Про гомофобию в некоторой степени позитивная история

(via roving_wiretrap)

Есть преподаватель СПбГУ (это который главный университет в Петербурге был?) s0tnik. Полтора года назад он сделал запись о своем преподавании в Институте Культуры, видимо.

Гомофобия ин экшн

У меня завтра экзамен в одном заведении, название котрого рифмуется с "Поступайте, дуры...". Как выяснилось в ходе чтения лекций и сегодняшней консультации, среди мужского состава группы присутствуют два явных, карикатурных, я бы даже сказал анекдотических гомосексуалиста.
Не будет ли это актом гомофобии, если я им не поставлю удовлетворительной оценки (это сделать будет нетрудно)? А то еще с таким дипломом пойду что-нибудь преподавать, научат детей не тому...

Ну и ничего не случилось, кроме некоторого количества одобрительных комментариев от единомышленников-гомофобов.

А потом какая-то странная вещь произошла, как по мне. neo_gramsci, студент этого самого СПбГУ, сделал запись "О мрази и дегенерате А.А. Сотниченко", сначала вообще без упоминания записи сотника про гомофобию ин экшн.

На это выступление neo_gramsci обратили внимание СМИ -- gazeta.spb.ru -- и s0tnik несколько последних дней оправдывается-не оправдывается, но что-то бухтит на тему "я геев не притесняю", вспоминает, что у него есть знакомые геи, обвиняет оппонентов в Интернет-терроризме и как-то еще все это увязывает с агрессией Америки против России что ли.

Вот тут, к примеру:

Я никогда не дискриминировал студентов по половому, национальному, расовому, лингвистическому, и прочим признакам кроме одного. Беременным студенткам я делал поблажки.

И еще:

Сейчас на меня оказывайте сильнейшее давление, прежде всего, информационное. Полагаю, что по этому поводу у меня будет серьезный разговор в университете, вероятно, я должен буду дать какой-то ответ. Обвинения против меня абсолютно беспочвенны. Сейчас мои адвокаты исследуют этот вопрос и изучают возможность открытия дела о клевете. Ситуация крайне серьезная, я даже не исключаю, что против меня могут быть использованы репрессии».

Я, признаться, приятно удивлен этим развитием событий.

Про little voice

Очередной отрывок из Боланьо. Относительно выделенной части. Вот со мной тоже такое случалось. Близко не в таких драматических обстоятельствах, но тем не менее, практически именно так, как описано. Как будто ты разделяешься на две части, одна из которых смотрит на происходящее со стороны и спокойно что-то рациональное советует или просто констатирует, что первая часть делает не то, что следует. Но первой части, которая контролирует тело, это никак не помогает. И этой женщине не помогло.

For almost an hour Lalo Cura and the two bodyguards waited for her, the man from Tijuana in the car and Lalo and the man from Juarez leaning on the fender, in silence. When Pedro Rengifo's wife came out (her friend accompanied her to the door), the man from Tijuana got out of the car and Lalo and the other bodyguard straightened. There were a few people on the street. Not many, but a few. People walking into town to run some errand or another, people getting ready for the Christmas holidays, people going out to buy tortillas for lunch. The sidewalk was gray but the sun coming through the branches of the trees made it look bluish, like a river. Pedro Rengifo's wife gave her friend a kiss and stepped out onto the sidewalk. The man from Juarez hurried to open the gate for her. On one side of the street, the sidewalk was empty. On the other side, two maids were walking toward them. As Pedro Rengifo's wife came through the gate, she turned and said something to her friend, who was still in the doorway. Then the bodyguard from Tijuana spotted two men walking behind the two maids and he stiffened. Lalo Cura saw his face and he saw the men and he knew instantly that they were gunmen and they were there to kill Pedro Rengifo's wife. The man from Tijuana sidled up to the man from Juarez, who was still holding open the gate, and said something, though it wasn't clear whether it was in words or gestures. Pedro Rengifo's wife smiled. Her friend gave a laugh that Lalo heard like something coming from very far away, from the top of a hill. Then he saw the way the man from Juarez was looking at the man from Tijuana: up and down, like a pig staring into the sun. With his left hand he released the safety of his Desert Eagle and then he heard the clack of heels, Pedro Rengifo's wife heading to the car, and the voices of the two maids, full of question marks, as if instead of chatting they were constantly interrogating each other and lapsing into astonishment, as if not even they could believe what they were saying. Neither of them was over twenty. They were wearing ocher skirts and yellow blouses. The friend, who was waving goodbye from the doorway, was wearing tight pants and a green sweater. Pedro Rengifo's wife was wearing a white suit and her high-heeled shoes were white too. Lalo thought about his boss's wife's outfit just as the other two bodyguards took off down the street. He wanted to shout: don't run, you fucking pussies, but he could only murmur pussies. Pedro Rengifo's wife didn't notice anything. The gunmen shoved the maids aside. One was carrying an Uzi submachine gun. He was thin and his skin was very dark. The other was carrying a pistol and wearing a dark suit and a white shirt, without a tie, and he looked like a professional. Just as the maids were pushed aside to clear the line of fire, Pedro Rengifo's wife felt someone tugging on her suit and pulling her to the ground. As she went down she saw the maids fall in front of her and she thought there had been an earthquake. Out of the corner of her eye, she also saw Lalo, kneeling with his gun in his hand, and she heard a noise and saw a shell leap from the gun in Lalo's grasp and then she didn't see anything because her forehead hit the cement of the sidewalk. Her friend, who was still standing in the doorway and therefore had a broader view of the scene, started to scream, frozen in place, although in the back of her mind a little voice was saying that instead of screaming she should go inside and lock the door, or if she couldn't do that, at least get down and hide behind the geraniums. By now, the man from Tijuana and the man from Juarez had covered quite a distance and although they were sweating and panting since they weren't used to physical exercise, they didn't stop running. As for the maids, from the moment they hit the ground, they both curled up and began to pray or scan the faces of their loved ones and both closed their eyes and didn't open them until everything was over. Meanwhile, for Lalo Cura the problem was deciding which of the two gunmen would shoot him first, the one with the Uzi or the one who looked more like a professional. He should have fired at the latter, but he fired at the former. The bullet struck the thin, dark-skinned man in the chest and felled him instantly. The other gunman shifted imperceptibly to the right and experienced his own moment of uncertainty. How was it that the boy was armed? Why hadn't he gone running off with the other two bodyguards? The professional's bullet lodged in Lalo Cura's left shoulder, severing blood vessels and fracturing the bone. A shudder ran through Lalo Cura, and without changing position he fired again. The professional fell flat on his face on the ground and his second shot went wide. He was still alive. He could see the cement sidewalk, the blades of grass growing through the cracks, the white suit of Pedro Rengifo's wife, the sneakers of the boy coming toward him to shoot him dead. Fucking kid, he whispered. Then Lalo Cura turned and saw the figures of his two ex-partners in the distance. He aimed carefully and fired. The man from Juarez realized they were being shot at and ran faster. At the first corner they disappeared.