where it goes.
Freed of the last vestiges of its monstrosity, she plans, in an aberration insolent, his shadow towards the sky, which becomes cloud, dark cloud.
Nearby, the scholars of Los Alamos speak of impending storm and redo their calculations.
Preview # 2:
was more than a TV: it was a ct-100. Set in a mahogany cabinet, the subject occupied a prominent place in the living room of Matthew Ostrowski, somewhere in Sacramento, USA. And the reason that seemed to emanate from the craft a little bubble proclaiming "I will exceed your expectations" was simple: said television was
with a CRT shadow mask and who used phosphorescent colors that match the chromaticity the NTSC standard. The reds and oranges of the ct-100 were richer and more saturated que le rouge-orange et le vert-jaune dont s’enorgueillissaient jusqu’ici ses prédécesseurs. De là, une gamme de couleurs plus étendue, moins timorée. En outre, son masque perforé planaire et son écran à luminophore plat étaient suspendus dans une enveloppe de verre ronde et il disposait d’un syntoniseur à barillet à seize positions, capable de recevoir toutes les combinaisons de chaînes vhf et uhf, fournissant ainsi une image de 45,75 mégahertz et une sortie son if de 41,25 mégahertz. une merveille, en somme, alimentée par 19 500 volts au moyen d’un redresseur 3A3 et d’un stabilisateur en dérivation 6bda. un SynchroGuide horizontal conventionnel s’occupait the rest. The aircraft in question had cost nearly a thousand dollars to Matthew Ostrowski, but he had no regrets, especially not in this day of celebration when CBS decided to broadcast his favorite movie, one he had seen seventeen years earlier at Grauman's Chinese Theatre in Los Angeles, August 15, 1939 specifically, and for the projection which, in the nineteenth minute, he had succeeded, while this poor turkey Garland opened the door of his house for s' venture into the wonderful land of Oz, to slip his tongue, not without emphasis, in the mouths of those who today, at the same time but in another room, gazing at his reflection in the mirror of her dressing table, brush stopped in his blond locks, a prey to an irreversible rift, while the two children born somehow of that kiss made in Technicolor ®, John and Margaret Ostrowski, respectively fourteen and sixteen, were sitting in the kitchen, to the radio - a Philips 538A hf still shining - by listening to the latest newsletter, which was state of unrest in Hungary, Budapest.
It was Nov. 3, 1956 at night and Matthew was delighted to see - finally! - This movie oh so seminal in his eyes, The Wizard of Oz, released for the first time on television, which is more colorful, thanks to the magic of his expensive ct-100 brand new.
But that manufactured his wife Cecilia? On the coffee table, white chicken patient between a stack of triangular toast and a bowl of pickles, assisted by two Budweiser still all sparkling dew.
If nothingness is just a habit, if dying is just an exercise, well here I am reaching the end of the loop, where the flower of the same finally dares spit his seed: we are the revenge of the difference. Yes, what a beautiful brains that which gave birth to this non-philosophy. Somehow I know I am always in this field at the crossroads, stuffed and crucified, tasteless and stringy, both chapter and threat, perch pet peeves, to cruel beasts. The cries of the beaks, wings slapping, I need to call one last time in my distress? It's always the same: pain wakes me up, pierces me, through and through, no straw straw, maybe it's the last revival of dead things.
Conclusion: we always drool.
suite shortly.
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