LOLITA a novel by
Lolita (1955), with its antihero, Humbert Humbert, who is possessed by an overpowering desire for very young girls, is yet another of Nabokov's subtle allegories: love examined in the light of its seeming opposite, lechery.
born April 22, 1899, St. Petersburg, Russia
died July 2, 1977, Montreux, Switz.
in full Vladimir Vladimirovich Nabokov Russian-born American novelist and critic, the foremost of the post-1917 émigré authors. He wrote in both Russian and English, and his best works, including Lolita (1955), feature stylish, intricate literary effects.
----------------------- From Encyclopedia Britannica
Ironic coincidence has led me on a study of the world “Lolita.”
- Because I met a 15 year old Indian girl on the beach by the name of Lolita.
- Because the book I am reading by Wilbur Smith, “Hungry as the Sea” talks about the “Lolita Complex.”
- The music world has been driving me crazy for years with the use of Lolita in songs. This is a long term form of cognitive dissonance.
Sometime a word gangs up on you and you cannot or I cannot help but be curious. Why is this word popping into my world or photo of the world?
Stephen introduced me and few other people to Lolita. She is a very dark, almost or really is black skinned girl that lives on Palolem beach. Intrigue is around how and what she does for the group of males around the current group of visitors that share conversation.
I was returning from Margao or Chaudi the other day. It is about 40 kilometers north of Palolem Beach. It is the only real city complete with ATMs and such. This means: You can buy what you need.
I enter the beach by way of the lifeguard station. A gas powered rickshaw or a.k.a. Tuk Tuk in Thailand. A 3 wheeled motorcycle with a seat for 2 or maybe 3 has just dropped me off. (The also drive something close in Iquitos, Peru)
Well. I walk down the beach. Tired and beat up from the 1 hour and 12 ruppee trip to Margao. The price for foreigner can be 15 if you are not careful. But as I return from the eggbeater that can only so poignantly remind me of a chicken bus in Guatemala and waddle down the beach. The sun is baking and the fresh breeze is making me remember that I am in paradise and the business day run to Margao is a price I have to pay for paradise.
But… I am approaching my set of huts. Further away from the entrance to the beach then close to the beach. I have to leave the hard wet sand of the waters edge and now cross the dry and soft sand. I am wearing my flip flops. Not a real cheap type, but none the less flip flops of a sort. The type with the big toe and the second toe that keeps them on. Not the best to walk through soft sand. Better to take them off. But I cannot be bothered.
Boom, Bang. Bom…!
Up skips Lolita. Like a smile on wheels. She is in my face and challenging me to avoid here. She is probably in a way tout. A person that want to convince you to buy from her something. I am not and still not sure what she is selling.
“Where are you going?”
“I am going to my room.”
She says, and this is the pressing issue.
“Do you want me come to your room?
Now. I did not know how old she was at this juncture. She could be anywhere between 15 and 30 in my view. I had not studied her. I had met her. The sun is shining, and the only sure clue to her age is the energy and the smile. She is just too vibrant for an older woman. She has the fell and smell of youth. That brazen, devil could care attitude.
So I am hot… and for a second I stutter and slip back. The heat is pounding on my brain, and I need water. Has she brought me water?
I regain my strength. I place my hand on her arm and say,
“No, I do not think that would be a good idea.”
There is a saying that God always gives us a way out of temptation. I am not sure how he gave me this here, but I can say that I passed the test. What a mischievous God he is.
I am new to India. I do not know the people or the culture. This could have been innocent and she just wanted to talk. It is very possible that was the case. Her older 24 old sister came up with Lolita the next day and talked about this. Lolita was with her. They then bridge on the idea of me taking her back to the USA to clean and arrange around the house.
Who sings that song? “A man needs a maid?”
But all the inner and ever changing group of regulars on this beach has been trying to instruct or nag me on this issue. She is now my problem. I think they wish they had the same problem. Chris Time and his wife had the same problem with her. She would hang around their room and even wanted to sleep in their room. We think this is innocent, but then again you do not get to look into her eyes like I do. I am still confused. She is innocent, with those question marks.
Chris Time is also a blond. That does appear to be a coincidence. All the other hippies are either shaved head or dark. They do not give the absolute contra view of this culture as me and Chris Time represent. I cannot say really he is blond. He has that very spike and glued down hair or glued up hair and the tips of his hair is blond or white. There is contrast that is trendy or fashionable. Looks pretty good, and a lot better then the purple fashion of Europe.
But back to the coincidence of Lolita. I go look around and smuggle around in my computer encyclopedia. It is a wonder of the world that I can sit in my room alone and come to fruition with the understanding of the world Lolita and its implications. To me this can make me a genius. I can have very complex ideas and keep them organized with the assistance of a computer.
So most of this is my happiness that I have found one answer to a long term nagging question. Why do people use the word “Lolita.” There are probably more explanations then this. But this will suffice for now. I will read the book some day by Vladimir Nabokov by the name of Lolita and will further my query.
I am avoiding Lolita. God and good and bad need to take a vacation.
Life is good here. Funny little enigmatic days. Much more mentally stimulating then Europe. I suppose Europe was more wondrously interesting and not so mentally.
BORN IN THE USA
Bruce Springsteen you are winding me up!
In the front of a beach front bar sitting peacefully with a non-political and homogenous group of expatriates. Although mostly Brits it is difficult to see a person that claims a country with a vengence.
I try to ignore the first playing of this song. Born in the USA. It is not good to bring attention to songs with the “Americanism” all over them. It only goes to provoke some of the people that hate anyone that could love anything. The Americanism of Patriotism is despised by the nations similar to the USA, and loved by the developing countries.
But sitting in plastic chair that is used world wide. On a floor of sand, in nowhere in the world I hear this song. I am both confused and happy at the same time. The words take root hard in my head more then normal. I listen with a checks and balance to see if they will cause me trouble. There is a dualism in the song for me. I feel that when Bruce sings the chorus.
“Born in the USA”
Repeating this phrase with a cadance and beat that both inspires and to me says I love the country but there is a good and a bad. But in the end. I was born in the USA.
But the words are not pleasant accolades about the USA. They are what to me freedom represents. Placing the name of the USA and the fact that a native born person… Born in the USA went over and killed the “Yellow Man.”
It would be easy to say this is protest song and much easier to support that argument. Some political commentary against the policies of the USA. But it is still to me a song of patriotism and nationalism that will continue to anger the world for as long as the country exist. Because the fashion of the day in the developed world is…
“Thou shall not love anything!”
Especially a country
I can sing a love song. Dream a dream. But in the end to say that I would want to get married till death do we part is not acceptable. The social pressure is to say that we have choice, and if we continue to love and wish to reside together that is fine. But to commit to anything in the X generation is to be common.
But Bruce you are a pain in the butt. Intuitively I can feel the pride in the words for your country. I feel the same pride. But I also know that anything good is paid for with emotional pain. That is the price of all thing great. There is a piece of emotion and a persons mind that must be placed on the table as barter for the world to trample.
So thank you Bruce, but if you are going to do this. Please come and visit so I can have some backup.
I got to buy them another album. They must have 3, and this is in rotation.
( I mean to say CD. Showing my age… oops)