Different Types Of Gnats

Zaida RAYUELA (fragment)

Between

Maga and I grew cane on words, just a few hours separate us and a few blocks and my sorrow penalty is called, my love called my love ... Every time I will feel less and remember more, but what is the memory but the language of feelings, a dictionary of expensive perfumes and days and returning as verbs and adjectives in the speech, ahead of overlapping to the thing itself, the This pure, sad, or vicariously by teaching until the self becomes vicar, the face that looks back open big eyes, the true face gradually cleared as in the old photos and Janus is at once any us.
This is what I am telling Crevel Maga but I talk with now are so far. And do not talk with words that have only served to not understand, it's too late now begin to choose other, those of her, wrapped in what she understands and has no name, auras and air twitch tensions between two bodies or filled with gold dust a room or a verse. "But we have not lived like this all the time, gently lacerating? No, we lived well, she would have liked but once again I sat down again concealing the false order chaos, to pretend that I gave to a life deep water just played terrible with the toes. There are rivers metaphysical she is nothing like swimming that swallow air, spinning around the tower hallucinating, flopping to get up better with the momentum. I describe and define and desire these rivers, it's nothing. I seek, I find, I look from the bridge, it's nothing. And do not know, looked just like the swallow. No need to know how I can live in the disorder without any awareness of the hold order. This disorder is mysterious order, this bohemian body and soul that opens wide the doors real. His life is not disorder but me, prejudices buried in contempt and respect at the same time. I inevitably doomed to be acquitted by the Maga who judges me without knowing it. Ah, let me in, lemme see some day as your eyes.

Words: Julio Cortázar

Image: Ana Serrano