[b]Valeria Luiselli
Real writers never show their teeth. Charlatans, in contrast, flash that sinister crescent when they smile. Check it out. Find photos of all the writers you respect, and you’ll see that their teeth remain a permanently occult mystery.[/b]
This can’t possibly be true of course. But point taken.
The most important thing in this life, Master Oklahoma used to say at the end of each session, is to have a destiny.
Either that or the least important.
However differently we spoke the language, as Spanish speakers, our close ties with Latin and Greek gave us a sense of superiority: we were the heirs to a noble linguistic past. English, in contrast, was the barbaric bastard son of Latin, constantly gloating over its discoveries: the demiurgic function of articles, inventing the world by enunciating it.
We’re not going to take that, right?
He fell into a solemn silence, which he only eventually broke to say, “I think I’ve become a terrible person. In fact, I’ve become a reptile. Do you know that reptiles are stupid because almost their entire brain capacity is used to feel fear?"
Of course that’s probably all genetic.
In the small glass box the auctioneer held high lay waiting for me the sacred teeth of none other than Marilyn Monroe.
What would you pay for it? Or: What would you pay for her sacred pubic hair?
I harbored the secret hope, or rather, the secret certainty, that one day I would finally turn into myself.
And how idiotic is that!