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A Happy Ghost

Book by Karl Kristian Flores · 12 quotes · Society, Loneliness, Life

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A Happy Ghost Quotes

“But imagine,” said Mars, “being a comet. I want you to imagine a divine force in someone that pushes them through the world, infinitely, in each choice, melting barriers in its own perfect path, out your mouth, out from your hands, across countries, through rooms—” “—through terror—” “—past regulations—” “—past people—” “—every time—” “—every day...” “Their life would go so much further,” continued Mars, “so much—as if absorbing hundreds and hundreds of years of ordinary life experience while still their real age. If death is no secret, why do we hunch? That doesn’t make sense to me. I don’t get the hunching! We retreat even when we always know the most favorable thing to do. If you took every risk, you’d have everything. You’d have all that was all.”

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“Live like a comet. An unstoppable rock through space. Travel with so great a speed that there is no time or desire for explanation. Live. Live without brakes," she said. His heart raced. Andrei shifted his gear to second. This was his key. The spine of an upstanding life was character. If all else was rid of, that was all a human had. The decisions in one’s own identity was like the wardrobe of the spirit, as discussed by Mars and Andrei. If a human being was fearless, she told him, they would act on all the things they desired. They would speak all the thoughts they were afraid to say. This pulled them closer to the sublime and away from obvious lands. Their life would gain access to moments of intimacy that were never far— only camouflaged. There was no one Andrei knew who lived like that. Not one. The comet was the most optimal way of life. Nothing could stop the person who decided to nail their foot on the gas. No interaction, rejection, weather, or obstacle of any kind would arrest them for too long. Everyone else had delays and was set back by their excuses. “Tea?” she asked. “Please.”

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“Life was never about survival. For a long time, it was proposed that all living organisms shared a single purpose: to survive—but this was not the appropriate case for humans. Survival was all along but a secondary basis to man, while attendance to life was the first. One must secure something to survive for, as the cells of the straightforward body will, regardless of permission, do their job. Men do not breathe without air first around to inhale. A sailor cannot know his passion for sailing without an existing body of water. Similarly, a man can only survive if there is something larger in him that lives—not a beating heart, but a moving one. If he only “holds on,” prolonging preservation and supervising health, there is nothing in that lingering lifeform to endanger or threaten. And since no system of security can defend from death’s next play, there is no use in mortals wearing armor. The essence of chance had loitered since the beginning of time, anticipating a being who adhered to its expressions. The human priority is one’s comet.”

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“No one cares about anyone else’s life, but their own, bro. That’s the thing. We’re just selfish," said Raphael. “Some surprise us though. Those unique ones who interest us— they do something new with their body. They mean words differently. They bring us in. The people who amaze us are how we know that the selfishness inside us all along was never selfishness. We were only far from certain people.”

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“Normality seemed suspicious to him. He avoided smart routes, healthy decisions, and standard trajectories. Andrei fancied the forsaken, the dreadful, the dusty. He intentionally said yes to what other people said no to. "There must be something worthwhile," he always thought, "in the apparently worthless, seemingly dangerous, and painfully obvious.”

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“Andrei avoided the internet as well and this evasion only added to his gloom. He loved music, especially old songs, and he loved movies, of all sorts. If he had the patience, sometimes he would read. While most of the pages he turned bored him to sleep, certain books with certain lines disarranged him. Some literature brought him to his feet, laughing and howling in his room. When the book was right, it was bliss and he wept. His room hushed with serenity and indebtedness. When he turned to his computer, however, or took out his phone, he would inevitably come across a viral trend or video that took the art he loved and turned it into a joke. The internet, in Andrei’s desperate eyes, managed to make fun of everything serious. And if one did not laugh, they were not intelligent. The internet could not be slowed and no protest to criticize its exploitation of art could be made because recreations of art hid perfectly under the veneer of mockery and was thus, impenetrable. It was easy to use Chopin’s ‘Sonata No. 2’ for a quick laugh, to reduce the ‘Funeral March’ to background music. It was a sneaky way for a digital creator to be considered an artist—and parodying the classics made them appear cleverer than the original artist. Meanwhile, Andrei’s body had healed playing Chopin alone in his apartment. He would frailly replay movie moments, too, that he later found the world edited and ripped apart with its cheap teeth. And everyone ate the internet’s crumbs. This cruel derision was impossible to escape. But enough jokes, memes, and glam over someone’s precious source of life would eventually make a sensitive body numb. And Andrei was afraid of that. He needed his fountain of hope unblemished. For this reason, he escaped the internet’s claws and only surrendered to it for e-mails, navigation, and the weather.”

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“This living organism breathed, could roam around the world, see and be seen, and make any mess it wanted. And here Andrei was, pulsing in a field with another pulse. How miraculous that for a short period, the two of them could focus their eyes, turn their heads, lift their limbs, and run straight into the arms of another person. The living were not rocks or wood, incapable of being affected by chance, but rather forces of momentary magic that could digress and collide with anything it chose. Should a human ever feel bored lying atop their bed, they could change reality and within thirty seconds walk outside and strike up a new conversation with another pulse on the street. The living sound an ancient, sacred, temporary hum that is exclusive to them. Once gone, it can never be retrieved. But if there still, it could do anything.”

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“Persistence used to be his goal; perhaps, he once believed, if he endured more days, eventually life would come together, either ultimately or through a single event. Books and art and politics said to keep going. But while persistence was other men’s answer, their conflicts were not his. How could a man totally trust history’s advice when today, the sparrow breaks its old route and flies over that jacaranda tree and not the usual? Persistence was not Andrei’s answer. He needed deviation.”

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“And it seemed fitting both for Andrei, and hypothetically the creators of the film, that when he got up to leave in the middle of it, he did so as an ode to the film. A statement of departure that said: 'If you made the movie for the reason I think you did, perhaps you wouldn’t be offended that I left the damn place and decided to chase after life. Inspiration is unlimited, but time is not. Thank you. Goodbye!' He left the poet’s book in the seat beside him, took his popcorn and soda, and exited the cinema the way the writers would have wanted.”

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