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La Capuche

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Dans Le Fond De Ma Capuche

13 septembre 2007 4 13 /09 /septembre /2007 11:09

"Whatever else I've been, I've never left myself be that worm. I've jumped, I've galloped, I've soared, and no matter how many times I've crashed back to earth, I've always picked myself up and tried again. Even now, as the darkness closes in on me, my mind holds fast and won't throw in the towel.

The transparent toaster, comrade. It came to me in a vision two or three nights ago, and my head's been full of the idea ever since. Why not expose the works, I said to myself, be able to watch the bread turn from white to golden brown, to see the metamorphosis with your own eyes ? What good does it do to lock up the bread and hide it behind that ugly stainless steel ?

I'm talking about clear glass, with the orange coils glowing within. It would be a thing of beauty, a work of art in every kitchen, a luminous sculpture to contemplate even as we go about the humble task of preparing breakfast and fortifying ourselves for the day ahead. Clear, heat-resistant glass. We could tint it blue, tint it green, tint it any color we like, and then, with the orange radiating from within, imagine the combinations, just think of the visual wonders that would be possible.

Making toast would be turned into a religious act, an emanation of otherworldliness, a form a prayer. Jesus God. How I wish I had the strength to work on it now, to sit down and draw up some plans, to perfect the thing and see where we got with it.

That's all I've ever dreamed of, Mr. Bones. To make the world a better place. To bring some beauty to the drab, humdrum corners of the soul. You can do it with a toaster, you can do it with a poem, you can do it by reaching out your hand to a stranger. It doesn't matter what form it takes. To leave the world a little better than you found it. That's the best a man can ever do."

Paul Auster, Timbuktu.

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