Эта книга была последней, которую написал Антон. К тому времени он конечно немного постарел и по всей видимости стал немного капризным и придирчивым, что чувствуется из текстов этой книги.
Эта книга, вообще, в отличии от ещё одной "Записная книга Дьявола" - содержит в себе длинные лирические размышления, тогда как та содержала, можно сказать некие Ц.У. (ценные указания)...
Я стала переводить это на русский язык, для лучшей понятности, в том числе и собственной, но на половине текста обнаружила, что совершенно теряется суть оригинала (Сатана не захотел, видимо... )
поэтому текст, как он есть:
What is there to see if I go outside? Don't tell me. I know. I can see other people. I don't want to see other people. They look awful. The man look like slobs and the women look like men. The men have mush faces framed by long hair and the women have big noses, big jaws, big heads, and stick-like bodies. That depresses me. It's no fun to people -watch anymore because there's so little variety in types.
You say it's good to get a change of scenery. What scenery? New buildings? New cars? New freeways? New shopping malls? Go to the woods or a park? I saw a tree once. The new ones look the same, which is fine. I even remember what the
old ones look like. My memory isn't that short. But it's not worth going to see a squirrel grab a nut, or fish swimming around
in a big tank if I must put up with the ugly contemporary human pollution that accompanies each excursion. The squirrel may
enliven me and remind me of better vistas but the price in social interaction isn't worth it. If, on my way to visit the squirrel, I
encounter a single person who gains stimulation by seeing me, I feel like I have given more than I've received and I get sore.
If every time I go somewhere, I feel shortchanged. I'll buy my own fish and watch it swim. Then, I can watch the fish, the
fish can watch me, we can be friends, and nobody else interferes with the interaction, like trying to hear what the fish and I
are talking about. I won't have to get dressed a certain way to visit the fish. I needn't dress the way my pride dictates, because
who's going to see me? I needn't wear any pants. The fish doesn't care. He doesn't read the tabloids. But, If I go out to see f
fish other t han my own, I'm right back where I started: entertaining others, which is more depleting than visiting the new fish
Maybe I should go to a coffee house. I find no stimulation in watching ordinary people trying to put the make on other
uninteresting people. I can fix my own cup of coffee and not have to look at or talk to other people. No matter where I go, I
stimulate others, and have been doing so all my life. It used to be I'd sometimes get stimulated back. If I looked up a pretty
girl's dress, I might see dirty underpants. No more. If I turn on the radio, I can't hear Rudy Vallee, so forget it. I can't watch
TV. It sucks out my brain. I see these poor slobs who are my age or older, and they are up on things I don't want to know
about. The young ones don't know what I'm talking about--don't know about Jack, Doc, and Reggie; or Shostakovich's First
Symphony. If I tell them, then I'm an unpaid teacher without tenure and it's a cinch they're not going to give me any credit.
They're not even g oing to call a talk show and say, "I found out something from Anton LaVey, of the Church of Satan, said
that Scotty dogs were once popular because President Roosevelt had one, and the dog's name was Fala." The caller hadn't
known that. Chances are good, the listeners didn't know that. Yet it's more valid information than some lousy creep's opinion
about what we should do with repeat offenders in homosexual rape cases.
Of course, the answer to the aforementioned is that nobody really cares about Fala. Ok. Fine. Then why should I care about
them? They would be interested if I talked about Satanism, but then I'd be entertaining and stimulating and whatever they
would pay me--which they wouldn't--would be insufficient to buy the kind of fish I'd be able to visit without my pants on, so