The Compass All things are really only words in a tongue of endless gobbledegook that Someone or Something is writing in a book that is the history of the world. In herds, you and I, everyone, Carthage, Rome all travel, and my unfathomable life too, and this stigma of having to be an accident, a cipher, an enigma, and all the unmelodious dialects of Babel. But behind each name is what has no name. Today I felt its shadow flicker and take aim in the blue compass needle, lucid and light, that points far away across the seas that gleam, something like a timepiece glimpsed in a dream, or the stirring of a bird in the middle of the night. -- Jorge Luis Borges (tr. from Spanish by me)
Posted on: Thu, 01 May 2014 15:15:02 +0000
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