JCT Music

quinta-feira, junho 23, 2016

“You Should Date an Illiterate Girl” - Charles Warnke

"Don’t date a girl who reads because girls who read are the storytellers. You with the
Joyce, you with the Nabokov, you with the Woolf. You there in the library, on the platform of the metro, you in the corner of the café, you in the window of your room. You, who make my life so god damned difficult. The girl who reads has spun out the account of her life and it is bursting with meaning. She insists that her narratives are rich, her supporting cast colorful, and her typeface bold. You, the girl who reads, make me want to be everything that I am not. But I am weak and I will fail you, because you have dreamed, properly, of someone who is better than I am. You will not accept the life that I told of at the beginning of this piece. You will accept nothing less than passion, and perfection, and a life worthy of being storied. So out with you, girl who reads. Take the next southbound train and take your Hemingway with you. I hate you. I really, really, really hate you."

Essay on Adam by Robert Bringhurst

There are five possibilities. One: Adam fell.

Two: he was pushed. Three: he jumped. Four:

he only looked over the edge, and one look silenced him.

Five: nothing worth mentioning happened to Adam.



The first, that he fell, is too simple. The fourth,

fear, we have tried and found useless. The fifth,

nothing happened, is dull. The choice is between:

he jumped or was pushed. And the difference between these


is only an issue of whether the demons

work from the inside out or from the outside

in: the one

theological question.

terça-feira, junho 21, 2016

"- E a tua alma? Para onde julgas que foi?


- Deve andar errando pela terra como tantas outras, à procura de vivos que rezem por ela. Talvez me odeie pelos maus tratos que lhe dei, mas isso já não me preocupa. Descansei dos vícios dos seus remorsos. Amargava-me mesmo o pouco que comia, e tornavam-se-me insuportáveis as noites, enchendo-mas de pensamentos inquietantes com figuras de condenados e coisas parecidas. Quando me sentei para morrer, ela pediu que me levantasse e continuasse a arrastar a vida, como se ainda esperasse algum milagre que me purificasse das culpas. Nem sequer tentei: 'Termina aqui o caminho', disse-lhe, 'Já não tenho forças para mais'. E abri a boca para que se fosse embora. E foi-se. Senti quando me caiu nas mãos o fiozinho de sangue com que estava amarrada ao meu coração."

Juan Rulfo, em "Pedro Páramo"