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March
12
2012- Permalink
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August
4
2010- Permalink
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August
1
2010Orwell vs. Huxley: Dystopian Future Showdown
Good morning.
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July
11“…in order for a man to sin, there must be a prior judgment of the minds that indicates that the object in question is bad. And yet this judgment does not have the character of a law or prohibition, since it only manifests what is contained in the object, wherever it might come from.”
-Suarez, De Legibus
(Illuminated page from the Paris Psalter)
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June
7
2010“Os Quindins de Iaiá”
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May
11
2010
“But out of all secrets of the river, he today only saw one, this one touched his soul. He saw: this water ran and ran, incessantly it ran, and was nevertheless always there, was always an at all times the same and yet new in every moment! Great be he who would grasp this, understand this! He understood and grasped it not, only felt some idea of it stirring, a distant memory, divine voices.”
—Siddhartha, Hermann Hesse
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May
10
2010“I have always had it in mind to write a lyric play on the following specific subject:
At that time I was taken up with alchemy. One day I was having a rest, alone in my laboratory. Outside the sky was leaden, livid and sinister - really ghastly!
I was feeling sad without knowing why; almost afraid without knowing the cause. Into my head came the idea of amusing myself by counting on my fingers slowly from 1 to 260,000.
This I did: and very boring it was. I stood up, took hold of a magic nut and gently placed it in a casket of alpaca bone studded with seven diamonds.
Straightaway a stuffed bird took flight; a monkey’s skeleton ran off; a sow’s skin climbed along the wall. Then night descended, covering up objects, destroying shapes.
But someone is knocking on the far door, the one near the Median talismans, the talismans a Polynesian madman sold me.
What is it? Oh god! Do not forsake thy servant. He is indeed a sinner, but is repentant. Have mercy on him, I beseech Thee.
Now the door opens, opens, opens like an eye; a silent and shapeless being comes nearer, nearer, nearer. Not a drop of perspiration remains on my quaking skin; moreover I am very thirsty, very thirsty.
In the shadows a voice is heard:
- Sir, I think I have second sight.
I do not recognize this voice. It says:
- Sir, it is I, it is only I.
- Who? comes my terrified reply.
- I, your servant. I think I have a second sight. Did you not just place a magic nut gently in a casket of alpaca bone studded with seven diamonds?
Suffocated, I can only reply:
- Yes, my friend. How do you know?
He draws near me, a gliding shadow in the darkness of the night. I feel him trembling. He is probably afraid that I may take a shot at him.
With a sob, like a little child, he murmurs:
- I saw you through the keyhole.”- Permalink
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May
10
2010
“He shut his eyes.
June dawns,
July noons,
August evenings over,
finished, done, and gone forever with only the sense of it all left here in his head.
Now, a whole autumn,
a white winter,
a cool and greening spring to figure sums and totals of summer past…
…And if he should forget, the dandelion wine stood in the cellar, numbered huge for each and every day. He would go there often, stare straight into the sun until he could stare no more, then close his eyes and consider the burned spots, the fleeting scars left dancing on his warm eyelids; arranging, rearranging each fire and reflection until the pattern was clear….”
—Dandelion Wine, Ray Bradbury
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