Thursday, June 24, 2010

Tropic of Cancer - the beginning

These are the very first lines of one of my favorite books Tropic of Cancer by Henry Miller.

'I am living at the Villa Gorghese. There is not a crumb of dirt anywhere, nor a chair misplaced. We are all alone here and we are dead.
Last night Boris discovered that he was lousy. I had to shave his armpits and even then the itching did not stop. How can one get lousy in a beautiful place like this? But no matter. We might never have known each other so intimately, Boris and I, had it not been for the lice.
Boris has just given me a summary of his views. He is a weather prophet. The weather will continue bad, he says. There will be more calamities, more death, more despair. Not the slightest indication of a change anywhere. The cancer of time is eating us away. Our heroes have killed themselves, or are killing themselves. The hero, then, is not Time, but Timelessness. We must get in step, a lock step, towards the prison of death. There is no escape. The weather will not change.'

from Tropic of Cancer by Henry Miller, 1934

1 comment:

El Supremo said...

The only book I have ever "read" what an opening! The beauty and the Armageddon that awaits us. I am dead as well; waiting for my resurrection.