Jorge Luis Borges: El Aleph

I will never have said everything I have to say about Borges.  Each glimpse I get of him, behind his elaborate Potemkin villages, reveals something new, the blind man palpating the elephant, Beethoven with his ear to the soundboard.

On this reading, he reveals himself to me as the first Bokononist, winkingly proclaiming "It is nothing but foma! All of the true things that I am about to tell you are shameless lies."  It is beyond dispute that Vonnegut knew and drew from Borges' works.  It is a shameless and atextual leap for me to say that Borges is Bokonon, but there.  I have said it.  Such Foma!

Pierre Menard and Tlon Uqbar wear different faces in El Aleph, but their fingerprints are everywhere.  There is always Foma floating on Borges' Latte [please clap], a ludicrously elaborate parallel world of invented places and invented scholars to study them.  None of this is real, not Uqbar, not Tarnowitz, and not Droctulft.  They are all the third best thing, the orbis tertius, of the three-body problem. It is the nature of this third best thing that it is the only thing we can talk about, however.  "'Cuando se acera el fin,' escribió Cartaphilus, ‘ya no quedan imagénes del recuerdo; sólo quedan palabras’” (El inmortal, 29). Words are not real; they cannot be, for that is their nature.  "Lo que vieron mis ojos fue simultáneo: lo que transcribiré, sucesivo, porqie el lenguaje lo es" (El Aleph, 205)

But the kcymaerxthaere that Borges creates is not merely Middle Earth or Westeros.  Those worlds have their own parallels to ours, but they float over it, detached, and secure in their fiction. Borges' alternate universe is strategically tied to ours in such a way that every name he drops has a chance of existing in the Encyclopedia Britannica. Each offhanded pin tacked to our reality with "actual" names and places serves to highlight the vast canopies vaulting away from our grasp.  This reality, the actual, the action, has more of a claim to exist than the words which describe it.  If the "palabra"is the third best thing, the "acto" is the second best thing.  "Mejor dicho un instante de esa noche, un acto de esa noche, porque los actos son nuestro símbolo" (Biografía de Tadeo Isidoro Cruz, 69).  The fact is the finger pointing at the moon: slightly more real that the awestruck, "Look!" that announces it, but still not the moon itself.  It is still just a symbol, and like all symbols only real to the extent that it is ours, that we all see it and agree on what it means.

What is the moon, then?  What is El Aleph, el jaguar (as in "La escritura del dios"), that each of Borges' third-best scholars search for and, in some cases, find?  What are all the battles, the mutilations, the embarrassments for?  I cannot tell you, and neither can Borges.  He can, however, tell you that he cannot tell you.   "Como Cornelio Agrippa, soy dios, soy héroe, soy filósofo, soy demonio, y soy mundo, lo cual es una fatigosa manera de decir que no soy" (El inmortal, 24). The eye cannot see itself, the sun cannot feel its own light, and the mind that thinks will always be at least two steps away from being known. You only exist by virtue of that which you are not, that which is outside you, including your own thoughts and especially your words.  I am a Cartesian well, a mind beyond subject and object, trapped forever between wave and particle.  "Quizá en mi cara estuviera escrita la magia, quizá yo mismo fuera el fin de mi busca" (La escritura del dios, 147).  The moment I am anything else is the moment that ends the search, and with it ends all moments.

Zachari Logan: A Natural History of Unnatural Things

 

 "The artworks I become enamored with offer simple clues about their creators" (from "Paper, Petals, Leaves and Skin").

 What is it about queerness that announces itself to me?  How do I perceive, from a single image, that there was something queer in its creation?  The above work, used to advertise an exhibition by Logan at the Peabody Essex, was one such image, and it moved to the top of my list with a glance.

Post-facto analysis gives some hints at a logical underpinning for the phenomenon.  Clearly male lips, surrounded by flowers: very queer.  A prominent gap between the incisors: almost stereotypical in its queerness.  In the moment, however, none of those thoughts occurred to me.  I simply knew that whatever this exhibit was: A. it was queer as fuck, and B. I must see it.

And it was marvelously queer.  Every one of the works spoke to me, and each in a very different way.  Logan's queer voice is a very specific one, seemingly obsessed with expressing the raw sexuality of the intersection of life (often flowers), and death (in many guises).  In his poetry too, this equation is visible.  Occassionally it is as elegant as his visual art, as in "Tattoo", where the scabs of a tattoo render it mute, dead, though life runs below it through a large vein, 

"until spoken,

not by a voice,

but by the brushing 

of your beard

on my arm."

More often, however, his poetry invited me to a dinner party where he is Truman Capote, and I am nobody.  Invited by chance or fortune, to a world in which I have not made a place, I am instantly defensive.  My ego sounds alarms, and every pointlessly arcane reference, every self-congratulatory asyndeton, and especially the myriad places where the host chooses the seemingly most clumsy, prosaic word possible, is a chance for that ego to save itself and affirm its own existence with a sneer.  I adopt a grimace intended to convey incredulity, saying "Am I the only one who sees that the host is nude?" 

 Queerness is, as in Logan's art, the old made new with a moan.  We are the flowers that bloom from the decayed remnants of culture that are left after all that is insincere and false has rotted away.  We are also a thin shell of art over a gaping void where our place in the world should be.  Capote was a boring writer, and a truly ugly man in many ways.  Logan is rather bad at poetry.  Both wear the elaborate decorative shell of queerness, for brashly is the only way we are allowed to exist.  It is fickle, though, and can come apart with a pin prick.  And this writing is my own version, a desperate attempt to join the party, for although I have no real place in the queer world, at least my facade fits right in.

Al-Anfal

 I can never hear these introductions other than in the voice of Freddy Mercury.

1: The eponymous "Spoils" seem suspiciously like plunder, from a historical context.  They do not seem to be the rewards of a battle between armies, but rather the pillaging of trade caravans

2-4: Which makes it somewhat disingenuous to insinuate that these material rewards are the result of pious reflection.

5-6: To those who resisted, it may have seemed the opposite at the time.

7-10: The implication is that simple bloodshed is not enough; there must be violent conflict on a grander scale.  This is a bloodthirstiness that one would expect of the Hebrew god.

11-13: A level of pettiness one would not expect from the divine.

14-18: I'm finding this altogether difficult to reconcile with earlier portrayals of the divine as relatively tolerant and accepting.  In earlier surah, the message is often "What do you care what others do?  If they are good, they will be rewarded.  If not, punished.  Mind yourself."  Here, however, there seems to be a caveat: "Unless they have nice things."  Even Hulusi's metaphysical reading is strained.

19: For example, Hulusi interposes here that the Meccan's persistence is a metaphor for belief in duality.  What then, is the metaphysical interpretation of the numerous troops that they are using to no effect?  The whole thing seems manifestly literal, and was in fact an actual war, and any attempt to allegorize it fails to soften the violence.

20-24: The minds reels at the seeming irreconcilability of these two concepts. First, there are those who simply will never be able to perceive the truth.  this is already problematic.  Then it is added that the divine is willing to open the eyes and ears of such ones.  Okay.  But even if the divine so wills it, they will be unable to perceive!  How is this possible? And what does it means that the divine "Stand between a man and his heart"?  Is this as an impediment, a judgement, or an intercessor? If, as Hulusi interposes, it is the former, then is not all search for truth vain?  The unsatisfying, though politically and commercially expedient, message seems to be that "If you do what I say, then you are doing it right.  Don't worry about it."

25-28: More contradiction.  The victories of the believers are held up as evidence that they are on the right path, but the spoils of those victories are said in 28 to be an object of trial.

29-31: The promised standard/criterion/فُرۡقَانٗا would solve the quandary of "chosen-ness".  It is left vague, however, leading one to wonder if it exists.

32-35: The protestations of the dualists/Meccans certainly seem reasonable.

36-37: Unlike in Hebrew and Christian holy texts, hell is pretty clearly intended to be seen as a literal place here.  No doubt this is because the idea had gained traction by the time of its writing.

38-40: "Fight until there is no more oppression" seems like quite the paradox.  The warning given to the disbelievers here seems to be lip service.  Have not their hearts and eyes been divinely sealed, and is not their path set for them?

41: More ambitious than the tenth prescribed in other holy traditions.

42-45:The metaphysical interpretation is irresistible here, and Hulusi does not disappoint.  Numbers and groups and armies are illusions, and only contemplation of the names of reality can reveal the essence.

46-48: It is unclear how the trick played by the Shaitan here is different from that done in behalf of the Muslims.  Both were shown something unreal to manipulate their actions.

49-51: As with belief in a literal hell, this verse reflects the belief of its time in a metaphysical soul--in contrast to earlier religious texts.

52-54: The push and pull with Hulusi is strong here.  His metaphysical translation of these verses is consistent and justifiable.  Sadly, it has almost no relation to the text.

55-57: The connection here between oath-breakers and people incapable of belief jumps several logical steps, but it is a revealing one nonetheless.  To run it through the metaphysical interpretation engine one more time might produce: " Those who are inextricable from their ego-self will never keep their word, and are suitable only for object lessons."

58:But . . .but . . . those who break a treaty are the worst of all possible creatures in 55.  Is it different somehow if one does so openly?

59-62: Seemingly advice for this specific situation rather than a general principle.

63-63: A lovely verse, tying up the central ideas of the surah.

64-66: A little bit of comedy here, which mirrors Abraham bargaining for the lives of Sodom.  Yeah if you were steadfast, you could take ten times your number.  But . . . maybe let's say twice your number, looking at you.

67-68: I'm reminded vaguely of a parallel account in the Hebrew scriptures of the Israelites trying to secretly keep a little plunder and the whole camp being punished for it.  Wonder if I'm making it up.  Aha!  It was the sin of Achan in Joshua 7-9.

69-71: One wonders what became of these captives--whether good was found in their hearts, or betrayal.

72-75: Well, this at least seems to have come true on a grand scale.

The Mabinogion

 Some things are only meant to be read by completionists and obsessives.  The book of Numbers, for example, is notoriously tedious and unrewarding.  Nonetheless, there are those for whom either their fanatical religious identity or their neurotic necessity to finish things leads them to mechanically pass their eyes over each word of it.  For the book of Numbers, I am in the latter category.  I only read it because I felt I should at least be able to say that I had.  The Mabinogion is in many ways of a similar flavor: pages upon pages of names and lineages, each of which fails to find any purchase in the reader's cognitive matrix, any other connecting fact to adhere to and make a case for memory.  Unlike the book of Numbers, however, this book has several means of ingress into my own identity, and it is for that reason I persevered.  And also, I am a neurotic completionist.

I have long felt an affinity for Wales.  Each time I've been there, a feeling has washed over me of excitement, comfort, and inexplicable familiarity.  The stories of that ancient land, of a time before even the dreams of Maxen Wledig (Maximus) led him to claim it for the Romans, hold promise of the reason for that feeling.  Perhaps it lies in the stories of my namesake, Bran the Blessed.  I have no affinity for his imposing physical stature, of course, but his role as protector and guardian speaks to me.  Somewhat anticlimactically, the stories themselves are from a time before the invention of narrative consistency.  They are so disjointed and fragmentary--and focus on details of little interest to a modern mind, such as the particulars of heraldry--that I did not come away feeling as though I had discovered a part of myself.  Such was, no doubt, too much to hope.  I did, however, discover a rich canon of characters and stories that begs to be fleshed out in modern form.  An opera perhaps, or an animated epic.  In places though, the only possible adaptation would be a Monty Python sketch of the Johann Gambolputty . . . of Ulm sort: a list of names so long and isolate that it quickly becomes farcical.

Modern Times

 I am well on record in my admiration for Charles Chaplin.  His feats of art and skill in romance and comedy have not been matched in the 100 years since.  He was a visionary the likes of which we are do to see again in our generation, but do not seem to have yet.  Nonetheless, there is something to the perception that his films are mere entertainment, fluffy, meaningless, and ultimately unimportant.

As if in answer to such accusations, although in reality from some deeper urge to comment on changing worlds conditions, he created Modern Times, and critics should consider themselves forever silenced.  To his already masterful art as writer, director, and performer, which in and of themselves are more than enough, he adds here insightful and timeless social commentary--executed with the same level of command.  

Everything he has to say about the lie of capitalism, and its effects on the humans under its yoke, is as true today as it was 90 years ago.  Equally true is the deaf ear upon which such warnings fall.  Now, as then, those who pull aside the veil of opportunity to reveal the leering bloodthirsty machine underneath are labelled as communists, lazy, or weak.  One looks at the way Chaplin was treated in his own time, and is left with a sour despair of humans ever learning his lessons.  His art, at least, endures.  Perhaps it is the only thing that ever can.

Eckhart Tolle: A New Earth

 I normally shy away from books like this, which I tend to view as Pop Spirituality.  Just like Pop Philosophy, these sort of books tend to dilute their source material, breaking it down and digesting it for an audience that, rightly or not, is seen as unable to understand and internalize the older, deeper books whence they derive.  I admit that it feeds my ego to look at those original texts, and to scoff at the modern distillations. But the name of this author had been coming up in multiple contexts, and with something of a ring of authority and validity.  I decided it couldn't hurt.

To a certain extent, what Tolle says here is exactly what I expected.  He takes ancient truths about the self and reality, drawing largely on Buddhist and Hindu ideas, and phrases them in a way that is innocuous and approachable.  In these moments, he is at least not insulting or pedantic in his approach, though often repetitive.  But there were also moments where he threw in elements that seemed to come not from religion, but from philosophy: Descartes, Nietzsche, and Jung.  In these moments, it was as if he had rotated the ideas and understanding that I already possessed in such a way that they clicked together and opened up an entirely new level of awareness.   

I drew especially juicy grist from his discussion of time.  The distinction he so clearly highlights between the moment and the content of that moment has proven to be no less than a new glass bead in the grand game of ideas, a new fundamental operation of reality that is reflected in all truths and at all levels. The distinction between the moment and the happening of that moment is perfectly reflected in the relationship between the mind and the thought, the silence and the word, the ocean and the fish, the void and the attention.  Most immediately practical, this is also the connection between the true self and the ego.  To that end, he rightly observes, "The elimination of time from your consciousness is the elimination of ego.  It is the only true spiritual practice" (207).

My particular ego is addicted to doing (as contrasted to some who are built on the illusion of having).  Each task is immediately followed by a quidnunc impulse to rush to the next thing, accomplish the next step, tackle the next task.  This impulse is not only diametrically opposed to my goal of spiritual awakening, it is also manifestly harmful--causing anxiety and self-loathing, and reducing joy.  It has already been deeply helpful to have words to put the lie to this impulse: this moment is not simply something to be endured until the next moment.  The next moment is an illusion, as is time itself.  Freed from this illusion, one can realize that this moment, which is the only moment and all moments, is itself beautiful, abundant, powerful, and perfect.

Jacqueline Woodson: Hush

 My criteria for teaching a novel to a group of students are stringent but simple:

1. Readbility.  It must be written at a level that will challenge, but not frustrate them.

2. Interest.  The students must be able to find some point of reference to which they can relate.

It is at this point that I assume most teachers stop, being of a more practical bend than I am.  However, there has to be some reason for me to teach a book.  If these were the only criteria, they could be even better served with a so-called "Reading Flood", or sustained silent reading, etc.  If I am going to spend instructional time on a specific book, rather than on the act of reading in general, it must meet another criterion:

3.  Literary Merit.  It must demonstrate certain qualities of "Literature" that I can use to teach those concepts.

It is on this third point that Hush excels.  It meets the first two criteria perfectly, to the extent that at least one student in my class suspected me of choosing it specifically for her.  It is the mastery of such things as form, imagery, plot, characterization, and theme, however, that makes it worth spending weeks of classroom time scrutinizing. 

Hermes Trismegistus & The Three Initiates: The Emerlad Tablet of Hermes & The Kybalion

 At last, something that makes sense.  It is not these works' antiquity that gives them their credibility.  The former seems indeed to be ancient, but the latter is scarcely a hundred years old.  No, it is their nature that keeps them from the traps that religion--including Wicca, New Age, and even systems that spring from these works themselves, such as The Golden Dawn, etc.--fall into.  These systems invariably make the mistake of building a narrative around the universal truths that they purport to channel.  They get specific and detailed, and to the extent they do, they obscure reality under the veils of perception, interpretation, and judgement.  

What made this book so edifying, and I cannot overstate how thoroughly it has occupied my mind and transformed my thinking, was its universality.  There are very few specifics offered, and no "How to . . ."s.  These works merely state that which is true, and leave it at that.  Thus they allow the reader to apply it however she or he sees fit, whether it be candles or crystals or star charts.   Every step removed something is from the fundamental and general corrupts it.  These first steps are unavoidable to some extent: meaning, and language, for example.  But one need not progress through all the degrees of separation from these basic truths and end up with something so far removes as to be not only useless, but demonstrably false.

I recently uncovered the original quote that my friend Jim White often (incorrectly, as it turns out) referenced when describing the Divine.  Heinrich Zimmer is reported to have said,

"The best things can't be told," because they transcend thought. "The second best are misunderstood," because those are the thoughts that are supposed to refer to that which can't be thought about, and one gets stuck in the thoughts."The third best are what we talk about.”

 

Too often, we are left with the sixth or seventh best things instead, and build an entire belief system around them.  In these works, at least, I can see something as close to "True" as could be hoped for.

Ursula K. LeGuin: Orsinian Tales

 "Mr. Eray, let me speak to you."

"What about?"

"About anything," . . . (The Road East)

It is hard to say what this collection of stories is about.  It is good, fun, and I remember having difficulty putting it down as I read it.  But what was the author trying to accomplish with it?  Sometimes books are just entertainment, of course, but the works of LeGuin are not usually considered such.  Famously activist and political, she isn't what one would call a fluffy writer.  So where is all of that in this book?  

The world is, of course, a dark mirror of our own, and with that comes certain tacit criticisms.  The dark, lonely grind of existing in such a world is all too relatable, and even prescient.  Left at that level, however, the implication is that there is nothing for one to do but despair of existence, to muddle through in a broken, cruel system, and then die alone.  It is the very dread of this that seems to drive modern discourse, both at the literary and the personal level.

But there is a joy to be had here.  The characters find it, not in overthrowing or resisting a corrupt and heartless system.  Such a thought doesn't even seem to cross their minds.  Maler's response to the suggestion above is understandable in such a world: "What does it matter if any of us talks or doesn't talk  What is there to say?"

Equally revealing is Provin's answer: "It does matter.  there''s nothing left to us, now, but one another."  Even beneath the millstone of existence, the one true joy that is possible in life remains unscathed.  Simply speaking to each other is not sufficient to remove that kernel of joy from its husk, though.  The act of discourse, and of writing these stories, is merely a means to the end mentioned over and over again in them.  "She looked at him, seeing him again, and the future be damned, since all possible futures ever envisaged are . . . endlessly sordidly dreary . . ." (A Week in the Country).  The stories we write, and the conversations we have, are all in service of the goal of seeing and being seen.  The one joy left to us, and honestly the only one that ever existed in the first place, is to be able to say, as Isabella does, "She simply saw him.  She saw him clearly.  It was exhilirating" (The Lady of Moge).

Ramón Gómez de la Serna: Las Proximas Greguerías hasta 700

 601.El epitafio es la última tarjeta de visita que se hace el hombre.
The epitaph is the last calling card a man leaves.

602.La huella del pie en la arena es como la huella de la mano del gorila.
The footprint in the sand is like the print of a gorilla’s hand.

603.Dijo Buffon: «El genio es una larga paciencia. . .» Sí, la de su esposa.
Buffon says, “Genius is a lengthy patience.”  Yes, that of their spouse.

604.El lunar es el punto final del poema de la belleza.
The moon is the period at the end of the poem of beauty.

605.Se enfadó porque no la oía, pero es que estaba pensando en lo mismo que no escuchaba.
They got mad because they didn’t hear, but it was because they were thinking of the same thing they didn’t listen to.

606.El búho es el implacable juez que medita durante el día las sentencias que cumple de noche.
The owl is the implacable judge who ponders by day the sentences he carries out at night.

607.Cuando la mujer se da rouge frente a un espejito parece que aprende a decir la O.
When the woman applies lipstick in front of a little mirror, she seems to be learning to pronounce the letter O.

608.Los remeros de la regata componen el ciempiés acuático.
The rowers in a regata make up an aquatic centipede.

609.En la piel de tigre está su cólera laberíntica.
In the tigers skin is its labyrinthine anger.

610.En el canastillo del pan está también el símbolo de Moisés.
In the basket of bread, there is also the symbol of Moses.

611.En las aletas de los autos está el muñón de las alas del avión que pudieron ser.
In the fins of a car are the wing stumps of the airplane it could have been.

612.Los pararrayos hubieran sido inútiles en el diluvio universal.  Por eso se inventaron mucho después.
Lightning rods would have been useless during the Great Flood.  That is why they were invented much later.

613.Lo más misterioso del barco es que podría estar navegando ahora mismo por otros mares.
The most mysterious thing about boats is that at this very moment, they  could be sailing other seas.

614.Al soplar al mosquito para que se vaya le dotamos de algo de nuestra alma.
To blow a mosquito away is to bestow it with something of our own soul

615.Muchas veces la mariposa parece los lentes de la flor.
The butterfly often seems to be the eyeglasses of a flower.

616.Cuando una mujer chupa un pétalo de rosa se da un beso a sí misma.
When a woman sucks at a rose petal, she gives herself a kiss.

617.Fruncimos las cejas porque queremos pillar con pinzas algún gran pensamiento que nos escapa.
We furrow our brow because we want to plucka great thought that has escaped us with tweezers.

618.La mujer que se ha olvidado del rouge se consterna como si hubiese dejado los labios en casa.
The woman who has forgotten her lipstick is as dismayed as if she had left her lips at home.

619.Las tijeras que se caen cortan el rabo al diablo.
Falling scissors cut the tail of the devil.

620.En Persia, la luna siempre es luna llena.
In Persia, the moon is always full.

621.La mariposuela tiembla a los pies de la lámpara como si temiese que la fuésemos a violar.
The little butterflies tremble at the foot of the lamp as if they are afraid we were going to molest them.

622.En las chimeneas en que arde la leña parecen arder libros de memorias, diarios intimos y cartas de amor.
In chimneys that burn firewood, there seem to burn memoirs, intimate diaries, and love letters.

623.En la mañana, la lámpara aperece ciega de todo lo que pensó en la noche.
In the morning, the lamp appears blind to everything it thought at night.

624.A los presos los visten con pijamas a rayas para ver si vestidos de rejas no se escapan.
Prisoners are dressed in stripes to look as though they are dressed in the bars from which they cannot escape.

625.El despertador es el zapatero de los sueños.
The alarm clock is the cobbler of dreams.

626.La cabeza es la pecera de las ideas.
The head is the fish tank of ideas.

627.Era de esos hombres que cuando se pizcan la nariz con los dedos ya están seguros de todo.
He was one of those men who, when they pick their nose, are already sure of everything.

628.Cuando la luna se pasea por el paisaje nevado parece la novia de larga cola camino del altar.
When the moon passes over the snowy landscape, she seems to be a bride with a long train walking from the altar.

629.Al solo de violín le constesta siempre muy lejos otro violín.
Every violin solo is answered by another, distant violin.

630.En la tinta china está el luto del Arte.
In Chinese ink is the mourning of Art.

631.La palabra más vieja es la palabra «vestusta».
The oldest word is the word “ancient”.

632.Los tramoyistas son los marineros del teatro.
Stagehands are the sailors of the theater.

633.El jugo pancreático es el jugo más griego que poseemos.
Pancreatic juice is the most Greek juice we have.

634.Se ve claramente la hipocresía humano cuando el que estaba furibundo o la que estaba furibunda tiene que atender al teléfono y se llena de amabilidad.
Human hypocrisy is seen most clearly when a furious person has to answer the phone, and is filled with kindness.

635.Cuando la mujer renueva su pureza es cuando lava sus guantes blancos.
A woman renews her purity when she washes her white gloves.

636.Al ombligo le falta el botón.
The belly button is missing its button.

637.La luna pasa incólume por el cielo porque en el reverso lleva escrita la palabra «frágil».
The moon passes unscathed through the sky because on the back it is marked “fragile”.

638.La alegría mayor de la mujer es cuando encuentra que está cerrado el ojal de la solapa varonil en que iba a colocar una flor.
The happiest moment for a woman is when she finds the buttonhole on a man’s lapel closed, where she was going to place a flower.

639.En el desengaño hasta las luces de las estrellas hieren el corazón.
In disappointment until the light of the stars wounds the heart.

640.El animal más cejijunto es el búho.
The most perplexed animal is the bull. (a reference to its eyebrows being close together)

641.La luna pone en el bosque luz de cabaret.
The moon shines cabaret lights on the forest.

642.El jardín se fuma en pipa las hojas caídas.
The garden smokes fallen leaves in its pipe.

643.Las serpientes son las corbatas de los árboles.
Snakes are the neckties of the trees.

644.El que ronca tiene ventriloquía de león.
He who snores is ventriloquized by a lion.

645.Las mariposas que se asoman en la noche por el cristal de la ventana la conveirten en acuarium de mariposas.
The butterflies who stick out of the window glass at night turn it into a butterfly aquarium.

646.Lo más aristocrático que tiene la botella de champaña es que no consiente se la vuelva a poner el tapón.
The most aristocratic thing about the bottle of champagne is that it refuses to allow its cork to be replaced.

647.Los que no quieren que se fume en el vagón no comprenden que si la locomotora no fumase no se movería el tren.
Those who don’t wish people to smoke in a train car don’t understand that a train needs smoke to move.

648.Los ojos de los muertos miran las nubes que no volverían.
The eyes of the dead see clouds that will not return.

649.La esfinge está picada de viruelas por los siglos.
The sphinx has been pockmarked by the smallpox of the centuries.

650.La calavera es un reloj muerto.
The skull is a stopped clock.

651.La arrugada corteza de los árboles revela que la Naturaleza es una anciana.
The wrinkled bark of trees reveals that Nature is an old woman.

652.Lloran los gatos en la noche porque hubieran querido nacer niños en vez de gatos.
Cats cry in the night because they would rather have been born as children.

653.La serpiente mide el bosque para saber cuántos metros tiene y decírselo al ángel de las estadísticas.
The serpent measures the tree to know how many meters it has, and tell it to the angel of statistics.

654.En las grandes solemnidades llenas de personajes uniformados parece que hay algunos repetidos.
En the grand processions full of uniformed people, it seems that some of them have been repeated.

655.Álbum: cementerio de pensamientos perdidos.
The album: a cemetery of lost thoughts.

656.Por el ojo de la agua se va la montañita de más allá.
A little mountain from further away comes through the natural spring.

657.El camello tiene cara de cordero jorobato.
The camel has the face of a hunchbacked lamb.

658.Al darse cuenta el Creador de que el hombre se iba a comer ell pollo, le complicó las articulaciones para que fuese dificil el trincharlo.
When the Creator realized that man was going to eat chicken, he made the joints difficult to carve.

659.La esfínge se mira con coquetería en el espejo del espejisimo.
The Sphinx looks coquettishly in the mirror of a mirage.

660.Los dulces finos son servidos en diminutos paracaídas.
The delicate sweets are served in tiny parachutes.

661.Hay un momento en que el bandoneón parece que se le cae una pila de libros no ha podido abarcar con las dos manos.
There is a moment when the accordion looks like a falling pile of books that one can’t hold with two hands.

662.Un epitafio es una tarjeta de desafío a la muerte.
The epitaph is a challenge to death.

663.El búfalo es el toro jubilado de la prehistoria.
The buffalo is a retired bull of prehistory.

664.El bebé se saluda a sí mismo dando la mano a su pie.
The baby salutes himself by touching his hand to his foot.

665.El único animal que sabe historia es el león.
The only animal that understands history is the lion.

666.Un político con cara de foca es un político ideal.
A politician with the face of a seal is an ideal politician.

667.Los niños hacen sus construcciones con el deseo de que caigan en ruinas. ¡Provocar el terremoto es lo que más les divierte!
Children make their buildings with the intent to see them fall into ruins.  To cause an earthquake is their greatest pleasure!

668.En la tormenta se ve al Profesor Supremo escribiendo y borrando cálculos eléctricos en la pizarra del cielo.
In the storm we see the Supreme Professor writing and erasing electric calcuations on the blackboard of the sky.

669.El café con leche es una bebida mulata.
Coffee with cream is a mulatto drink.

670.La pieza de bacalao es la cometa de la Cuaresma.
The piece of cod is the kite of Lent.

671.La palmeras nos hacen provincianos.
Palm trees make us provincials.

672.Franklin salía los días de tormenta con un paraguas dotado de pararrayos.
Franklin went out on stormy days with an umbrella equipped with lightning rods.

673.Hay cojos con pierna de palo que reflorecen cuando viene la primavera y se vuelven sátiros.
There are criplles with wooden legs that rebloom when spring comes and become satyrs.

674.El musgo es el peluquín de las piedras.
Moss is the toupee of the stones.

675.Los ciclistas no saben lo frágil que es la base del cráneo.
Cyclists don’t understand the fragility of the base of the skull.

676.La pantalla cinematográfica debe tener la anchura de una sábana matrimonial, ya que al final de casi todas las películas se casan sus protagonistas.
The movie screen needs to be as wide as a nuptial curtain because almost all movies end with the heroes getting married.

677.Los negros son negros porque sólo así logran estar a la sombra bajo el sol de África.
Black people are thus because only then can they be in the shade under the African sun.

678.El reloj es el guardapelo del tiempo.
The watch is the locket of time.

679.El ciclista y la bicicleta enredados en la caída parecen un insecto boca arriba.
The cyclist and bicycle tangled in a fall look like an open insect mouth.

680.El nido es una corona de espinas sin espinas.
The nest is a thorny crown without thorns.

681.La viuda parece llevar su espeso velo para que no le piquen las moscas de la muerte.
The widow seems to wear her thick veil so the flies of death do not bite her.

682.Nuestra verdadera y única propiedad son los huesos.
Our only real property is our bones.

683.Lo malo de los nudistas es que cuando se sientan se pegan a las sillas.
The problem with nudists is that when they sit, they bump against the chair.

684.El ventilador afeita la barba al calor.
The fan shaves the beard of heat.

685.Cuando en nuestras mangas faltan botones parece que hemos sido deshonorados.
When buttons are missing from our sleeves, it seems that we have been dishonored.

686.Abrir un paraguas es como disparar contra la lluvia.
To open an umbrella is as to shoot against the rain.

687.Los cocos tienen dentro agua de oasis.
Coconuts contain an oasis.

688.¿Y si estuviésemos equivocados?  ¿Y si la Tierra fuese la Luna y la Luna la Tierra?
“And if we were wrong?
“And if the Earth became the moon, and vice versa?”

689.En las máquinas de escribir, el alfabeto baila la jota.
In typewriters, the alphabet dances the jota [traditional Spanish jumping dance].

690.Las máquinas registradoras nos hacen la instantánea del precio.
Cash registers give us a snaphot of the price.

691.Es triste que el interior de los baúles esté empapelado de pasillo.
It is sad that the inside of trunk would be papered like hallways.

692.Al repartir los puros el anfitrión es como si premiase a los que se han portado bien en la mesa.
In distributing cigars, the host seems to reward those who comported themselves well at the table.

693.--¿Hay peces en el sol?
--Si, pero fritos.
“Are there fish on the sun?”
“Yes, but fried.”

694.Los bébes con chupete miran al fumador en pipa como a un compañero de cochecito.
Babies with pacifiers look at pipe smokers as if they were coachmates.

695.El teléfono en realidad lo inventó al deshollinador, hablando con su compañero a traves de las chimeneas.
The telephone was really invented by the chimney sweep, talking with his friend through the chimney.

696.Los monos no encanecen porque no piensan.
Monkeys don’t go gray because they don’t think.

697.La sartén es el espejo de los huevos fritos.
The frying pan is a mirror for fried eggs.

698.La escoba baila el vals de la mañana.
The broom dances the waltz of the morning.

699.La T está pidiendo hilos de telégrafo.
The T demands telegraph wires.

700.El calzador es la cuchara de los zapatos.
The shoehorn is the spoon of shoes.

Richard Webster: Candle Magic for Beginners

 I'm so sick of this sort of thing.  Yet again, as with stones, and herbs, and numbers, and stars, the stench of the temporal eclipses any trace of the eternal.  What meaning could colors have, when they are merely constructs of a particular language and culture?  What meaning could numbers and dates and constellations have when they are such recent, and locally variable, ideas?  

It is revealed that all these things are but pale narratives pasted on to eternal truths, fingers pointing at the moon, not the moon itself.  The only thing that endures, immune to time, language, and culture, is the mind--the intention behind all things.  This mind cannot bear to suspend disbelief and rational thought long enough to make such things work.  And so, yet again I find myself in the position of having to do it my damned self.  There is no crutch, no easy fix for the questions that I am asking.  And I suppose I knew that all along.

Al-A'Raf II

 103-108: A telling fairly consistent with the Hebrew account, until Moses puts his hand into his garment.  Where Exodus says the hand was leprous, all translations of this verse render it "shining white" which makes more sense.

109-118: The only difference with the Hebrew account seems to be that the Egyptians' magic was an illusion, and Moses' real.

119-127: Another difference.  In Exodus 7:13, Pharaoh hardened his heart against these miracles, leading to disaster for him and Egypt.  But here there is an interesting moment where the Egyptian magicians sensibly submit to the superior power of Moses' رَبِّ.  Only after threatened by Pharaoh with temporal punishment did they relent.

128-136: An interesting rush through possibly the most riveting part of this story: the ten plagues and the pursuit across the Red Sea.  Here, it is framed as the mistake of seeing the good as deserved, and the bad as unjust.

137-142: A dizzying rush through the golden calf and the ten commandments.

143: Tempting to envision this, and the parallel account in Exodus, as a volcano.  Also tempting to draw a metaphorical parallel with the eponymous heights, and perhaps also with Nietzche's mountain.

144-146: Perhaps a clue to the mystery of predestination: the trigger that causes the Divine to withhold its truth and harden hearts to the signs is mere arrogance.

147-151: Aaron surely dodged a bullet here and in the parallel accounts.  

152-156: This supports the ideas in 144: repentance and humility go hand in hand.  

157-158: The mention of "The Unlettered Prophet" through here is intriguing in that it is unclear to whom it refers.  Moses?  Christ?  Muhammad? Presumably they are all reflections of the archetype.

159-162: All of this has the sense that the listeners were already familiar with the stories, from Exodus and elsewhere, and allusion was sufficient.  

163-168: The story of Aylah and the Sabbath is not as canonical to modern readers, however, and I wish there was more.  The idea of a test of devotion runs parallel to the idea of predestination.  Taken with 131, blessings are as much a test of devotion as curses.

169-170: A justification for the removal of divine blessing from the Jews.

171: More evidence for a volcanic reading of 143.

172-174: Message->Signs->Test->Chance for Mercy->Judgement seems to be the pattern.

175-176: Eivdently there is some dispute about the reference here.  Some take it to refer to  Bal’am ibn Ba’ûrâ, but even if true there is little information about him.

177-179: the dilemma of predestination extends even to the spirit realm.

180-186: The only justifiable position is that this Divine misdirection is the last step in the process.

187-189: Hulusi reads a lot into these seemingly straightforward verses.  How curious that it dovetails nicely with what I have been thinking about lately: the parallel between "gender" duality and the mind/thought relationship.  To Hulusi, Adam is the mind and Eve the thought.

190-192: Presumably this is directed at the descendants of Adam and Eve, rather than the original pair.  An argument can be made, however, that the original sin is the conflation of reality with the mind that thought it up.

193-198: More warning against the mistake of duality, the mistaking of the finger for the moon.

199-204: Wrapping up here.  "Just . . . don't be a dick, okay guys?"

205-206: Be as the angels.  Remember what you are, both divine in nature and minutely insignificant.

 

Gabrielle Ford with Sarah Thomson: Gabe & Izzy

 It is unclear whether this book is purposefully condescending and pedantic in an effort to be accessible to lower level readers, or if the author (and her zombie writer) simply had nothing of substance to say.  It is not the style alone which is insultingly banal.  Even the narrative, and the conclusions drawn from it, are so shallow as to be suitable for a poster, rather than a book.  

No doubt this is a case where the writer is more convincing in person, and no doubt her presentations at schools are effective and meaningful.  Sadly, the book does not capture any of this, and I cannot imagine it inspiring any sort of emotion in young readers, let alone meaningful reflection.  I won't be teaching this book in class, unless by some hellfire's curse I am in the fourth grade classroom at some point.  Even then, I would be required to make up for the book's deficiencies with supplementary lessons that would do just as good a job on their own, and not turn the students against me.  Preachy, shallow, and pandering.  Pass.

King John Acts IV-V

 IV.i.14-26: An excellent characterization of Arthur here, and an effective, efficient, dramatic device to rouse the audience and propel the action.  In my thirst for theme, I musn't forget to acknowledge little moments like this.

80-100: Sight quavers.  this would be a tricky sequence to navigate as an actor.  Only sound has power in this world.

109-110: And so Arthur knows that his tongue is more powerful than his eyes.  

115-120: And lo, his word cools the very iron.

145-147: Hubert rightly commands silence.  Arthur's word is simply too powerful.

IV.ii.28-34: A marvelous speech, true and succinct in exactly Shakespeare's finest fashion.  Worth committing to memory and revisiting.

48: The tongue is mightier than the sword, and words than actions, according to Pembroke.  But we shall see.

68: Success!  The tongue prevails, and on a level that John has yet to suspect.

79-80: Purpose and conscience are another reflection of the two warring forces in this world.

92-94: A valid question.  John seems to have his hands on the shears of destiny, but there are greater forces at work here.

96: "So thrive it in your game, and to farewell," is as effective a kiss-off as I have ever heard.

126-127: The tongue again.  Is it to be believed or belied?

145-159: Be careful what you wish for, John!  This tongue is mighty indeed.

181-182: In this world, Mercury is indeed the greatest of the gods.

204-211: The iron and the shears are each a callback, and a metaphor.

227-234: The hand and the eye work together.  The fact, and the action.

248-253: The eye is the sign, but the tongue is the signified.

275-278: The eye lies.  John's helpless vacillation is a reflection of his reliance on it.

IV.iii.28: Words indeed are best.  But what has prevailed here?  The word or the hand?

58-60: If, indeed.  It seems not to be the work of a hand, but of a tongue, and the Bastard is the only one who sees it.

94-95: Is it not the tongue alone that caused this, though?

103: The toasting-iron, significant elsewhere, is tellingly conflated with the sword.

152-167: Faulconbridge's character gains depth here.  His loyalty all along has been to England alone, and now that it is lost, what remains?

V.i.1-5: The hand, not the tongue, is invoked here.  Shall it prevail?

5-21: Only after is the word, and the tongue, brought to bear.

46: A wrinkle in my reading.  Where in this dichotomy does "thought", intention, will, etc. fit?

55-75: The eye is a pawn in the battle between the hand and the tongue.

V.ii.8-39: Salisbury continues to be one of the best roles written here.  The metaphysical conflict at the heart of the entire play is his in microcosm.

44: If so, then the conflict is summed up here as between compulsion and respect, reality and ideal.  Perhaps to much of a stretch to say hand and tongue, though.

64: What a line.  The Dauphin is certainly full of himself.

84-88: He's not wrong though.  The word, once given, does not return until it has been fulfilled.

110: Indeed.  And I take this as admonition to continue looking (probably too) deeply into what lies under the text.

124-130: Faulconbridge invokes the tongue, even while admiring the Dauphin's stance.  He knows the inner, even as he proclaims the outer.  Perhaps this is the central dichotomy after all.

160-163: And the Dauphin sees through it.

166: Surely the tongue is not invoked so often in the Bard's other works.

182-183: I'm genuinely eager to find out the result.  Only then will my reading be clear.

V.iii.3-4: All the aforegone tempest may well turn out to be moot, which would itself be quite revealing.

13-14: A tempting juxtaposition of hot and cold, more suitable for a Galenic reading perhaps.

V.iv.9-10: Melun's turn of heart reeks of dramatic convenience--unless we take the stance that he was not wounded in battle, but by Louis' own order.

30-44: Also flimsy explanations.  Obviously, there is more to Melun's change of heart.

50-55: Also difficult to reconclie with Salisbury's character.  This whole scene is suspect.

V.v.16-20: Efficient and deep characterization in these few lines.  An actor could really make a meal out of them.

V.vi.14: Clever Bastard.  

27-35: The result of this poisoning will reveal the entire play.

V.vii.6: He does yet speak.  The tongue prevails.

13-25: . . . and even exults!

34-36: Same, John.  Same.

38-46: If I were staging this, I would have him sing these lines.

49-54: Galen is never far from the Bard's mind.

116-124: More prophetic than he could have realized.

All in all, I feel wonderfully misled.  All of the debate, the shears, the irons, the proclamations, hands, and tongues, were for naught.  Just as Fauconbridge says, 

Now, now, you stars, that move in your right spheres,
Where be your powers? Show now your mended
faiths (V.vii.78-80)

None of this made any sense after all.  The floods, the poison, the machinations, the Pope, all irrelevant, seemingly on a whim.  Tis all a checkerboard of nights and days, after all.