excerpt from _Hopscotch_ by Julio Cortazar, trans. Gregory Rabassa
[W]e invent our conflagration, we burn outwardly from within, maybe that is the choice, maybe words envelop it the way a napkin does a loaf of bread and maybe the fragrance is inside, the flour puffing up, the yes without the no, or the no without the yes[.]
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Categories: modernity, turns and diversions
Julio Cortazar
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