The Sirens of Titan is an outrageous romp through space, time, and morality. The richest, most depraved man on Earth, Malachi Constant, is offered a chance to take a space journey to distant worlds with a beautiful woman at his side. Of course there' s a catch to the invitation–and a prophetic vision about the purpose of human life that only Vonnegut has the courage to tell.
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The Sirens of Titan is an outrageous romp through space, time, and morality. The richest, most depraved man on Earth, Malachi Constant, is offered a chance to take a space journey to distant worlds with a beautiful woman at his side. Of course there' s a catch to the invitation–and a prophetic vision about the purpose of human life that only Vonnegut has the courage to tell.
I had a sister who was severely burned. She was wearing the inexpensive frilly clothes so many little girls love, she was one month from her 4th birthday. I was in 4th grade, and by good fortune, sort of, I was home from school for a teacher professional development day. This was before they put flame retardant in most kids clothing.
My mother put her out, and that cheap synthetic melted onto her hands and my sister like the end of rope when you burn it to seal the end so it doesn't unravel. I ran downstairs when I heard her call for my brother in a tone I never heard from anyone else, it's not a scream or a yell, exactly. I remember only taking two steps on a staircase with nine risers. It's odd how little things come ack. The thing no book, or movie, prepares you for is the smell. Burned skin, hair, and muscle and cheap plastic (the rug beneath her was blackened. It's very distinctive.
I was cooking a pork chop as an adult, and stepped away for the phone, and burned the pork chop. I had left the wrap it came in too close to the stove eye, and it did that melty/burn thing. Odors are a strong trigger. I've never complained about my tax money going to support vets and first responders with PTSD. You can go years, and then a stupid thing like that triggers it 30 years later. I could never be a fireman or EMT.
Vonnegut got to help clean up after the firebombing, and the air raid shelters had become giant ovens that cooked the people who were in the part of Dresden that got firestormed - it's not just a Hollywood special effect, WW2 taught us how to do it deliberately. You bomb it for several days and nights, with incindiaries and 2000 pound delayed action bombs to kill the firefighters. He got to stack the dried out/burned husks from those shelters, along with other POWs and the Germans. I don't understand Kurt Vonnegut, I just got a taste of what he drowned in. I think I can safely say he was haunted, no tormented by it.
FYI my sister survived, and Shriner's Burn Institute and my mother's parents are the only reason we didn't lose our house from medical bills. That's with insurance. For some weird reason I support single payer health care, too.
Wiki on HB plot: "In the year 2081, the Constitution dictates that all Americans are fully equal and not allowed to be smarter, better-looking, or more physically able than anyone else. The Handicapper General's agents enforce the equality laws, forcing citizens to wear "handicaps": masks for those who are too beautiful, earpiece radios for the intelligent that broadcast loud noises meant to disrupt thoughts, and heavy weights for the strong or athletic."
Already there.
Met the guy when I was in school. Didn't understand why the firebombing of Dresden was so important to him. I do now.
I had a sister who was severely burned. She was wearing the inexpensive frilly clothes so many little girls love, she was one month from her 4th birthday. I was in 4th grade, and by good fortune, sort of, I was home from school for a teacher professional development day. This was before they put flame retardant in most kids clothing.
My mother put her out, and that cheap synthetic melted onto her hands and my sister like the end of rope when you burn it to seal the end so it doesn't unravel. I ran downstairs when I heard her call for my brother in a tone I never heard from anyone else, it's not a scream or a yell, exactly. I remember only taking two steps on a staircase with nine risers. It's odd how little things come ack. The thing no book, or movie, prepares you for is the smell. Burned skin, hair, and muscle and cheap plastic (the rug beneath her was blackened. It's very distinctive.
I was cooking a pork chop as an adult, and stepped away for the phone, and burned the pork chop. I had left the wrap it came in too close to the stove eye, and it did that melty/burn thing. Odors are a strong trigger. I've never complained about my tax money going to support vets and first responders with PTSD. You can go years, and then a stupid thing like that triggers it 30 years later. I could never be a fireman or EMT.
Vonnegut got to help clean up after the firebombing, and the air raid shelters had become giant ovens that cooked the people who were in the part of Dresden that got firestormed - it's not just a Hollywood special effect, WW2 taught us how to do it deliberately. You bomb it for several days and nights, with incindiaries and 2000 pound delayed action bombs to kill the firefighters. He got to stack the dried out/burned husks from those shelters, along with other POWs and the Germans. I don't understand Kurt Vonnegut, I just got a taste of what he drowned in. I think I can safely say he was haunted, no tormented by it.
FYI my sister survived, and Shriner's Burn Institute and my mother's parents are the only reason we didn't lose our house from medical bills. That's with insurance. For some weird reason I support single payer health care, too.
Last edited by Mr. Harley August 28, 2024 at 01:24 AM.
I had a sister who was severely burned. She was wearing the inexpensive frilly clothes so many little girls love, she was one month from her 4th birthday. I was in 4th grade, and by good fortune, sort of, I was home from school for a teacher professional development day. This was before they put flame retardant in most kids clothing. My mother put her out, and that cheap synthetic melted onto her hands and my sister like the end of rope when you burn it to seal the end so it doesn't unravel. I ran downstairs when I heard her call for my brother in a tone I never heard from anyone else, it's not a scream or a yell, exactly. I remember only taking two steps on a staircase with nine risers. It's odd how little things come ack. The thing no book, or movie, prepares you for is the smell. Burned skin, hair, and muscle and cheap plastic (the rug beneath her was blackened. It's very distinctive. I was cooking a pork chop as an adult, and stepped away for the phone, and burned the pork chop. I had left the wrap it came in too close to the stove eye, and it did that melty/burn thing. Odors are a strong trigger. I've never complained about my tax money going to support vets and first responders with PTSD. You can go years, and then a stupid thing like that triggers it 30 years later. I could never be a fireman or EMT.Vonnegut got to help clean up after the firebombing, and the air raid shelters had become giant ovens that cooked the people who were in the part of Dresden that got firestormed - it's not just a Hollywood special effect, WW2 taught us how to do it deliberately. You bomb it for several days and nights, with incindiaries and 2000 pound delayed action bombs to kill the firefighters. He got to stack the dried out/burned husks from those shelters, along with other POWs and the Germans. I don't understand Kurt Vonnegut, I just got a taste of what he drowned in. I think I can safely say he was haunted, no tormented by it. FYI my sister survived, and Shriner's Burn Institute and my mother's parents are the only reason we didn't lose our house from medical bills. That's with insurance. For some weird reason I support single payer health care, too.
This is, and likely will forever be, the most beautiful piece of literary analysis on slickdeals.net.
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My mother put her out, and that cheap synthetic melted onto her hands and my sister like the end of rope when you burn it to seal the end so it doesn't unravel. I ran downstairs when I heard her call for my brother in a tone I never heard from anyone else, it's not a scream or a yell, exactly. I remember only taking two steps on a staircase with nine risers. It's odd how little things come ack. The thing no book, or movie, prepares you for is the smell. Burned skin, hair, and muscle and cheap plastic (the rug beneath her was blackened. It's very distinctive.
I was cooking a pork chop as an adult, and stepped away for the phone, and burned the pork chop. I had left the wrap it came in too close to the stove eye, and it did that melty/burn thing. Odors are a strong trigger. I've never complained about my tax money going to support vets and first responders with PTSD. You can go years, and then a stupid thing like that triggers it 30 years later. I could never be a fireman or EMT.
Vonnegut got to help clean up after the firebombing, and the air raid shelters had become giant ovens that cooked the people who were in the part of Dresden that got firestormed - it's not just a Hollywood special effect, WW2 taught us how to do it deliberately. You bomb it for several days and nights, with incindiaries and 2000 pound delayed action bombs to kill the firefighters. He got to stack the dried out/burned husks from those shelters, along with other POWs and the Germans. I don't understand Kurt Vonnegut, I just got a taste of what he drowned in. I think I can safely say he was haunted, no tormented by it.
FYI my sister survived, and Shriner's Burn Institute and my mother's parents are the only reason we didn't lose our house from medical bills. That's with insurance. For some weird reason I support single payer health care, too.
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Already there.
Met the guy when I was in school. Didn't understand why the firebombing of Dresden was so important to him. I do now.
My mother put her out, and that cheap synthetic melted onto her hands and my sister like the end of rope when you burn it to seal the end so it doesn't unravel. I ran downstairs when I heard her call for my brother in a tone I never heard from anyone else, it's not a scream or a yell, exactly. I remember only taking two steps on a staircase with nine risers. It's odd how little things come ack. The thing no book, or movie, prepares you for is the smell. Burned skin, hair, and muscle and cheap plastic (the rug beneath her was blackened. It's very distinctive.
I was cooking a pork chop as an adult, and stepped away for the phone, and burned the pork chop. I had left the wrap it came in too close to the stove eye, and it did that melty/burn thing. Odors are a strong trigger. I've never complained about my tax money going to support vets and first responders with PTSD. You can go years, and then a stupid thing like that triggers it 30 years later. I could never be a fireman or EMT.
Vonnegut got to help clean up after the firebombing, and the air raid shelters had become giant ovens that cooked the people who were in the part of Dresden that got firestormed - it's not just a Hollywood special effect, WW2 taught us how to do it deliberately. You bomb it for several days and nights, with incindiaries and 2000 pound delayed action bombs to kill the firefighters. He got to stack the dried out/burned husks from those shelters, along with other POWs and the Germans. I don't understand Kurt Vonnegut, I just got a taste of what he drowned in. I think I can safely say he was haunted, no tormented by it.
FYI my sister survived, and Shriner's Burn Institute and my mother's parents are the only reason we didn't lose our house from medical bills. That's with insurance. For some weird reason I support single payer health care, too.
There's always room for Vonnegut.
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