The voice of God.

Metatron acts as the voice of God. Any documented occasion when some yahoo claims God has spoken to them, they're speaking to me. Or they're talking to themselves. Human beings have neither the aural nor the psychological capacity to withstand the awesome power of God's true voice. Were you to hear it, your mind would cave in and your heart would explode within your chest. We went through five Adams before we figured that one out.

Dogma (1999), Kevin Smith.

Cada tanto una puerta se abre.

Las puertas han sido el tema de este último programa. Las misteriosas puertas que comunican momentos de nuestra vida, habitaciones de nuestro corazón y puertas que permanecen siempre cerradas, de modo que algunos sectores del alma jamás se comunican.
Yo les deseo a todos ustedes que alguna de esas puertas que están cerradas con candado se abran aunque sea por un rato. Vivimos, le decía yo hoy a un amigo que me hizo un entrevista, casi siempre solos y encerrados. Cada tanto una puerta se abre, un puente se establece. No les deseo yo una vida de puertas abiertas porque es insoportable, pero sí que cada tanto en medio de esa soledad se abra la puerta y se asome una cabeza amiga y diga “hola”. Pero esos milagros solo suceden en dos ocasiones: en ocasión del amor y en ocasión del arte. Ojalá que todos ustedes tenga momentos de amor y momentos de arte.

Alejandro Dolina.


Three New Yorks.

There are roughly three New Yorks. There is, first, the New York of the man or woman who was born here, who takes the city for granted and accepts its size and its turbulence as natural and inevitable. Second, there is the New York of the commuter — the city that is devoured by locusts each day and spat out each night. Third, there is the New York of the person who was born somewhere else and came to New York in quest of something. […] Commuters give the city its tidal restlessness; natives give it solidity and continuity; but the settlers give it passion.

Here is New York, E.B. White.


The only one.

You’re the only one I cry for, the only one I try to please. You’re the only one I sigh for, the only one I die to squeeze. And it gets better everyday, I play, with you it’s such a scream. Yeah it gets better everyday, I say, with you it’s so extreme. Yeah, it gets wetter everyday, I stay, with you it’s like a dream.

The only one, The Cure.

20.06.08 MSG - Cured.


Cut here.

But how many times can I walk away and wish "If only..."
But how many times can I talk this way and wish "If only..."
Keep on making the same mistake
Keep on aching the same heartbreak
I wish "If only..."

But "If only...."
Is a wish too late...

Robert Smith, Cut Here, The Cure.

A un día...

Hugh Gallagher's 'College Essay'



I am a dynamic figure, often seen scaling walls and crushing ice. I have been known to remodel train stations on my lunch breaks, making them more efficient in the area of heat retention. I translate ethnic slurs for Cuban refugees, I write award-winning operas, I manage time efficiently. Occasionally, I tread water for three days in a row.

I woo women with my sensuous and godlike trombone playing, I can pilot bicycles up severe inclines with unflagging speed, and I cook Thirty-Minute Brownies in twenty minutes. I am an expert in stucco, a veteran in love, and an outlaw in Peru.

Using only a hoe and a large glass of water, I once single-handedly defended a small village in the Amazon Basin from a horde of ferocious army ants. I play bluegrass cello, I was scouted by the Mets, I am the subject of numerous documentaries. When I'm bored, I build large suspension bridges in my yard. I enjoy urban hang gliding. On Wednesdays, after school, I repair electrical appliances free of charge.

I am an abstract artist, a concrete analyst, and a ruthless bookie. Critics worldwide swoon over my original line of corduroy evening wear. I don't perspire. I am a private citizen, yet I receive fan mail. I have been caller number nine and have won the weekend passes. Last summer I toured New Jersey with a traveling centrifugal-force demonstration. I bat 400. My deft floral arrangements have earned me fame in international botany circles. Children trust me.

I can hurl tennis rackets at small moving objects with deadly accuracy. I once read Paradise Lost, Moby Dick, and David Copperfield in one day and still had time to refurbish an entire dining room that evening. I know the exact location of every food item in the supermarket. I have performed several covert operations for the CIA. I sleep once a week; when I do sleep, I sleep in a chair. While on vacation in Canada, I successfully negotiated with a group of terrorists who had seized a small bakery. The laws of physics do not apply to me.

I balance, I weave, I dodge, I frolic, and my bills are all paid. On weekends, to let off steam, I participate in full-contact origami. Years ago I discovered the meaning of life but forgot to write it down. I have made extraordinary four course meals using only a mouli and a toaster oven. I breed prizewinning clams. I have won bullfights in San Juan, cliff-diving competitions in Sri Lanka, and spelling bees at the Kremlin. I have played Hamlet, I have performed open-heart surgery, and I have spoken with Elvis.

But I have not yet gone to college.

Notes from the pulpit.

I am not qualified to speak about God. I am going to speak about advertising. That is something I believe in. When I mention that I am in advertising, people's instinctive reaction is that you are trying to sell people things the don't want.

They regard advertising as being a bit distasteful. I am no more distasteful than you. Yes, of course, I am selling. But so are all of you.

You are hustling and selling or trying to make people buy something. Your services or your point of view. Tupperware parties, for example. They are selling.

You clean your car to sell it, showing it to its best advantage. People even put bread in the oven to make their houses smell nice when they are trying to sell them. The way you dress when going for an interview or a party, or merely putting lipstick on. Aren't you selling yourself?

Your priest is selling. He is selling what he believes in. God.

The point is we are all selling.

We are all in advertising.

It's part of life.

It's not how good you are, it's how good you want to be. Paul Arden.


Fail. Fail again. Fail Better.

Samuel Beckett.


The rebel.

"Life conspires to beat the rebel out of you."

Alex Bogusky.


Sir Ulrich von Lichtenstein.

Today... today, you find yourselves equals. For you are all equally blessed. For I have the pride, the privilege, nay, the pleasure of introducing to you to a knight, sired by knights. A knight who can trace his lineage back beyond Charlemagne. I first met him atop a mountain near Jerusalem, praying to God, asking his forgiveness for the Saracen blood spilt by his sword. Next, he amazed me still further in Italy when he saved a fatherless beauty from the would-be ravishing of her dreadful Turkish uncle. In Greece he spent a year in silence just to better understand the sound of a whisper. And so without further gilding the lily and with no more ado, I give to you, the seeker of serenity, the protector of Italian virginity, the enforcer of our Lord God, the one, the only, Sir Ulllrrrich von Lichtenstein!

A Knight's Tale (2001), Brian Helgeland.


Everybody lies.

It's a basic truth of the human condition that everybody lies. The only variable is about what. The weird thing about telling someone they're dying is it tends to focus their priorities. You find out what matters to them. What they're willing to die for. What they're willing to lie for.

House MD, "Three Stories", Season 1 Episode 21.