鈥淚 am Joe鈥檚 Broken Heart because Tyler鈥檚 dumped me.鈥�
*
鈥淲hen I wake up with my face and my crossed arms on my desktop, the telephone is ringing, and eve鈥淚 am Joe鈥檚 Broken Heart because Tyler鈥檚 dumped me.鈥�
*
鈥淲hen I wake up with my face and my crossed arms on my desktop, the telephone is ringing, and everyone else is gone. A telephone was ringing in my dream, and it鈥檚 not clear if reality slipped into my dream or if my dream is slopping over into reality.鈥�
*
鈥淚f you can wake up in a different place.
If you can wake up in a different time.
Why can鈥檛 you wake up as a different person?鈥�
*
thinking about Palahniuk鈥檚 seemingly inexplicable observation in the afterword that when Fight Club was first released 鈥淸n]o one called it a romance鈥�. thinking about Barbara Kruger鈥檚 鈥溾€�. thinking about Marx 鈥� and Mark Fisher. I read the whole book in essentially one sitting and even its goriness, which I would normally have found off-putting and which holds me back from marking it as a rec, didn鈥檛 slow me down at all....more
鈥淯na botella de vino tinto al mar. Son las tres de la tarde. Una botella de vino tinto sin licor, sin apenas los restos de esos vapores que nos transporta鈥淯na botella de vino tinto al mar. Son las tres de la tarde. Una botella de vino tinto sin licor, sin apenas los restos de esos vapores que nos transportan a lo indecible. Una botella con un mensaje 驴para qui茅n? Era un papel muy blanco emborronado con una escritura min煤scula casi ilegible. All铆 dec铆a: 鈥淓scribo en este papel que introduzco en esta botella para Nadie y para todo aquel o aquella que quisiera leerme en las pr贸ximas eras. Salta un pez desde la espuma y tumba el l谩piz y el papel con los cuales me expreso. Ruedan los dos y sobre el mar de grafito viene un gale贸n diminuto y unos negors amordazados dando alaridos y una ni帽a hermosa y sola de pupilas abiertas y un duendecillo feo pero audaz. Hab铆a escrito estas peripecias con el aliento del salitre cuando el papel regres贸 a mis manos como por arte de magia... A quien pueda interesar: buenos d铆as, buenas noches.鈥� Una botella de vino tinto al mar. Son las tres de la tarde.鈥�
鈥溌縌u茅 felicidad puede haber dentro de estos muros en estas interminables noches de insomnio y desesperanza?
Todo qued贸 contigo, lejano e intangible como aqu鈥溌縌u茅 felicidad puede haber dentro de estos muros en estas interminables noches de insomnio y desesperanza?
Todo qued贸 contigo, lejano e intangible como aquella tarde de julio.
A veces visito la muralla que nos separa, intento recuperar tantas oraciones perdidas y pedirle a Dios que nos libre de las langostas.鈥�
(鈥淎帽辞谤补苍锄补鈥�)
*
鈥淗oy es d铆a de fiesta los poderosos mostrar谩n orgullosos sus fastos al poder.
Los otros sacrificar谩n sus sue帽os y la sumisi贸n de sus antepasados.
Los pobres 驴Qu茅 sacrificar谩n? lo m谩s seguro es que devolver谩n al se帽or la 煤nica riqueza que les regal贸: le ofrecer谩n sus hijos, pero antes esperar谩n hasta que el sol se eleve dos palmeras sobre el horizonte por si el arc谩ngel quiere aparecer.
驴Qui茅n sabe si no se repite el milagro? y adem谩s 隆Dios es tan poderoso鈥�!鈥�
(鈥淓l poder鈥�)
*
鈥淯n cerro que cuelga del cielo es testigo de este viaje al principio de mi edad accidentada. Al pueblo blanco que flota sobre una jarapa de piedra y agua.
La luz descompuesta se rompe sobre los cristales del sudor que los a帽os de espejismos fundaron sobre mi espalda.
Cierro los ojos. Extiendo las manos hacia el mar hacia el cielo siguiendo el curso de los astros. Sobre el horizonte de dunas cruza una caravana de camellos blancos hacia las azules monta帽as de Tiris.
Entonces el sol levanta los brazos y amanece en Moj谩car sobre los hombros de silenciosos indalos que me despiertan.鈥�
鈥淎nd thus, ever since, Because I couldn鈥檛 resist meddling, Whereas rabbits were as big as deer before We鈥檝e become as small as a single slice of meat. All鈥淎nd thus, ever since, Because I couldn鈥檛 resist meddling, Whereas rabbits were as big as deer before We鈥檝e become as small as a single slice of meat. All of my kind from now on Are going to have to be as small as this. Therefore, rabbits of the future, take heed not to make mischief!
So said the Chief of Rabbits as he died.鈥�
*
鈥淎nd the humans now lived their lives Without danger, without hunger, And seeing this I was content. For I am already old, already weak, And I am already thinking of going to heaven And though I could not leave while the world I protect, The world of humans, is menaced by famine While the people are dying of hunger, Yet now my worries have abated, And leaving the strongest, the young heroes To look after the world of humans, Now at last I am about to go to Heaven.
So said the Owl God, the protector of the land As he ascended to Heaven.鈥�
*
4.5. this was a really interesting read, although I wish the book itself had been better produced (typos, formatting errors, non-justified text in the prefatory material). the fact that all of the kamui yukar included here are first-person narratives whose speakers are only identified in the third person in their final lines (if at all) would be striking in and of itself, but on top of that it鈥檚 absolutely fascinating that the majority of these yukar are not addressed to humans at all: they are, as in the example from the Chief of Rabbits above, predominantly directed towards other kamui/gods/animals of the speaker鈥檚/singer鈥檚 kind, often as warnings against disturbing what the introduction describes as 鈥渢he vital balance and commerce between the two worlds鈥� (ainu/human and kamui/spirit/god). that these songs have come to be passed to and through humans at all seems to be, in fact, incidental to most of them: humans are neither their composers nor their intended audience.
going to be thinking about these for a while....more
鈥淭here are landowners and moneylenders in every village. They are not all so ruthless. Bonded labor is sown into the soil of this district. Every hous鈥淭here are landowners and moneylenders in every village. They are not all so ruthless. Bonded labor is sown into the soil of this district. Every house has a bonded laborer. Not all masters are so ruthless. No one has seen what a good master is like. But they have heard that there are good masters.鈥�
(from 鈥淒ouloti the Bountiful鈥�)
*
鈥淏ut the old stories are also getting lost, they are losing their way, like mote in the face of a dust storm, ancient tales, history, songs, sagas, folklore, folkways. How will fifty-nine million six hundred and twenty-eight thousand, six hundred and thirty-nine people capture and put together their history and their culture from the storm winds of areas ruled by twenty-five states and the central government? Will they too finally seek shelter from mainstream writers? If Nagesia has to learn from the writings of some anthropologist, he has to get that much education in order to read that material. If he wrote his own story!鈥�
(from 鈥淧terodactyl, Puran Sahay, and Pirtha鈥�)
*
these stories are a brutal and moving testament to the power of a documentary realism (tempered in the case of 鈥淧terodactyl, Puran Sahay, and Pirtha鈥� with a not-quite-realism, if also not-quite-anything-else) that I have frankly very little faith in, generally speaking. wow....more
Loading...
