“I do not believe the firefly gets any great satisfaction from the inconvertible fact that he is one of the most amazing wonders of this circus, and yet one can imagine a consciousness alert enough to understand that every time he lights his belly this light-bearing bug must feel some inkling of privilege.” – Julio Cortázar, HOPSCOTCH
1. cortázar’s first page reveals the order in which he would like to be read, but of course, that’s all a part of his great game. 2. a mind opening and closing like a wet umbrella. 3. in between two croissants he tells me a whole chunk of my life, though i have to remember it is his life, his concept of time, of love. 4. la maga reminds me of a girl called molly who liked to count the number of times i mentioned a color within the passages i had written: 4 blacks, 3 yellows, 1 red, 1 cream colored balcony, if you must know. like some creepy emptyminded psychiatrist — in her hands — my submissions became a sort of rorschach test i wasnt even aware i was taking. la maga annoys me. la maga intrigues me. she is the kind of woman bored men like. i see through her. why can’t horacio? i keep reading. molly’s voice in my head is one i like to stab in the eyes before i begin to write. 5. maybe this is all a pack of lies made true? or was it a pack of truths made into lies? 6. sentences that don’t make sense but do. 7. hopscotch is the title of a song björk would sing; simultaneously ethereal and familiar. 8. possibilities, possibilities. this is a book of possibilities. what book isnt a book of possibility? its existence once an improbability. 9. part freestyle, part personal pulse. 10. i want to underline it all. it makes me want to get close to myself, so close that i begin to separate from the self inside myself inside myself.