It is my favorite book of all time ever and I'd like to tell you about it. I just read this again for IDK like the 10th time. Love is always near but it keeps slipping away. I got to the brink and preferred not to know. I lost myself in analogies and bottles of white wine.
I loved you too much to accept that hallucination where you weren’t even present, where you were only a mirror or a book or a shadow in a castle. I was afraid and appealed to anything so as not to believe. Headlines of the newspapers reflected in the mirror become an inscrutable Russian alphabet… A colourful postcard turned upside down transforms into a transcendental picture… The characters vainly endeavour to interpret dreams, daydreams, revelations and abstractions surrounding and pursuing them everywhere… Trying to decipher the world they shuffle cards, words, images and visions but the world disintegrates into the set of symbols of absurdity… Lovers find and lose each other until the combinations of love turn into a cosmic composition… Everything would be a kind of disquiet, a continuous uprooting, a territory where psychological causality would yield disconcertedly, and those puppets would destroy each other or love each other or recognize each other without suspecting too much that life is trying to change its key in and through and by them, that a barely conceivable attempt is born in man as one other day there were being born the reason-key, the feeling-key, the pragmatism-key.” Julio Cortázar – Hopscotch: Chapter 62. Not that they would show themselves incapable of current challenges and responses: love, jealousy, pity, and so on down the line, but in them something which Homo sapiens keeps subliminal would laboriously open up a road as if a third eye were blinking out with effort from under the frontal bone. The actors would appear to be unhealthy or complete idiots. “If I were to write this book, standard behavior (including the most unusual, its deluxe category) would be inexplicable by means of current instrumental psychology.
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