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Tilde Aune

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När reglerna slutat gälla

by Ariel Levy

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Jul 16, 2026 01:50PM

“What is it your friend Marx says? That philosophers can talk about the world in many ways but no one can change it?”
“No. He says that philosophers have interpreted the world in many ways; the point is to change it.”
― Shubhangi Swarup, Latitudes of Longing

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“Of what use are a dead man’s poems to this world?” the Poet asked.
“None. Which is why I can translate them freely.”
― Shubhangi Swarup, Latitudes of Longing

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“Sitting in the garden, watching a hibiscus sun set over an emerald-green archipelago, leaves the couple unsettled. It forces them to swim in the solitary world of thoughts, preoccupations, and visions. Yet it doesn’t feel lonely.”
― Shubhangi Swarup, Latitudes of Longing

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“Memory was life reflected in a shattered mirror. Ever since the Burman’s death, Mary had held on to him only in shards. Though the features were clear enough in her memory, she could never see the face in its entirety.”
― Shubhangi Swarup, Latitudes of Longing

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“He witnessed water’s birth as ice, as he stood on one of Saturn’s moons, enraptured by the blizzards. He blinked with icy lashes as he saw the world through her eyes. Like a newborn who perceives it all as one being, she saw the stars and orbits as her limbs. He followed her journey to earth, couched in the ribs of a meteor. He saw her grow into the mightiest ocean the planet would ever see. Standing on the fringes of an atoll, he was hit by glassy waves, rhythmically drenching his calves, wetting his thighs and waist as he walked in deeper, until he was entirely submerged in her tale. She nurtured life in her womb, parasites committed to the blasphemy of evolution—a ceaseless separation, never to come together again.”
― Shubhangi Swarup, Latitudes of Longing

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