‘Realism, before it was known to be a near-at-hand truth, was a political preference, though it was hard to distinguish between it and the sadness of memory.’ (page 199)
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It was on a vast plain, a risen plateau-like surface. He reared up in my sight, and took it under an olive tree. Nearby there was a crevice with pink creatures, who were being transported on camelback-loads. Their babbling rivaled that of the damp crepitations I had known in other lifetimes.
‘In the old world of make-believe, fiction, which was resonant with too much honor, left artists painting dolls and making toys using spring mechanisms.’ (page 190)
An impossibly complex system is failing - lack of motor communication, and her life now has a slow dry clicking sound. It seemed she was taking three separate palm-tree ointments orally and no one bothered to check her administrative preoccupations.
‘Art, like beauty, has a particular vitality - like the moment of a breathless goodbye. Beauty and art can present some difficulties though. I wish you could see the irresistibly comic expression on my face tight now!’ (page 352)
This time of year for me as an artist is more about having a few friends and many enemies. I need to work until there is fortune-telling from some obscure address. No problem. Then I just tear it up and put it down the lavatory.
When I was four I had my very own chemistry kit. At least that’s what I thought it was. We were driving home one day through the shaft of a mountain, when my father summoned a conference. He looked at me and, with the voice of an insect, said ‘we are wasting in a salacious novel’.
Now, I happen to think she is right. For one thing, she has crawled with hundreds of devilish little snakes up and down a hillside in the coldest time of winter. And her argument makes sense: if you accept bread and lamb with a dignified air, a good game of backgammon will naturally follow.
I recall a great artist. He was also an author, and explorer. He coughed twice and excluded his appreciation for the south of the island, teaching us how to avoid the emotional turbulence of the rich commercial traffic of Athens.
She was great until she massacred all my interests. But it’s not her fault, and those same tendencies lurk within me. Well, all humans can be deadbeats with delusions.
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August 2018
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