“Shit, most geniuses aren’t able to understand themselves, and many of them lead miserable lives, realizing (at least on some level) that they are nothing but fortunate freaks, the intellectual version of runway models who just happen to be born with the right cheekbones and with breasts which fit the image of an age.”
Taken from On Writing by Stephen King, 2002
Mao outlined his vision on China in perpetual motion:
“Our revolutions are like battles. After a victory, we must at once put forward a new task. In this way, cadres and the masses will forever be filled with revolutionary fervour, instead of conceit. Indeed, they will have no time for conceit, even if they like to feel conceited. With new tasks on their shoulders, they are totally preoccupied with the problems for their fulfillment.”
Taken from On China by Henry Kissinger
I can believe things that are true and I can believe things that aren’t true and I can believe things where nobody knows if they’re true or not. I can believe in Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny and Marilyn Monroe and the Beatles and Elvis and Mister Ed. Listen–I believe that people are perfectible, that knowledge is infinite, that the world is run by secret banking cartels and is visited by aliens on a regular basis, nice ones who look like wrinkledy lemurs and bad ones who mutilate cattle and want our water and our women. I believe that the future sucks and I believe that the future rocks and I believe that one day White Buffalo Woman is going to come back and kick everyone’s ass. I believe that all men are just overgrown boys with deep problems communicating and that the decline of good sex in America is coincident with the decline in drive-in movie theaters from state to state. I believe that all politicians are unprincipled crooks and I still believe that they are better than the alternative. I believe that California is going to sink into the sea when the big one comes, while Florida is going to dissolve into madness and alligators and toxic waste. I believe that antibacterial soap is destroying our resistance to dirt and disease so that one day we’ll all be wiped out by the common cold like the Martians in War of The Worlds. I believe that the greatest poets of the last century were Edith Sitwell and Don Marquis, that jade is dried dragon sperm, and that thousands of years ago in a former life I was a one-armed Siberian shaman. I believe that mankind’s destiny lies in the stars. I believe that candy really did taste better when I was a kid, that it’s aerodynamically impossible for a bumblebee to fly, that light is a wave and a particle, that there’s a cat in a box somewhere who’s alive and dead at the same time (although if they don’t ever open the box to feed it it’ll eventually just be two different kinds of dead), and that there are stars in the universe billions of years older than the universe itself. I believe in a personal god who cares about me and worries and oversees everything I do. I believe in an impersonal god who set the universe in motion and went off to hang with her girlfriends and doesn’t even know that I’m alive. I believe in an empty and godless universe of causal chaos, background noise, and sheer blind luck. I believe that anyone who says that sex is overrated just hasn’t done it properly. I believe that anyone who claims to know what’s going on will lie about the little things too. I believe in absolute honesty and sensible social lies too. I believe in a woman’s right to choose, a baby’s right to live, that while all human life is sacred there’s nothing wrong with the death penalty if you can trust the legal system implicitly, and that no one but a moron would ever trust the legal system. I believe that life is a game, that life is a cruel joke, and that life is what happens when you’re alive and that you might as well lie back and enjoy it.
“I believe” speech from American Gods
En efecto, increíble parece la energía de este hombre en el sufrimiento; y su constancia venció la crueldad de los inquisidores…
Apriétense más los garrotes
Amonestado que diga la verdad, se mandaron apretar todos los dichos garrotes, dándosele vuelta: ay, Dios de mi alma, ya le he dicho; lo cual dijo con voz alta, y quejábase mucho, como llorando: que ya le he dicho; ay, ay, que ya he dicho la verdad, así ella me valga.
…
Y con esto fue desligado de los brazos y llevado a su cárcel, donde curado y mirado a lo que pareció, aunque lastimado, no había lesión ni quebradura.
Oh, I’ve had my moments,
And if I had it to do over again,
I’d have more of them.
In fact, I’d try to have nothing else.
Just moments, one after another,
instead of living so many years ahead of each day…
Soundtrack: TV on the Radio – Province
[...] le comentaba sus impresiones de la gran ciudad: hablaba del metro, que comparaba a la fosa común, de la frialdad de los chilangos, que vivían de espaldas a todo, de la dificultad de movimientos, pues en el DF de nada valía tener un carro chido puesto que los embotellamientos eran permanentes, de la contaminación y de lo feas que eran las mujeres. Sobre esto hacía algunas bromas de mal gusto.
La ambivalencia, la oscuridad, el desconcierto, el propio caos significativo, la dispersión de los conceptos, el desorden del ojo, son los elementos que todo lo iluminan cuando el que los produce sabe lo que desordena al producirlos. El desorden perfecto es más perfecto que el orden, su gemelo mayor.
Ya tengo la promesa de una celeste alquimia:
el alba pondrá un ósculo de sol en mi tiniebla,
un injerto de flores brotará en cada espina,
mis rubíes de sangre mañana serán perlas.
La perfecta alegría
El Presidente tosió un poco, y con voz muy baja me preguntó si no tenía nada que agregar. Me levanté, y como tenía deseos de hablar, dije, un poco al azar por otra parte, que no había tenido intención de matar al árabe. El Presidente contestó que era una afirmación, que hasta aquí no había comprendido bien mi sistema de defensa y que, antes de oír a mi abogado, le complacería que precisara los motivos que habían inspirado mi acto. Mezclando un poco las palabras y dándome cuenta del ridículo, dije rápidamente que había sido a causa del sol. En la sala hubo risas.
XI
La rosa es una herida, una sutura
en la membrana de algún vecino mundo superior,
un fuego accidental que ha perforado
la celeste comba del mundo terrenal,
un brote y estallido de belleza
de no previstas proporciones.
En los parajes de los que provienen,
las rosas son pústulas.
Share book reviews and ratings with Mauricio, and even join a book club on Goodreads.
