EMIL CIORAN In every man sleeps a prophet, and when he wakes there is a little more evil in the world.
Wednesday, July 29, 2020
JORGE LUIS BORGES Dreamtigers
1927 I met a sombre girl, first by telephone (for Julia began as a
nameless, faceless voice), and, later, on a corner toward evening. She
had alarmingly large eyes, straight blue-black hair, and an unbending
body. Her grandfather and great-grandfather were federales, as mine were
unitarios, and that ancient discord in our blood was for us a bond, a
fuller possession of the fatherland.
There was no love between us,
or even the pretense of love: I sensed in her an intensity that was
altogether foreign to the erotic, and I feared it. It is not uncommon to
relate to women, in an urge for intimacy, true or apocryphal
circumstances of one’s boyish past. I must have told her once about the
mirrors and thus in 1928 I prompted a hallucination that was to flower
Now, I have just heard that she has lost her mind and
that the mirrors in her room are draped because she sees in them my
reflection, usurping her own, and she trembles and falls silent and says
I am persecuting her by magic.