Status Updates From 2666

‘She whispered: Pylades, Orestes—bluish nimbuses—grey cumulonimbuses—dissolved—or were carried off toward the edge of the grounds where a dark forest rose—branches of the trees silver in the light falling from the hills. And then she told him what she had really come to say: that she—knew that love, no matter how mistreated or mutilated, always left room for hope, and that hope was her plan (or the other way around)’

‘I don’t know how long we’ll last together, she said in her letter. It doesn’t matter to me—Her pretext was a plan to visit her favourite poet—Mondragón, near San Sebastián. He listened to her explanations for a whole night as she packed her bag and promised she’d come home soon—The poet looked her in the eyes and asked for a cigarette—she handed him a cigarette. The poet said thank you, & then he said perseverance.’