Louis Ferdinand-Celine (Writer)

[suedehead]

[summerprincess]

IEI??

[Kill4Me]

ESI-Se



Added: https://www.pinterest.com/socionics/esi-se/

[Sol]

ENFJ(?)

[Averroes]

And the music came back with the carnival, the music you've heard as far back as you can remember, ever since you were little, that's always playing somewhere, in some corner of the city, in little country towns, wherever poor people go and sit at the end of the week to figure out what's become of them, sometimes here, sometimes there, from season to season, it tinkles and grinds out the tunes that rich people danced to the year before. It's the mechanical music that floats down from the wooden horses, from the cars that aren't cars anymore, from the railways that aren't at all scenic, from the platform under the wrestler who hasn't any muscles and doesn't come from Marseille, from the beardless lady, the magician who's a butter-fingered jerk, the organ that's not made of gold, the shooting gallery with the empty eggs. It's the carnival made to delude the weekend crowd.
We go in and drink the beer with no head on it. But under the cardboard trees the stink of the waiter's breath is real. And the change he gives you has several peculiar coins in it, so peculiar that you go on examining them for weeks and weeks and finally, with considerable difficulty, palm them off on some beggar. What do you expect at the carnival? Gotta have what fun you can between hunger and jail, and take things as they come. No sense complaining, we're sitting down aren't we? Which ain't to be sneezed at. I saw the same old Gallery of the Nations, the one Lola caught sight of years and years ago on that avenue in the park of Saint-Cloud. You always see things again at carnivals, they revive the joy of past carnivals. Over the years the crowds must have come back time and again to stroll on the main avenue of the park of Saint-Cloud...taking it easy. The war had been over long ago. And say I wonder if that shooting gallery still belonged to the same owner? Had he come back alive from the war? I take an interest in everything. Those are the same targets, but in addition, they're shooting at airplanes now. Novelty. Progress. Fashion. The wedding was still there, the soldier too, and the town hall with its flag. Plus a few more things to shoot at than before

But there was only me, just me, me all lone, beside him, the genuine Ferdinand, who was short of everything that would make a man bigger than his own bare life, short of love for other people's lives. Of that I had none, or so little there was no use showing it. I wasn't as big as death. I was a lot smaller. I had no great opinion of humanity. I think I'd have found it easier to grieve for a dying dog than for Robinson, because a dog isn't tricky, and Robinson, in spite of everything, was tricky in a way. I was tricky myself, we were all tricksters...Our other qualities had left us along the way, I'd even lost the grimaces that can come in handy over deathbeds, I'd lost everything along the way, I couldn't find any of what we need to help a man die, all I could find was cunning. My feelings were like a house where you only go on holidays. Scarcely inhabitable. Besides, a dying man is demanding. Dying isn't enough for him. He has to get a kick out of it... At the very bottom of life, with his arteries already full of urea, he has to get a kick out of his last gasps.

And the dying snivel, because they're not having as much fun as before...They make demands...they protest. The dramatics of misery wants to carry over from life into death.

“Not much music left inside us for life to dance to. Our youth has gone to the ends of the earth to die in the silence of the truth. And where, I ask you, can a man escape to, when he hasn't enough madness left inside him? The truth is an endless death agony. The truth is death. You have to choose: death or lies. I've never been able to kill myself.”

“I hadn't found out yet that mankind consists of two very different races, the rich and the poor. It took me ... and plenty of other people . . . twenty years and the war to learn to stick to my class and ask the price of things before touching them, let alone setting my heart on them.”

“Philosophizing is simply one way of being afraid, a cowardly pretense that doesn't get you anywhere.”

[someoneaskedmetofly]

Heard ILI and ESI. Though admittedly his gazes remind me of Hitchens.