The chilling Hispanic term for whatever interior disorder drives the addict back again and again to the enslaving Substance is ‘tecato
gusano’, which apparently connotes some kind of interior psychic worm that cannot be sated or killed.
“I’ll say God seems to have a kind of laid-back management style I’m not crazy about. I’m pretty much anti-death. God looks by all accounts to be pro-death. I’m not seeing how we can get together on this issue, he and I…”
‘I read,’ I say. ‘I study and read. I bet I’ve read everything you’ve read. Don’t think I haven’t. I consume libraries. I wear out spines and ROM-drives. I do things like get in a taxi and say, “The library, and step on it.”
‘The point is that what launches vessels of war is the state and community and its interests,’ Marathe said without heat, tiredly. ‘You only wish to enjoy to pretend for yourself that the love of one woman could do this, launch so many vessels of alliance.’ Continue reading
“We witnessed something only marginally mammalian in there, sir.”
“… 99,9% of what goes on in one’s life is actually none of one’s business, with the 0,1% uder one’s control consisting mostly of the option to accept or deny one’s inevitable powerlessness over the other 99,9%… ”