Listen:
Billy Pilgrim has come unstuck in time.
It ends like this:
Poo-tee-weet?
(Slaughterhouse-Five by Kurt Vonnegut)
Thus begins the journey to the Slaughterhouse-Five and thus it ends. Not mine, Billy Pilgrims. Though I would have loved the see Dresden as described by the indifferent Billy when he enters the town as a POW. Now, I can very well do a search for pictures on the Web and find them. But the moment is gone, or as the Tralfamadorians say, because this moment simply is.
Well, here we are, Mr. Pilgrim, trapped in the amber of this moment.
Is it an anti-war book? Maybe I need to read the book again.
Is it supposed to be humour disguised in pain or pain disguised in humour? Maybe I need to read the book again.
Is Billy a hero, an anti-hero or just a survivor? Maybe I need to read the book again.
Does Billy travel in time or Time travels nonetheless what Billy does? Maybe I need to read the book again.
Is Tralfamadore really three hundred million miles away from earth? Or does it exists right here on earth? This I will have to find out myself. Maybe Kilgore Trout can help.
Really I need to read the book again. To find out the meaning within the meaning and the meaning without the meaning. To figure out Billy P. To figure out Montana Wildhack. To fathom the simpleton Kilgore Trout and to eventually read one of his books - Venus on the Half-Shell.
RIP Edgar Derby. A teapot is never harmless. So it goes.
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