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After the End of the World

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Jonathan L. Howard

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“America has no now. We're reluctant to acknowledge the present. It's too embarrassing. Instead, we reach into the past. Our culture is composed of sequels, reruns, remakes, revivals, reissues, re-releases, recreations, reenactments, adaptations, anniversaries, memorabilia, oldies radio, and nostalgia record collections. World War II has been refought so many times, the Germans and Japanese are now drawing residuals.”

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Book:Brain Droppings
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“¿Has hecho bien en volver? Te arrepentirás, Urania. Desperdiciar una semana de vacaciones, tú que nunca tenías tiempo para conocer tantas ciudades, regiones, países que te hubiera gustado ver -las cordilleras y los lagos nevados de Alaska, por ejemploretornando a la islita que juraste no volver a pisar. ¿Síntoma de decadencia? ¿Sentimentalismo otoñal? Curiosidad, nada más. Probarte que puedes caminar por las calles de esta ciudad que ya no es tuya, recorrer este país ajeno, sin que ello te provoque tristeza, nostalgia, odio, amargura, rabia.”

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Book:The Feast of the Goat
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“How can I begin to tell you how much I miss you without using those three common words that can't even start to express the magnitude nor the depth of my emotions. How can I write in my own blood while wanting to revert its color. The color of blood is similar to "I miss you". It has been raped by writers and lovers constantly, ever since Cain and Abel. I want to be able to create a new alphabet that can simply stand in front of you without bowing. I want to use new metaphors that would erupt like volcanoes between the phrases of my readers' souls. Metaphors such as your absence is similar to eating salt straight from the shaker while thirst is devouring my tongue. Metaphors such as the lack of your presence is like being straddled behind the glass of my own senses.”

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Author:Malak El Halabi
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“The past folds accordion-like into the present. Different media have different event horizons—for the written word, three millennia; for recorded sound, a century and a half—and within their time frames the old becomes as accessible as the new. Yellowed newspapers come back to life. Under headings of 50 Years Ago and 100 Years Ago, veteran publications recycle their archives: recipes, card-play techniques, science, gossip, once out of print and now ready for use. Record companies rummage through their attics to release, or re-release, every scrap of music, rarities, B-sides, and bootlegs. For a certain time, collectors, scholars, or fans possessed their books and their records. There was a line between what they had and what they did not. For some, the music they owned (or the books, or the videos) became part of who they were. That line fades away. Most of Sophocles' plays are lost, but those that survive are available at the touch of a button. Most of Bach's music was unknown to Beethoven; we have it all—partitas, cantatas, and ringtones. It comes to us instantly, or at light speed. It is a symptom of omniscience. It is what the critic Alex Ross calls the Infinite Playlist, and he sees how mixed is the blessing: "anxiety in place of fulfillment, and addictive cycle of craving and malaise. No sooner has one experience begun than the thought of what else is out there intrudes." The embarrassment of riches. Another reminder that information is not knowledge, and knowledge is not wisdom.”

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Book:The Information: A History, a Theory, a Flood
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“ابيضّ شعر يوسف في عمر السابعة حين شاهد الثلج يهدم حجرة أخيه الأكبر، فيسقط السقف عليه وزوجته وتوأميه، الأجساد الأربعة يراها يوسف بعد ذلك ممدة على السرير الحديد في القبو. وتظلّ تزوره في أحلامه حتى عمرٍ متقدّمة. كان يقضي يومه متأملاً ويفكّر إمّا مُعلّقًا على غصن التينة ومأرجحًا أحد ساقيه، أو تحت ظلّ شجرة التوت بجوار قبر أمّه سارة.تعلّم يوسف إبراهيم خاطر جابر الكتابة، أراد أن يشغله والده عن ساعات التفكير الطويلة. “تعلّم يوسف كيف يكتب اسمه، تعلّم كيف يكتب الأرقام، تعلّم كيف يكتب “الله جلّ جلاله” تعلّم كيف يكتب إبراهيم بالألف الطويلة كشجرة في الوسط، تعلّم كيف يكتب سارة بالراء التي تكرج كالمياه من “هارب قناة المير” وبالتاء المربوطة التي نلفظها كالألف بعد راء إبراهيم، تعلّم كيف يكتب نور الدين، وأحسّ حين كتب اسم أخيه الصغير أنه يسمع صوت بكاءه خارجًا من الحروف”. كان يمرر يده على الحروف بعد أن يكتبها فيشعر أنها تتنفس تحت أصابعه.”

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Book:يوسف الإنجليزي
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