Sublime

Do you know what we do here?” “Not really,” I said. “We safeguard the integrity of our time line,” he said. “We investigate anomalies.” “Have there been others?” “Usually it turns out to be nothing,” Ephrem said. “My first case at the Institute involved a doppelgänger. According to our best facial-recognition software, the same woman appeared in ph

It was never possible for him to be where he was.

I found myself shaking his hand warmly. Minutes later I was out on the street. A boy walked splay-footed across a public lawn, nudging a soccer ball before him. A second kid sat on the grass, taking off his socks by grabbing the heels and yanking. How literary, I thought peevishly. Streets thick with the details of impulsive life as the hero ponder

FRANZ KAFKA WAS QUITE FOND OF SLOPES

Trapped in this limbo of an eternal present, between a past he can’t remember and a future he can’t contemplate, he lives a sedentary life, completely free from worry.

Sa misanthropie est toujours aussi proverbiale mais trouve de moins en moins à s’exercer.

The lifelogs remind me of Jorge Luis Borges’s story “On Exactitude in Science,”