Solenoid

by Mircea Cărtărescu

The old man seemed delirious, but I knew better than anyone that delirium is not the detritus of reality but a part of reality itself, sometimes the most precious part.

I can still enjoy this blessed light, the full moon rising over the forest, the discrete functioning of my gallbladder, my ejaculations into happy wombs, the productivity of my work, the bug that climbs toward my fingertip to spread its crumpled cellophane wings. No one knows what lies beyond the grave.” We have the same attitude as the ancients: let’s eat and drink, for tomorrow we die.