Animas Trujano

Heart of Darkness

“It was un­earthly, and the men were—No, they were not in­hu­man. Well, you know, that was the worst of it—this sus­pi­cion of their not be­ing in­hu­man. It would come slowly to one. They howled and leaped, and spun, and made hor­rid faces; but what thrilled you was just the thought of their hu­man­ity—like yours—the thought of your re­mote kin­ship with this wild and pas­sion­ate up­roar.”
“The mind of man is ca­pa­ble of any­thing—be­cause ev­ery­thing is in it, all the past as well as all the fu­ture. What was there af­ter all? Joy, fear, sor­row, de­vo­tion, val­our, rage—who can tell?—but truth—truth stripped of its cloak of time. Let the fool gape and shud­der—the man knows, and can look on with­out a wink. But he must at least be as much of a man as these on the shore. He must meet that truth with his own true stuff—with his own in­born strength. Prin­ci­ples won’t do. Ac­qui­si­tions, clothes, pretty rags—rags that would fly off at the first good shake. No; you want a de­lib­er­ate be­lief. An ap­peal to me in this fiendish row—is there? Very well; I hear; I ad­mit, but I have a voice, too, and for good or evil mine is the speech that can­not be si­lenced. Of course, a fool, what with sheer fright and fine sen­ti­ments, is al­ways safe.”
“I thought, ‘By Jove! it’s all over. We are too late; he has van­ished—the gift has van­ished, by means of some spear, ar­row, or club. I will never hear that chap speak af­ter all’—and my sor­row had a star­tling ex­trav­a­gance of emo­tion, even such as I had no­ticed in the howl­ing sor­row of these sav­ages in the bush. I couldn’t have felt more of lonely des­o­la­tion some­how, had I been robbed of a be­lief or had missed my des­tiny in life.”
Joseph Conrad



Dürer, Tarkovsky, Cuarón


Las cosas que entran por el silencio empiezan a llegar al cuarto. Lo sabemos, porque nos dejamos olvidados allá adentro los ojos. La soledad llega por los espejos vacíos, la muerte baja de los cuadros, rompiendo sus vitrinas de museo; los rincones se abren como granadas para que entre el grillo con sus alfileres; y, aunque nos olvidemos de apagar la luz, la oscuridad da una luz negra más potente que eclipsa a la otra.

Pero no son éstas las cosas que entran por el silencio, sino otras más sutiles aún; si nos hubiéramos dejado olvidada también la boca, sabríamos nombrarlas. Para sugerirlas, los preceptistas aconsejan hablar de paralelas que, sin dejar de serlo, se encuentran y se besan. Pero los niños que resuelven ecuaciones de segundo grado se suicidan siempre en cuanto llegan a los ochenta años, y preferimos por eso mirar sin nombres lo que entra por el silencio, y dejar que todos sigan afirmando que dos y dos son cuatro.

Gilberto Owen

Pale Fire

Cells interlinked within cells interlinked
Within one stem. And, dreadfully distinct
Against the dark, a tall white fountain played.


Today, we celebrate the first glorious anniversary of the Information Purification Directives. We have created, for the first time in all history, a garden of pure ideology—where each worker may bloom, secure from the pests purveying contradictory truths. Our Unification of Thoughts is more powerful a weapon than any fleet or army on earth. We are one people, with one will, one resolve, one cause. Our enemies shall talk themselves to death, and we will bury them with their own confusion. We shall prevail!



Del lat. silentium.
1. m. Abstención de hablar.
2. m. Falta de ruido. El silencio de los bosques, del claustro, de la noche.
3. m. Falta u omisión de algo por escrito. El silencio de los historiadores contemporáneos. El silencio de la ley. Escríbeme cuanto antes, porque tan largo silencio me tiene con cuidado.