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Perhaps the finest memoir ever was never written at all. It was performed. I’m referring to an improvised scene in a now obscure Harrison Ford movie entitled Blade Runner. In it, the gifted German actor and poet, Rutger Hauer, plays, Roy Batty, a replicant. A replicant is basically a machine, but one capable of human emotion. And in this final scene, Roy, is dying exactly as you’d expect a machine to die. Just like a common flashlight, Roy’s batteries are getting low. But Roy is dying a machine death but at the same time feeling and expressing human emotions, a thing no flashlight I’m aware of can do, not even the long black ones the police carry and sometimes use as a weapon. It’s...
Ralph William Larsen would have you think of his latest effort, DOCTOR OF PIPES, as you would a cracking good piece of hard candy, a Tootsie Pop of a book, its chewy center being the dog doody dull subject of briar pipe smoking. But as he asserts in his introduction to the very same book, yes, there are pipes here, lots of pipes. But for those who could care less about the stinky old habit of briar pipe smoking, yes again, there is lots more as well. As the author himself boldly asserts, when he's "writing well" - and we all must hope he is writing well here - the discussion of pipes is for him "but a safe harbor from which to sail forth toward some greater understandings." Within the teemin...
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