Sunday, February 13, 2005
(dormido)
wednesday is when five people, in essence, will think my work is worth shit or relegate it to a netherspace of forgetting. five people I have never met and probably will not think very highly of (though, as always, things could be different than I assume) will make real a space I imagined and constructed. the 13th annual Austin Chronicle Short Story contest will be happening with a nifty ceremony at a renowned local bookstore where five folks will get recognized for their work out of four hundred original participants. I am, potentially, one of them.
but hey, Americans don't read any more, right?
words as video games as digitized philosophy as Mexican pyschology as anti-magical realism as cosmopolitan/urban as a windowless room.
If no one ever obliged anyone to do anything, the world would grind to a halt, we'd all just float around in a state of global vacillation and carry on like that indefinitely. All people really want to do is to sleep, the thought of future regrets would paralyse us, imagining the consequences of acts we haven't even committed is always dreadful, that's why we politicians are so necessary, we're here in order to take the decisions that others would never take, immobilized as they are by their doubts and their lack of will. We listen to their fear. 'The sleeping and the dead are but as pictures,' Shakespeare said and I sometimes think that that's all people are, paintings, asleep today and dead tomorrow.
-Javier Marias, A Heart So White
