Vonnegut

(Of course, the kindness doesn't last.)  The evening sets in, though the sun has yet to set. The sky above me, cloudless.  Blue with a slight yellow tinge, either from the time of day or the result of wildfires further off.  House just about cool enough to be in. (As I stretch out close to the open window to feel any hint of breeze that might blow through.) Earlier, left to read, somewhere with air-conditioning.  Ignored by my waiter for so long, I finished the Vonnegut book.  Not sure what to say.  He rambles on and then hits you with profundity, such as when he talks about all the soldiers being children, or when Billy Pilgrim is waiting for the Tralfamadores to pick him up in their space ship and watches the war movie backwards,

When the bombers got back to their base, the steel cylinders were taken from the racks and shipped back to the United states of America, where factories were operating night and day, dismantling the cylinders, separating the dangerous contents into minerals.  Touchingly, it was mainly women who did this work.  The minerals were then shipped to specialists in remote areas.  It was their business to put them into the ground, to hide them cleverly, so they would never hurt anybody ever again. - Slaughterhouse Five, Kurt Vonnegut.

I was told to watch the movie version after reading it, and that a local theatre is adapting it for the stage this season. (I guess it's been adapted before.) Curious as to how both/either do this, Billy Pilgrim has a non-linear narrative.

I've located David Copperfield, might start that again this week.