Alex Kudera's Blog, page 25

When Soldiers Come Home

From the January 2024 Harper's Magazine, I read Matt Farwell's "The Museum of Broken G.I. Joes."

There is no was.

"She even quoted that scrofulous old faker [William] Faulkner . . . when she said, 'There is no was. There is only is.'"

~~ from Be Mine: A Frank Bascombe Novel by Richard Ford

the Old Oaken Slop-pot

"When I reached the Delta gate in Marquette—having stabilized to a fugue state of grief mixed with low-grade aspiration regarding timely questions relevant to what now for me, or what ever—the waiting area was a-thrive with activity. The Northern Michigan University Fighting Bull-Bats were a day away from playing the archrival, Wisconsin-Eau Claire Anvil Heads in a pigskin contest to decide the Peckerwood League Championship and who would bring home the Old Oaken Slop-pot and go on to the Clinker Bowl in Duluth on New Year's day, when the fate of the world would be decided."

~~ from Be Mine: A Frank Bascombe Novel by Richard Ford

Christmas Day

Merry Christmas!

to become a human being

"A human being's most pressing need was to become a human being."

~~ from An Apprenticeship or The Book of Pleasures by Clarice Lispector 

Self Portrait at Twenty Years by Roberto Bolano

I set off, I took up the march and never knew
where it might take me. I went full of fear,
my stomach dropped, my head was buzzing:
I think it was the icy wind of the dead.
I don’t know. I set off, I thought it was a shame
to leave so soon, but at the same time
I heard that mysterious and convincing call.
You either listen or you don’t, and I listened
and almost burst out crying: a terrible sound,
born on the air and in the sea.
A sword and shield. And then,
despite the fear, I set off, I put my cheek
against death’s cheek.
And it was impossible to close my eyes and miss seeing
that strange spectacle, slow and strange,
though fixed in such a swift reality:
thousands of guys like me, baby-faced
or bearded, but Latin American, all of us,
brushing cheeks with death.

—Roberto Bolaño
(translated from the Spanish by Laura Healy)

the sweet gentleness of Europe

"I was a little shaken . . . in fact, I'd had rotten shock! . . . that's right, a shock . . . the whole of Europe on my ass . . . yes, the whole of Europe . . . plus my friends . . . my family . . . all competing to see who could grab more away from me . . . not leaving me time to say boo . . . my eyes! . . . my nose! . . . my fountain pen . . . the ferocity of Europe! . . . the Nazis were no lovebirds, but don't tell me about the sweet gentleness of Europe . . . I'm not exaggerating . . . that little warrant . . . and all those public prosecutors . . ."

~~ from Castle to Castle by Louis-Ferdinand Celine

a delicious kabob

"Between wild fits of laughter, Johnson shouted orders. Samuel Doe's heart was removed. One of the officers ate some human flesh to make himself look more cruel, more brutal, more barbarous and inhuman -- real, genuine human flesh. Samuel Doe's heart was put to one side for the officer so he could make a delicious kabob out of it."

 ~~ from Allah Is Not Obliged by Ahmadou Kourouma

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attending to my paces

"I did not have so much, but I was intact. I had a ceiling fan and an unremarkable kitchen. I paid rent on time and was aware of the possibility that I’d earned what I had. I had helped a child through college and a year of graduate training, a newer normal, and I didn’t like sharing my walking space with undesirables who had never supported the arts with a paid museum membership. Inhaling the foul odors of the unhoused—or even those climate zealots using God-knows-what to seal themselves to the Monet, Klimt, or Klee—would never be for me. No, sir.

"And so, I came to recognize that I would no longer be striding through the museum on searing hot days. Climbing the great marble stairs would be for someone else, not for me. I would have to find another way of avoiding skin cancer while attending to my paces."