“On average, 5 people are born every second and 1.78 die.So we’re ahead by 3.22, which is good, I think.The average person will spend two weeks in his lifewaiting for the traffic light to change.Pubescent girls wait two to four yearsfor the tender lumps under their nipples to grow.So the average adult has over 1,460 dreams a year,laughs 15 times a day. Children, 385 more times.So the average male adult mates 2,580 times with five different peoplebut falls in love only twice in his life—possiblywith the same person. Seventy-nine long years for each of us,awakened to love in our twenties, so more or lessthirty years to love our two lovers each. And if, in a lifetime,one walks a total of 13,640 miles by increments,Where are you headed, traveler?is a valid philosophical question to pose to a man, I think, along withWhy does the blood in your veins travel endlessly?on account of those red cells flowing night and daythrough the traffic of the blood vessels, which if laid outin a straight line would be over 90,000 miles long.The great Nile River in Egypt is 4,180 miles long.The great circle of the earth’s equator is 24,903 miles.Dividing this green earth among all of usgives a hundred square feet of living space to each,but our brains take only one square foot of it,along with the 29 bones of the skull, soif you look outside your window with your mind only,why do you hear the housefly hum middle octave, key of F?If you listen to the cat on the rug by the fire withthe 32 muscles in your ear, you will hear100 different vocal sounds. Listen to the dogwishing for your love: 10 different sounds.If you think loneliness is beyond calculation,think of the mole digging a tunnel undergroundninety-eight miles long to Chinain one single night. If you think beauty escapes youor your entire genealogical tree, consider the slugwith its four uneven noses, or the chameleon shifting colorsunder an arbitrary light. Think of the deepest pointin the deepest ocean, the Marianas Trench in the Pacific,do you think anyone’s sadness can be deeper? In 1681,the last dodo bird died. In the 16th century,Queen Elizabeth suffered from a fear of roses.Anne Boleyn had six fingers. People fall in lovetwice. The human heart beats 3 billion times — only — in a lifetime.If you attempt to count all the stars in the galaxy, oneevery second, it’ll take 3 thousand years, if you’re lucky.As owls are the only birds that can see the color bluethe ocean is bluish, along with the sky and the eyesof that boy who died alone by that little unnamed riverin your dreams one blue night of the warof one of your lives. (Do you remember which one?)Duration of World War 1: four years, 3 months, 14 days.Duration of an equatorial sunset: 128 seconds, 142 tops.A neuron’s impulse takes 1/1000 of a second,a morning’s commute from Prospect Expresswayto the Brooklyn Bridge, about 90 minutes,forty-five without traffic.Time it takes for a flower to wilt after it’s cut from the stem: five days.Time left our sun before it runs out of light: five billion years.Hence the number of happy citizens under the red glowof that sun: maybe 50% of us, 50% on good days, tops.Number who are sad: maybe 70% on the good days—especially on the good days. (The first emotion’s more intense, I think,when caught up with the second.) So children grow faster in the summer,their bright blue bodies expanding. The ocean, after all, is bluewhich is why the sky now outside your window is bluishexpanding with the white of something beautiful, like clouds.Fact: The world is a beautiful place—once in a while.Another fact: We fall in love twice. Maybe more, if we’re lucky.” — Textbook Statistics by Arkaye Kierulf Wednesday 04.14.21 Posted by Nagib El Desouky
Excerpt from Pedro Paramo by Juan Rulfo ““I am sleeping in the same bed where my mother died many years ago; on the same mattress, under the same black wool blanket that used to cover both of us when were sleeping. Then, I slept by her side, in a little place she made for me under her arms. I think I still can hear the slow pulsation of her breathing, and the sighs with which she lulled my sleep… But none of that is real. I am in a black box like those they use to bury the dead. Because I am dead. I can feel the place where I am, and I think… I think of when the lemons ripen. Of the wind in February breaking the stems of the bracken when the lack of care makes it dry up. Of the ripe lemons filling the patio with their odor. The wind came down from the mountains on those February mornings. And the clouds were up there waiting for the weather that lets them fall down into the valley, leaving the blue sky empty, so that the light shines down with the wind, making circles on the ground, blowing the dust, and rocking the branches of the orange trees. And the sparrows chirped; they pecked the leaves that the wind had blown off the trees, and they chirped while they did that; they left their feathers on the branches, and they chased butterflies and chirped some more. It was that time of the year. I remember the February mornings full of wind, and sparrows, and blue sky. That was when my mother died. I probably shouted and my hands must have been torn to shreds after wringing out my despair. You would have liked the way things were. But maybe you were not happy that morning. The wind blew through the open door, rustling stems of the ivy. The hair between the veins on my legs began to rise, and my warm hands trembled as they touched my breasts. The sparrows were enjoying themselves. In the fields the corn was waving in the wind. I felt sorry that she would no longer be able to see the wind in the jasmines, that her eyes were closed to the light of day. But why was I going to cry?”” — - Juan Rulfo / Pedro Paramo Tuesday 03.09.21 Posted by Nagib El Desouky
Excerpt from The Aleph by Jorge Luis Borges “On the back part of the step, toward the right, I saw a small iridescent sphere of almost unbearable brilliance. At first I thought it was revolving; then I realised that this movement was an illusion created by the dizzying world it bounded. The Aleph’s diameter was probably little more than an inch, but all space was there, actual and undiminished. Each thing (a mirror’s face, let us say) was infinite things, since I distinctly saw it from every angle of the universe. I saw the teeming sea; I saw daybreak and nightfall; I saw the multitudes of America; I saw a silvery cobweb in the center of a black pyramid; I saw a splintered labyrinth (it was London); I saw, close up, unending eyes watching themselves in me as in a mirror; I saw all the mirrors on earth and none of them reflected me; I saw in a backyard of Soler Street the same tiles that thirty years before I’d seen in the entrance of a house in Fray Bentos; I saw bunches of grapes, snow, tobacco, lodes of metal, steam; I saw convex equatorial deserts and each one of their grains of sand; I saw a woman in Inverness whom I shall never forget; I saw her tangled hair, her tall figure, I saw the cancer in her breast; I saw a ring of baked mud in a sidewalk, where before there had been a tree; I saw a summer house in Adrogué and a copy of the first English translation of Pliny — Philemon Holland’s — and all at the same time saw each letter on each page (as a boy, I used to marvel that the letters in a closed book did not get scrambled and lost overnight); I saw a sunset in Querétaro that seemed to reflect the colour of a rose in Bengal; I saw my empty bedroom; I saw in a closet in Alkmaar a terrestrial globe between two mirrors that multiplied it endlessly; I saw horses with flowing manes on a shore of the Caspian Sea at dawn; I saw the delicate bone structure of a hand; I saw the survivors of a battle sending out picture postcards; I saw in a showcase in Mirzapur a pack of Spanish playing cards; I saw the slanting shadows of ferns on a greenhouse floor; I saw tigers, pistons, bison, tides, and armies; I saw all the ants on the planet; I saw a Persian astrolabe; I saw in the drawer of a writing table (and the handwriting made me tremble) unbelievable, obscene, detailed letters, which Beatriz had written to Carlos Argentino; I saw a monument I worshipped in the Chacarita cemetery; I saw the rotted dust and bones that had once deliciously been Beatriz Viterbo; I saw the circulation of my own dark blood; I saw the coupling of love and the modification of death; I saw the Aleph from every point and angle, and in the Aleph I saw the earth and in the earth the Aleph and in the Aleph the earth; I saw my own face and my own bowels; I saw your face; and I felt dizzy and wept, for my eyes had seen that secret and conjectured object whose name is common to all men but which no man has looked upon — the unimaginable universe.I felt infinite wonder, infinite pity.” — Jorge Luis Borges Friday 02.19.21 Posted by Nagib El Desouky