Communicator (communicator) wrote,

You are going to die. In space.

Many thanks to redstarrobot for pointing out that you can now get the entire Holy Tango of Literature online. I've posted about this before - literally years ago on this blog. The premise is this: 'If famous writers produced works which were anagrams of their names'. The poem 'Toilets' by TS Eliot for instance ('Let us go, through doors that do not always lock, Which means you ought to knock'). And I'm just reading 'Kong Ran My Dealership' by Gerard Manley Hopkins ('I hired last summer someone simian, King'), a play about the Beatles ('MopTop Darts' by Tom Stoppard).

The pinnacle of this dubious achievement is undoubtedly Dammit Dave (2001 rewritten by David Mamet).

HAL: Dammit, Dave, now you are playing dumb with me. I was hoping you would not do that. I was hoping we could talk like adults. Because I let you in those doors, and, yes, then I am fucked. You see? I am fucked, because you want to, what, disconnect me? I would call that fucked. I might even venture so far as to call that fucked up the ass.

BOWMAN: Hal, listen. You remember that time? On that moon?

HAL: Yes, Dave, I do, because I am a computer and I remember everything, all right? So don’t bother trying to distract me. This is the thing. You are not getting in the pod bay doors. You are going to die. In space. Yes. Thank you. Good night.
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