emily’s Reviews > 2666 > Status Update
emily
is on page 240 of 912
‘He was sitting under a larch—smoking w/ absent look on his face. You’ve changed a lot—she said. He recognised her instantly. You haven’t, he said. Thank you, she said. You should stay—It’s too late to go. There aren’t any more trains—he lied. All that exists, or remains, of Duchamp’s stay in Buenos Aires is a readymade—his whole life—readymade—his way of appeasing fate—all Duchamp did—in Buenos Aires was play chess’
— Apr 01, 2026 12:52PM
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emily’s Previous Updates
emily
is on page 639 of 912
‘Do you know which Mexican city has the lowest female unemployment rate? Sergio González glimpsed the desert moon, a fragment, a helicoidal slice, rising above the roofs. Santa Teresa? he asked. Badly paid and exploitative work, with ridiculous hours. Because—Mexican ladies have hearts of gold? More like a heart of flint, thought Sergio, to endure so much. Sitting—next to Haas—red & blue flowers, an unknown variety.'
— Apr 27, 2026 04:09AM
emily
is on page 628 of 912
‘Today is the indoor football match—Are you going to play? asked Sergio. Maybe, maybe not, I’m a substitute, said Márquez. As they were leaving the locker room, the inspector told him he shouldn’t try to find a logical explanation for the crimes. It’s fucked up, that’s the only explanation, said Márquez. Living in this desert—is like living at sea. The cities and towns are boats. The desert is an endless sea.’
— Apr 25, 2026 02:46PM
emily
is on page 609 of 912
‘—highways of freedom—evil is like a Ferrari—his laughter—lost among—flower beds—Security is getting more & more expensive, Macario said—as he walked—a path lined w/ bougainvilleas. But I don’t think I’ll have to use the gun—Some people hold grudges for a long time—in Mexico we don’t know how to be good sports. Of course, if you lose you die & if you win sometimes you die too—some of us try to fight the good fight’
— Apr 20, 2026 01:46AM
emily
is on page 510 of 912
‘The idea that some places are the same as others is a lie. The world is a kind of tremor. For example: if the poppy lifts its petals, the weather will be fine. For example: if a poplar begins to quiver, something unexpected will happen. For example: if the little flower with white petals & a tiny yellow corolla, called the pijulí, bows its head, it will be hot—if the little rascal shuts, then rain is coming.’
— Apr 17, 2026 04:15AM
emily
is on page 399 of 912
‘What’s sacred to me? thought Fate. Desert Eagle. The scarred moon still shone in the sky. The house—was always clean, but its cleanliness—lacked any feminine touch—it was a stoic cleanliness—tended toward sparseness, not abundance. The two of them began to eat in silence—The books she read he had never heard of. The music made him—drowsy—nothing ever disappears—she went running into the woods & he lost sight of her’
— Apr 15, 2026 11:05AM
emily
is on page 360 of 912
‘Everything was passed through the filter of words, everything trimmed to fit our fear. That said, words back then were mostly used in the art of avoidance, not of revelation. But they revealed something all the same. On his way out of Patagonia he saw a horse. When—headlights swept over it the horse lifted its head & looked at him. Oil, thought Fate, but he didn’t say it. Time, said Chucho Flores. Who? asked Fate.’
— Apr 08, 2026 05:06PM
emily
is on page 333 of 912
‘The pain doesn’t matter—as long as it isn’t unbearable. & all around him, ghosts. Life is demand & supply—but that’s no way to live. A third leg is needed to keep the table from collapsing into—garbage pit of history. But the sun has its uses—any fool knows—From up close it’s hell, but from far away you’d have to be a vampire not to see how useful it is. Maybe now is the time for a recipe: Brussels Sprouts & Lemon.’
— Apr 05, 2026 05:21PM
emily
is on page 297 of 912
‘We pretend there’s nothing wrong, but there is—We’re being fucking stifled. You let off steam your own way. I beat the shit out of people or let them beat the shit out of me—a fucking apocalyptic mayhem. What kind of music do you like? And what books do you read? I used to read everything—Now all I read is poetry—the one thing that isn’t contaminated—the one thing that isn’t part of the game—only poetry isn’t shit.’
— Apr 04, 2026 12:05PM
emily
is on page 288 of 912
‘Most people are cowards to the last breath. I’m telling you—a human being, broadly speaking—is the closest thing there is to a rat. Primitive man was ignorant of language—he communicated by brainwaves, as animals and plants do. When he resorted to sounds & gestures & hand signals to communicate, he began to lose the gift of telepathy—loss was accelerated—in cities—distancing himself—from nature. Ah, Chile—Cortázar’
— Apr 03, 2026 12:56PM
emily
is on page 260 of 912
‘People have a thirst to learn about other people’s lives—to know what the old chincuales did—learn something, although they aren’t prepared to jump through the same hoops themselves. The word chincuales, said Augusto Guerra, like all the words in the Mexican tongue, has a number of senses. First, it means flea or bedbug bites, those little red welts, you know? Those cracks in the psyche. The water tasted different—’
— Apr 01, 2026 05:51PM
