Status Updates From Sobre héroes y tumbas

La primera manic pixie girl de la historia. Lo mucho que hubiera amado las pastillas anticonceptivas

“America! The mythical land where people throw money away on the streets. And then came the grinding toil, the miserable wages, the work days twelve and fourteen hours long. In the end that had proved to be the real America for the immense majority: poverty and tears, humiliation and pain, homesickness and nostalgia. Like children taken in by fairy tales and led off into slavery.”

Volvía a hablar de Alejandra como quien intenta restaurar un alma ya en descomposición, un alma que habría querido inmortal pero que ahora sentía resquebrajarse y disgregarse poco a poco, como siguiendo la putrefacción del cuerpo, como si le fuera imposible sobrevivir demasiado tiempo sin su soporte y sólo pudiera perdurar en el tiempo que perdura la sutil emanación que se desprendió de aquel cuerpo en su muerte.

An old woman who lived in an adjoining tenement declared “I don’t sleep much, so I smelled smoke and tried to rouse my son and tell him there was a fire, but he’s a sound sleeper and he told me to let him alone. and I was right, you see” she added with that pride that the majority of human beings, and elderly people in particular, take in having correctly prophesied serious illnesses or fatal catastrophes.

while other children hurried through pages of Homer, bored, reading them only because they were assigned, I felt my first shudder of terror when the poet described with frightening power and almost mechanical precision, with the perversity of a connoisseur and violent, vengeful sadism, the moment when Ulysses and his companions run a red-hot stake through the great eye of the Cyclops and make it boil in its socket.