Translation First

“Well this isn’t the thing that I wanted but I suppose that now I have arrived at the point where people might be waiting for me and I don’t want to disappoint them as they might be relatives (if my older brother’s stories were true, Oh God) because I might in fact have been adopted, so that the myths that were handled carefully from hand to foot to mouth like the family chimera are encased so carefully and eternally (gathering space dust, Captain) that they might as well constitute, as not, the possibilities that I have laid out for myself.” And so, seconds before the point where stopping would have made any sense it was suddenly a factor in the things that were being considered that, to stop before leaping, or to stop in mid-air, while not only being physically but also psychically impossible, it occurred that a rip or small tear, an odd distortion due to the constant distention of the memory, a piece of something all caught up in the glue and the blueness; the twitching and blunted horns of some beastly idea that couldn’t be removed, changed or fixed without switching seats, selling the goddamn house altogether, etc. that maybe the best possible solution would be to earmark the future errata for past projects that had been left to stir in their own juices until a new thought arrived on the wings of anger and resentment that the young man felt. Could I be transparent? The vertigo of the transformation, the uncertain metabolism of this parable left him, at certain points, unaware of his time or place. And so in this method of questioning, he began anew. His translation follows:


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