Thursday, August 29, 2019

i.e., he was balding

...and on his broad, insolent temples the first white hairs were visible, announcing the imminent arrival of the barbarians, and the end of the Empire.

Don Juan's Crowning Love-Affair by Jules Barbey D'Aurevilly

Wednesday, July 24, 2019

Personal Solar System...

For instance, choosing my big leather armchair as the main celestial body, having around it and at a distance of fifty centimeters in east-west position a wooden table (originally, a carpenter's bench and strongly imbued with artisanal emotions); behind the armchair, at a distance of two and a half meters, the skull of a crocodile; to the left of the armchair, among other objects, a pipe inlaid with fake diamonds, and to the right, at a distance of three meters, a green earthenware pitcher; I have a solar system (I won't go into a detailed description of the whole, it would be too long), which I can move at will, knowing beforehand the effects I can generate, though at times the unpredictable is generated, provoked by the rapid trajectory of an unexpected meteor across my established order. The meteor is none other than my cat...

— Letters, Dreams & Other Writings by Remedios Varo, pg. 24

Thursday, June 27, 2019

Problem child...

I did a quick eenie-meenie with my chin and the words inside my head so no one would know. I landed on 'sit with the chair between us,' then knew I didn't want that, so I sat down next to her and asked why she [was being sent to principal's office.] She said she was there for talking in Spanish.
I said, that's racist.
June said, Spanish. Class.
— The Instructions, by Adam Levin, pg. 19

Sunday, January 27, 2019

Homunculus Rex

“I once had a toy, a little wooden man in a blue coat who was moved by strings. When I played with him, I made him walk and bow, and spoke for him. I practiced until I thought myself very clever. One day I saw my mother holding the two sticks that held his strings, and my little man saluting my youngest sister much more cleverly than I could have made him do it, and laughing with his head thrown back, then mourning with his face in his hands. I never spoke of it to my  mother, but I was angry and ashamed.
— On Blue's Waters by Gene Wolfe, pg. 158

Thursday, January 24, 2019

What Ray Monk didn't tell us about Wittgenstein...

When people are about to die, all they want to do is fuck. People in jails and hospitals, all they want to do is fuck. The helpless, the impotent, the castrated, all they want to do is fuck. The seriously injured, the suicidal, the impenitent disciples of Heidegger. Even Wittgenstein, the greatest philosopher of the twentieth century, all he wanted to do was fuck. Even the dead, I read somewhere, all they want to do is fuck. Sad to say and hard to admit, but that's the way it is.

— Illness + Illness = Illness in The Insufferable Gaucho by Roberto Bolaño