Word: horror
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Dates: during 1960-1969
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...performed at its world premiere by the venturesome Hamburg State Opera, the three-act music-drama is a lurid vision of hell on earth. Horror builds to a crescendo as sacral scenes of church and cloister are followed by wild orgies of the possessed nuns and a ludicrous exorcising ceremony in which the crazed sisters howl, shriek and twitch like wolverines in heat. Present in nearly every scene is a revulsive chorus of guttersnipes, beggars, epileptics and whores who leap and leer with a demonic joy reminiscent of Hieronymous Bosch...
...heroes of La Chinoise, they are naive revolutionaries and senseless terrorists, who have brought indoor habits and equipment to live in the woods. They recite and enact the perverse development the capitalism's contradictons have forced upon the romantic roots of bourgeois culture; one of them discusses the horror men inspire in one another and in particular the horror of touching human flesh, explaining thereby love-making as an attraction through hatred. But basically they are as anti-humanist at the citizens they terrorize, and their contempt for other men leads them both into bad romantic politics ("to overcome...
...most written about class in history. The media and our parents and various other old people have been telling us who we are for a long time--or they ask us, "Who are you anyway?" "Why are you kids doing what you are doing?" The question is a horror. It is a question that no one should ever answer in his entire life, but it is one that we have all been forced to answer, and that is our problem. To say who you are and why you do things is to imply that a person is something that...
...became our reality, and so did racism and oppression. There was never a chance of our building something new, of making our own radical society, or even of building a conclave, making a sanctuary in this one. We were too attached to what we heard. And then, the horror of the question: "Who are you?" That came this year to our class harder than to any other class. And few of us believe in ourselves enough any more to refuse to answer it. If anything made us different these four years it was our lack of a past...
...husband's turn has come. Where Mrs. Bridge served mostly as a target (roughly the size of a garage door), Mr. Bridge is approached with an odd mixture of respect, horror and wan amusement. The result is a strait-laced piece of comment on one facet of the American character more akin to Main Street than to the jocular psychedelic mayhem currently indulged in by black humorists...