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Quote by Philip K. Dick

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Flow My Tears, the Policeman Said

In this novel, a man wakes up to find that he has been replaced by an identical stranger. The story delves into the complexities of identity and the nature of reality, as the protagonist struggles to regain his own life. more

Author

Philip K. Dick
Philip K. Dick

Philip K. Dick was an American science fiction novelist known for his unique philosophical thinking and profound futuristic imagination. His works often explore the boundaries between individuals and society, reality and illusion, and have had a profound impact on science fiction literature. more

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“God's M.O., he reflected, is to transmute evil into good. If He is active here, He is doing that now, although our eyes can't perceive it; the process lies hidden beneath the surface of reality, and emerges only later. To, perhaps, our waiting heirs. Paltry people who will not know the dreadful war we've gone through, and the losses we took, unless in some footnote in a minor history book they catch a notion. Some brief mention. With no list of the fallen.”

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“When I consider the brief span of my life, swallowed up in the eternity before and behind it, the small space that I fill, or even see, engulfed in the infinite immensity of spaces which I know not, and which know not me, I am afraid.' 'I should think so' I said. 'I am afraid, sir, and wonder to see myself here rather than there. For there is no reason why I should be here rather than then' 'Did you come to any conclusion?' The Stanton cleared its throat, then got out a folded linen handkerchief and carefully blew its nose. 'It seems to me that time must move in strange jumps, passing over intervening epochs. But why it would do that, or even how, I do not know. At a certain point the mind cannot fathom anything further.”

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“Psychosis, it seemed to some, was in the air. One unhappy host played Phil a copy of Marshall McLuhan's 1968 LP The Medium is the Massage, an audio collage inspired by the resonating global echo chamber that McLuhan believed formed a new electronic form of “acoustic space.” When the recording began, Dick clapped his hands over his ears and screamed, “Turn it off! Turn it off! It sounds like the inside of my head when I go mad and have to go the hospital.”

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“Não é que as pessoas já não acreditem nela [publicidade] ou a tenham aceitado como rotina. É que, se ela fascinava por este poder de simplificação de todas as linguagens, este poder é-lhe hoje subtraído por um outro tipo de linguagem ainda mais simplificado e, logo, mais operacional: as linguagens informáticas. O modelo de sequência, de banda sonora e de banda-imagem que a publicidade nos oferece, a par com os outros grandes media, o modelo de perequação combinatória de todos os discursos que ela propõe, este contínuum ainda retórico de sons, de signos, de sinais, de slogans que ela domina como ambiente total, está largamente ultrapassado, justamente na sua função de estímulo, pela banda magnética, pelo continuum electrónico que está a perfilar-se no horizonte deste fim de século. O microprocesso, a digitalidade, as linguagens cibernéticas vão muito mais longe no mesmo sentido da simplificação absoluta dos processos do que a publicidade fazia ao seu humilde nível, ainda imaginário e espectacular. E é porque estes sistemas vão mais longe, que polarizam hoje o fascínio outrora concedido à publicidade. E a informação, no sentido informático do termo, que porá fim, que já põe fim, ao reino da publicidade. É isto que assusta e é isto que apaixona. A «paixão» publicitária deslocou-se para os computadores e para a miniaturização informática da vida quotidiana. A ilustração antecipadora desta transformação era o papoula de K. Ph. Dick, este implante publicitário transistorizado, espécie de ventosa emissora, de parasita electrónico que se fixa ao corpo e de que este tem muita dificuldade em libertar-se. Mas o papoula é ainda uma forma intermediária: é já uma espécie de prótese incorporada, mas recita ainda mensagens publicitárias. Um híbrido, pois, mas prefiguração das redes psicotrópicas e informáticas de pilotagem automática dos indivíduos, ao lado do qual o «condicionamento» publicitário parece uma deliciosa peripécia.”

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“Already the people murmur that I am your enemy because they say that in verse I give the world your me. They lie, Julia de Burgos. They lie, Julia de Burgos. Who rises in my verses is not your voice. It is my voice because you are the dressing and the essence is me; and the most profound abyss is spread between us. You are the cold doll of social lies, and me, the virile starburst of the human truth. You, honey of courtesan hypocrisies; not me; in all my poems I undress my heart. You are like your world, selfish; not me who gambles everything betting on what I am. You are only the ponderous lady very lady; not me; I am life, strength, woman. You belong to your husband, your master; not me; I belong to nobody, or all, because to all, to all I give myself in my clean feeling and in my thought. You curl your hair and paint yourself; not me; the wind curls my hair, the sun paints me. You are a housewife, resigned, submissive, tied to the prejudices of men; not me; unbridled, I am a runaway Rocinante snorting horizons of God's justice. You in yourself have no say; everyone governs you; your husband, your parents, your family, the priest, the dressmaker, the theatre, the dance hall, the auto, the fine furnishings, the feast, champagne, heaven and hell, and the social, "what will they say." Not in me, in me only my heart governs, only my thought; who governs in me is me. You, flower of aristocracy; and me, flower of the people. You in you have everything and you owe it to everyone, while me, my nothing I owe to nobody. You nailed to the static ancestral dividend, and me, a one in the numerical social divider, we are the duel to death who fatally approaches. When the multitudes run rioting leaving behind ashes of burned injustices, and with the torch of the seven virtues, the multitudes run after the seven sins, against you and against everything unjust and inhuman, I will be in their midst with the torch in my hand.”

InspirationalLiteraturePoliticsSocialWomenCivil RightsPoemsLatin AmericaCarolinaPuerto RicoWomen WritersSelf PortraitLatin American AuthorsWomen EducationJulia De BurgosJack Agüero
Author:Julia de Burgos Jack Agüero Translator
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