Mostrar mensagens com a etiqueta prose. Mostrar todas as mensagens
Mostrar mensagens com a etiqueta prose. Mostrar todas as mensagens

sexta-feira, 22 de março de 2013

"Were you handed this out of an old script or are you improvising this to-do?"


"Assume you have discovered an entropy of spirit, immeasurable of course, but it pulls graveward all those whose element is breath, not as the in and out again of water and the sun, but oblivion’s ass-first downhill twenty-four-hour drag. Knowledge is an after-the-fact affair, fair game for a hunger striker’s skeptic gopher tooth. Remember your “agenbite of inwit,” but don’t, please don’t, go knocking on doors declaring you’ve gone hollow with all the others, no one will believe you so long as your bag of flesh is fair. Fall down the stairs to another street. Have you noticed nature does not care for you, no matter the pathos of your fallacies, your antiperspirant, or you arms folded over the stretch marks of your hardest years? That’s you, cell mate, roping a Platonic calf. Rare air, this is all you’ll catch and never can. Live on that for a week and leave a message on your machine, “nourished by words alone.” Those fireworks you inherited, where are they now? Will you set them off to end the show? You have a story that simply cannot be sold, and no rewrite can change country or cast, so here you are in never-never land again. That figure off there in the mist is Nietzsche, stay clear, they say his breath is vile, he needs his space or so the professors say. Were you handed this out of an old script or are you improvising this to-do? Whatever you are, an actor or a human merely with all the other actors, or can you tell the difference without a script in hand, you talk about a text that is not there. Each morning your own short-form obituary appears on every page. An open mike will follow. But this is only in the babblesphere, don’t inhale those dialogues that bubble up. Weariness grows in direct proportion to answers that recede nightly as you snore. Did you audition for this part or did you win it in an all-night poker game? The difference is the same, none, today. Don’t give your chips to another to bet, that’s stacking the odds in your favor, sharing the blame. Avoid places where the lights are always on. Try finding a sunset through a simple gift of looking west. There can be too much light for your own good. Pace Pascal. Let someone close your eyes. Necessary, or so I’m told. That hand in front of your face, try it now."



Richard O. Moore, from “d e l e t e, part 6” from Writing the Silences.
Reprinted by permission of University of California Press.


domingo, 25 de novembro de 2012

Mergulhar ou não mergulhar, eis a questão

 
«Até amanhã, pois, meu caro senhor e compatriota. Não, agora facilmente atina com o caminho; deixo-o nesta ponte. Nunca passo, de noite, numa ponte. É a consequência de um voto. Suponha, no fim de contas, que alguém se atira à água. De duas uma, ou o senhor o segue, para o tirar, e, em tempo de invernia, expõe-se ao pior, ou o abandona à sua sorte e os mergulhos retidos causam por vezes estranhas cãibras. Boa noite! Como? estas damas, por detrás das vidraças? O sonho, meu caro senhor, o sonho com pouco esforço. Estas criaturas perfumam-se com especiarias. Entra-se, elas correm as cortinas e a navegação começa. Os deuses descem sobre os corpos nus e as ilhas vão à deriva, dementes, encimadas por uma cabeleira desgrenhada de palmeiras ao vento. Experimente.»

Albert Camus
A Queda
Livros do Brasil, s/d
Tradução revista de José Terra


 

domingo, 18 de novembro de 2012

Blurred fate, happy ending


Please to meet "your hip line, your fate line, frivolous bird of our destinies."
"Anyway, we'll know when we're dead... in 60 years..."

 
It wasn't easy
But nothing is,
No

I'm never sure why I need you
Pleased to meet you!

 

 

"Happy Endings"
by Margaret Atwood


John and Mary meet. What happens next? If you want a happy ending, try A.
 
A.
John and Mary fall in love and get married. They both have worthwhile and remunerative jobs which they find stimulating and challenging. They buy a charming house. Real estate values go up. Eventually, when they can afford live-in help, they have two children, to whom they are devoted. The children turn out well. John and Mary have a stimulating and challenging sex life and worthwhile friends. They go on fun vacations together. They retire. They both have hobbies which they find stimulating and challenging. Eventually they die. This is the end of the story.
 
B.
Mary falls in love with John but John doesn't fall in love with Mary. He merely uses her body for selfish pleasure and ego gratification of a tepid kind. He comes to her apartment twice a week and she cooks him dinner, you'll notice that he doesn't even consider her worth the price of a dinner out, and after he's eaten dinner he fucks her and after that he falls asleep, while she does the dishes so he won't think she's untidy, having all those dirty dishes lying around, and puts on fresh lipstick so she'll look good when he wakes up, but when he wakes up he doesn't even notice, he puts on his socks and his shorts and his pants and his shirt and his tie and his shoes, the reverse order from the one in which he took them off. He doesn't take off Mary's clothes, she takes them off herself, she acts as if she's dying for it every time, not because she likes sex exactly, she doesn't, but she wants John to think she does because if they do it often enough surely he'll get used to her, he'll come to depend on her and they will get married, but John goes out the door with hardly so much as a good-night and three days later he turns up at six o'clock and they do the whole thing over again.
Mary gets run-down. Crying is bad for your face, everyone knows that and so does Mary but she can't stop. People at work notice. Her friends tell her John is a rat, a pig, a dog, he isn't good enough for her, but she can't believe it. Inside John, she thinks, is another John, who is much nicer. This other John will emerge like a butterfly from a cocoon, a Jack from a box, a pit from a prune, if the first John is only squeezed enough.
One evening John complains about the food. He has never complained about her food before. Mary is hurt.
Her friends tell her they've seen him in a restaurant with another woman, whose name is Madge. It's not even Madge that finally gets to Mary: it's the restaurant. John has never taken Mary to a restaurant. Mary collects all the sleeping pills and aspirins she can find, and takes them and a half a bottle of sherry. You can see what kind of a woman she is by the fact that it's not even whiskey. She leaves a note for John. She hopes he'll discover her and get her to the hospital in time and repent and then they can get married, but this fails to happen and she dies.
John marries Madge and everything continues as in A.
 
C.
John, who is an older man, falls in love with Mary, and Mary, who is only twentytwo, feels sorry for him because he's worried about his hair falling out. She sleeps with him even though she's not in love with him. She met him at work. She's in love with someone called James, who is twenty-two also and not yet ready to settle down.
John on the contrary settled down long ago: this is what is bothering him. John has a steady, respectable job and is getting ahead in his field, but Mary isn't impressed by him, she's impressed by James, who has a motorcycle and a fabulous record collection. But James is often away on his motorcycle, being free. Freedom isn't the same for girls, so in the meantime Mary spends Thursday evenings with John. Thursdays are the only days John can get away.
John is married to a woman called Madge and they have two children, a charming house which they bought just before the real estate values went up, and hobbies which they find stimulating and challenging, when they have the time. John tells Mary how important she is to him, but of course he can't leave his wife because a commitment is a commitment. He goes on about this more than is necessary and Mary finds it boring, but older men can keep it up longer so on the whole she has a fairly good time.
One day James breezes in on his motorcycle with some top-grade California hybrid and James and Mary get higher than you'd believe possible and they climb into bed. Everything becomes very underwater, but along comes John, who has a key to Mary's apartment. He finds them stoned and entwined. He's hardly in any position to be jealous, considering Madge, but nevertheless he's overcome with despair. Finally he's middle-aged, in two years he'll be as bald as an egg and he can't stand it. He purchases a handgun, saying he needs it for target practice--this is the thin part of the plot, but it can be dealt with later--and shoots the two of them and himself.
Madge, after a suitable period of mourning, marries an understanding man called Fred and everything continues as in A, but under different names.
 
D.
Fred and Madge have no problems. They get along exceptionally well and are good at working out any little difficulties that may arise. But their charming house is by the seashore and one day a giant tidal wave approaches. Real estate values go down. The rest of the story is about what caused the tidal wave and how they escape from it. They do, though thousands drown, but Fred and Madge are virtuous and grateful, and continue as in A.
 
E.
Yes, but Fred has a bad heart. The rest of the story is about how kind and understanding they both are until Fred dies. Then Madge devotes herself to charity work until the end of A. If you like, it can be "Madge," "cancer," "guilty and confused," and "bird watching."
 
F.
If you think this is all too bourgeois, make John a revolutionary and Mary a counterespionage agent and see how far that gets you. Remember, this is Canada. You'll still end up with A, though in between you may get a lustful brawling saga of passionate involvement, a chronicle of our times, sort of.
You'll have to face it, the endings are the same however you slice it. Don't be deluded by any other endings, they're all fake, either deliberately fake, with malicious intent to deceive, or just motivated by excessive optimism if not by downright sentimentality.
The only authentic ending is the one provided here:
John and Mary die. John and Mary die. John and Mary die.
So much for endings. Beginnings are always more fun. True connoisseurs, however, are known to favor the stretch in between, since it's the hardest to do anything with. That's about all that can be said for plots, which anyway are just one thing after another, a what and a what and a what. Now try How and Why.
 

domingo, 26 de agosto de 2012

A falácia do Homem Livre


"Cá entre nós, a servidão, de preferência sorridente, é pois inevitável. Mas não o devemos reconhecer. Quem não pode fugir a ter escravos, não valerá mais que os chame homens livres? Por princípio, em primeiro lugar, e depois para os não desesperar. É-lhes bem devida esta compensação, não acha? Deste modo eles continuarão a sorrir e nós manter-nos-emos de consciência tranquila. Sem o que, seríamos forçados a voltar-nos para nós mesmos, ficaríamos loucos de dor, ou até modestos, tudo é de temer."
 
Albert Camus, in "A Queda"
 
 

O túnel



Photo by Just José

 
 
"Estão a realizar um filme. Mas está tudo errado. Julgar-se-ia que o herói estaria triunfal no convés de um navio, mas pelo contrário está num cadafalso à espera de ser enforcado.
Julgar-se-ia que a heroína estaria a beijar o herói no convés desse mesmo navio, mas pelo contrário está a ser amarrada para um tratamento de electrochoques.
Multidões de camponeses que anseiam por democracia, e supostamente estariam a celebrar a morte de um tirano, estão, na realidade, a carregar esse mesmo tirano às costas, declarando-o o salvador do povo.
O realizador não sabe onde está o erro. O produtor está muito abalado.
O duplo pergunta repetidamente, agora? depois dá um salto e cai de cabeça.
Entretanto uma manada de elefantes atropela o elenco principal; e inundações fictícias estão de facto a inundar o palco.
O duplo pergunta novamente, agora? e dá um novo salto e cai de cabeça.
O realizador, coçando a cabeça, diz, talvez os electrochoques pudessem ser substituídos por insulina...?
Tem a certeza? pergunta o produtor.
Não, mas mesmo assim, podíamos tentar... E, já agora, esse duplo não é muito bom, pois não?"



Russell Edson
O Túnel
Assírio & Alvim, 2002
Tradução de José Alberto Oliveira