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É com assombro que me olham. Olham-me com soberba.
Porque sou a melhor e a pior,
Venal e incorruptível,
Mãe e virgem,
Frívola e frutuosa.
Sou silêncio ininteligível
E a permanência do fluxo.
Que o digam os eleitores americanos que tem nas mãos aquela que já foi apelidada da escolha mais importante e vital dos últimos tempos, cujo desfecho será sempre - dizem - apocalíptico.
Eu que nada sei destas matérias, que pouco ou nada li sobre o assunto, sou de opinião que estas eleições vão marcar o início de uma nova era, de um novo paradigma. Não pelo seu valor intrínseco, mas pela queda que representam do paradigma actual.
"They arrived at the fence, about where the maps said it would be, well before dawn, during the hour of the rat, when the body sleeps deepest even if awake, still following the same cycle, most vulnerable."
Thomas Pynchon (2000) Vineland. Vintage, London.
"É perigoso ao invés quando, em vez de nos despertar para a vida pessoal do espírito, a leitura tende a substitui-la..."
"Mucho blinked sympathetically, a little sadly. "I guess it's over. We're into a new world now, it's the Nixon Years, then it'll be the Reagan Years -"
"Ol'Raygun? No way he'll ever make president."
"Just please go careful, Zoyd. 'Cause soon they're gonna be coming after everything, not just drugs, but beer, cigarettes, sugar, salt, fat, you name it, anything that could remotely please any of your senses, because they need to control all that. And they will."
"Fat Police?"
"Perfume Police. Tube Police. Music Police. Good Healthy Shit Police. Best to renounce everything now, get a head start."
"Well I still wish it was back then, when you were the Count. Remember how the acid was? Remember that windowpane, down in Laguna that time? God, I knew then, I knew..."
They had a look. "Uh-huh, me too. That you were never going to die. Ha! No wonder the State panicked. How are they supposed to control a population that knows it'll never die? When that was always their last big chip, when they thought they had the power of life and death. But acid gave us the X-ray vision to see through that one, so of course they had to take it away from us."
"Yeah, but they can't take what happened, what we found out."
"Easy. They just let us forget. Give us too much to process, fill up every minute, keep us distracted, it's what the Tube is for, and though it kills me to say it, it's what rock and roll is becoming - just another way to claim our attention, so that beautiful certainty we had starts to fade, and after a while they have us convinced all over again that we really are going to die. And they've got us again." It was the way people used to talk.
Thomas Pynchon (2000) Vineland. Vintage, London.
"Frenesi had ridden into his life like a whole gang of outlaws. He felt like a schoolmarm. He was working gypsy construction jobs by day and palying at night with the Corvairs, never anyplace near the surf but inland, for this sun-beat farm country had always welcomed them, beer riders of the valleys having found strange affinities with surfers and their music. Besides a common interest in beer, members of both subcultures, wether up on a board or behind a 409, shared the terrors and ecstasies of the passive, taken rider, as if a car engine held encapsulated something likewise organic and mighty - a technowave, belonging to distant others as the surf belongs to the sea, bought into by the riders strictly as-is. on the other part's terms. Surfer's rode God's ocean, beer riders rode the momentum through the years of the auto industry's will."
Thomas Pynchon (2000) Vineland. Vintage, London.