Status Updates From Trilogia de la guerra (Span...

‘The placenta—is the distorted mirror of our world. Everything, the vegetables & the minerals, even the objects around us, & the water, the air, it’s all been birthed at some point, & so has its corresponding placenta, worlds that overlap only rarely. A shudder ran through me. It was starting to grow light—LA seemed to me a city of wild vegetation—if it weren’t for the constant road-building & construction projects—’

‘—mescal w/ segments of orange—it was—that—moment, indissolubly linked w/ the—book, that my life as a drinker began—It was then that I entered the state of perpetual drunkenness I would only occasionally abandon thereafter—The Labyrinth of Solitude—had a point—we do have this insane faith in our own survival—And okay, I know I’m not getting out of here alive either. Which is why there’s one last story I want to tell’

‘The asphalt—roads we drove along—a very dark blue—resembles—boiled sweet—makes you want to pop it in your mouth & eat—she’d just remembered it was her birthday. Many happy returns, I said, & then wondered how I could say that to a person I wasn’t sure I knew at all—she said, ‘blood, it’s like money, it comes and goes; it only belongs to whoever happens to be using it at the time.’ This memory oft comes back to me—’

‘The asphalt—roads we drove along—a very dark blue—resembles—boiled sweet—makes you want to pop it in your mouth & eat—she’d just remembered it was her birthday. Many happy returns, I said, & then wondered how I could say that to a person I wasn’t sure I knew at all—she said, ‘blood, it’s like money, it comes and goes; it only belongs to whoever happens to be using it at the time.’ This memory oft comes back to me—’

‘Cities that experience very hot summers & very cold winters seem to me like bags of frozen food—frozen & defrosted over & over again—you need only tear open the plastic to see how inedible the contents have become. And that’s precisely what I think my walks amounted to—a way of wearing down the outermost layer of the pavements, the skin, eventually to have it rip open of its own accord—For me, New York City’

'—when—a language becomes extinct—disappears—turns into trash which nobody can recycle—enters a pause mode—or better put—it becomes an eternal pause—& this—crystallised in my mind when—I thought about—philosophers with their chopsticks never-endingly aloft, also on pause—of the hare meat-eating sailors on their Arctic odyssey. And with that, it wasn’t long before a feeling of spiritual incompleteness came over me.'

‘I cook a steak for her—acceptable—she wolfs it down before asking for a glass of milk—I pull up a stool and sit next to her—when she finishes eating—we sit in silence watching the birds migrate across the screen, and she says: See, these birds don’t get it either. Don’t get what? I say. They don’t get why they migrate, she says, but they do it all the same, and then she says that what she wants to do is leave, — ’

‘—by the act of eating—we made something sacred disappear forever—breeze carried hints of eucalyptus—in Uruguay he—been a—baker—he said—before coming out with certain things I found unsettling—such as: ‘Life is a layer of soil no bigger than a dirty napkin’ and ‘God is a dishwashing machine—big dishwashing machine’ then—in Argentina—worked as a pastry chef—that ‘intelligence is the final barrier to be demolished’’

enjoying it but currently reading thru a 10 page tangent… wesh