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By Kurt Vonnegut Jr.

A guy and not using a nation is Kurt Vonnegut’s hilariously humorous and razor-sharp examine lifestyles ("If I die—God forbid—I want to visit heaven to invite a person accountable up there, ‘Hey, what used to be the excellent news and what used to be the undesirable news?"), artwork ("To perform any artwork, regardless of how good or badly, is the way to make your soul develop. So do it."), politics ("I requested former Yankees pitcher Jim Bouton what he considered our nice victory over Iraq and he acknowledged, ‘Mohammed Ali as opposed to Mr. Rogers.’"), and the of the soul of the United States at the present time ("What has occurred to us?").

Based on brief essays and speeches composed during the last 5 years and plentifully illustrated with art through the writer all through, a guy and not using a state supplies us Vonnegut either talking out with indignation and writing tenderly to his fellow american citizens, occasionally joking, at different occasions hopeless, consistently looking out.

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Extra resources for A Man Without a Country

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The first day was a normal stage and went perfectly well. The second day I had to travel hard and fast, harder and faster than I had ever traveled before so that I wouldn’t get lost in the half-deserted farmland with its maze of poorly marked trails when the sun went down. It was ironic that such an impossible day would have come at the very end, when I was physically strained to the utmost with ruined feet, with knees that had become a parody of the real thing (working only with neoprene braces), and generally emaciated.

For two and a half months, I never entered a car, taxi, bus, train, subway, or plane (not to mention never reading a book, paper, or magazine; listening to music or the news on radio; or watching television). h. on the Santa Monica Freeway, it became a difficult thing to experience movement through space by means of humankind’s oldest and slowest means of transportation, walking. It wasn’t like driving through the country. It was more as if the landscape very slowly passed us by than we it. Sometimes, it seemed as if we became part of landscape, like the herds of auvergnat sheep— or a medieval peasant.

I let him talk on and on, repeating much of what he said twice in case I’d missed it the first time, acting it out whenever possible. Finally, he finished. I thanked him twice, formally, drawing it out, looking him right in the eye. There was none of the usual shifting of feet and restless movement of hands that typically take place when someone expects a tip for unsolicited services. If anything, there was a mild reluctance on his part to go back to work, for work it was. He would rather stay and talk with me about the cathedral and the pilgrimage, but it had already been twenty minutes, with little more than “Sí, sí” from me—saying yes to everything he said, whether I knew what he was saying or not, since he kept looking for understanding on my part.

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