Running Water ... Rusting Pipes Vol. 2: Bucharest, the War Years - Tapa blanda

The author is an American expatriate living in French Polynesia. He holds three additional passports and lived in five countries on three continents. He lambastes the cable companies and strips the fashion industry of its glory, claiming it to be nourished by the swollen egos of fashion designers and fashion suckers alike. He calls the co-op racket the greatest rip-off, whereby when you finally buy your apartment you keep paying rent under the guise of maintenance, which is the only artificial anti-gravity force in a sea of relatively stable prices. Although a believer himself, he takes issue with God. He speaks to God, argues with God, and it sometimes seems that he's ready to drag God into a higher court of justice, if one could be found, and, in so doing, makes ample use of Time, an element whose existence he denies. He derides Einstein, mocks Freud, and subjects their theories to humorous interpretations, not always tongue in cheek. He divests royalty of its crown and elevates sex to the jewel in the crown. Furthermore, he worships sex (while scoffing at its mechanics) perhaps more than God, seeing no irreverence in it, since sex was created by God, and if the Devil was also created by God, well then, life is full of contradictions.

When we have told Mr. Vladimir that we would like to write what is known in the trade as an "About the Book" page he, at first, did not respond. Then, after some deliberation, he said, "It's all in the book." "Yes, I know it is," I said, "but, let's face it, Mr. Vladimir, you are not a widely known personality. Even a madam nowadays has more right to write a book than has an unpublished author. What we're trying to do is legitimize your right to appear in print." "Well, you may be right," he said. "Still, I cover that too in the book when I say, 'My apologies for this prose run mad/But I thought it unfair/To deprive life of its share/While leaving records of my birth and death.' However, if you want to write that page, go ahead, I'm not going to stop you." Well, we admire Mr. Vladimir too much to further antagonize him. Not when, among other things, he speaks about the vanity of authors and in the same breath points out that if we keep on harping on "About the Author" there won't be much room left for his picture. So I guess we're not going to write an "About the Book" page.