Tasteful torture

I went quickly through The Garden of Forking Paths again yesterday. This is a typical Borges story: the labyrinth overflows the text, and the author’s tone is hidden beneath the surface.

Then today I was reading another story on a blog, which as I read it, is a short surreal story about men’s love, lust and a deeper and mysterious desire for “pure love”. The author wrote this story to honor Arthur Schnizler. My friend Q, upon sending me this story, asked me how I think.

Imbalance is the word that came to me, after the coincidence of encountering these two stories. I like them both. Love, lust and the labyrinth of time and space are in no way balanced. Life is in itself an imbalance, a stream of tasteful torture. Living matters escape from the pale equilibrium. A man should be more fearful of the deterioration into balance than of the explosion of imbalance.

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