Es fama que le preguntaron a Whistler cuánto tiempo había requerido para pintar uno de sus nocturnos y que respondió: «Toda mi vida». Con igual rigor pudo haber dicho que había requerido todos los siglos que precedieron al momento en que lo pintó. De esa correcta aplicación de la ley de causalidad se sigue que el menor de los hechos presupone el inconcebible universo e, inversamente, que el universo necesita del menor de los hechos. Investigar las causas de un fenómeno, siquiera de un fenómeno tan simple como la literatura gauchesca, es proceder en infinito (...). Borges, Discusión, 1932.

"The tragedy, proclaimed, as they made their way up the crescent of the drive, no less by the gaping potholes in it than by the tall exotic plants, livid and crepuscular through his dark glasses, perishing on every hand of unnecessary thirst, staggering, it almost appeared, against one another, yet struggling like dying voluptuaries in a vision to maintain some final attitude of potency, or of a collective desolate fecundity, the Consul thought distantly, seemed to be reviewed and interpreted by a person walking at his side suffering for him and saying: (...)." Under the Volcano, Malcolm Lowry.

Sing amnesiac

It wouldn’t be so hard to describe life by its little deficiencies. We can only suppose and miss, talking ourselves into everyone, simply not to be, inventing better schemes to lose our days, implying moments of importance, turning sickness into memories. As each and everyone does it, taking buses, driving cars, turning their heads to listen, averting eyes. Only by second guessing and poor hearing could I reach others, and only in error could I expel these words, uttering sounds that made no sense to nobody else. People bruised me in anger, in anxiety, for lack of space. Then, they went away saying sorry, and what else they knew much how to say, they kept saying until the end. Life could not be otherwise, and shine through these misshapen moments its light. We come to lay those sicknesses by prose, and rest our heads against the written word. Memories ravels - imperfection forgiving, memories come shocking, flashing waves and then nothing, forgetting.
(Paduke)