Skip to main content

The Information by Martin Amis

It might help if we knew where we lived. Each of us, after all, has the same address. Every child has memorized it. It goes something like.

This or That Number,
This or That Street,
This or That Conurbation,
This or That Country,
This or That Continent,
This or That Hemisphere,
The Earth,
The Superior Planets,
The Solar System,
Nr. Alpha Centauri,
The Orion Spur,
The Milky Way,
The Local Cluster,
The Local Supercluster,
The Universe,
This Universe. The One Containing:
The Local Supercluster,
The Local Cluster,
And So On. All the Way Back To:
This or That Street,
And This or That Number.


It might help if we knew where we were going and how fast.

The Earth revolves at half a kilometer per second.
He Earth orbits the Sun at thirty kilometers per second.
The Sun orbits the center of the Milky Way at 300 kilometers per seconds.
The Milky Way is traveling in the general direction of Virgo at 300 kilometers per second.
Astronomically, everything is always getting further away from everything else.
It might help if we knew what we were made of, how we keep going and what we return to.
Everything before your eyes-the paper and the ink, these words, and your eyes themselves –was made in stars that explode when they die.
More proximately we are warmed and hatched and raised by a steady-state H-Bomb, our yellow dwarf: a second-generation star on the main sequence.
When we die, our bodies will eventually go back where they came from: to a dying star, our own, five billion years from now, sometime around the year 5,000,001,995.

It might help, if we knew all this. It might help if we felt all this.
Absolutely unquestionably, the universe is high style.
And what are we?

The Man in the Moon is getting younger every year. Your watch knows exactly what time is doing to you: tsk,tsk, it says, every second of every day. Every morning we leave more in the bed, more of ourselves, as our bodies make their own preparations for reunion with the cosmos. Beware the aged critic with his hair of winebar sawdust. Beware the nun and the witchy buckles of her shoes. Beware the man at the callbox, with the suitcase. This man is you. The planesaw whines, whining for its planesaw mummy. And then there is the information, which is nothing, and comes at night.

--------------------------------------*88*-------------------------------------
Put together two different passages from the book, The Information written by Martin Amis. The aim was a pretend Cut-up. The “The Man in…” is the last paragraph of the book while the rest of the passage starting “It might help…” and ending “…what are we?” occurs somewhere in the first part of the book.
It might help the Man in what are we?
--------------------------------------*88*--------------------------------------

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Famous Old Faces of Doordarshan

Some people recall the faces and some people recall the names. Here are images of some of the famous readers and presenters of Doordarshan down the years. If you recognize any of them, leave a comment. [ Update 1 : Most of the faces now have names thanks to helpful comments by olio-gallimaufry ] [ Update 2 : Included image of one of the earliest presenters, Gopal Kaul. Send in generously from personal collection by son, Ashutosh Kaul. Sept, 2010.] [ Major Update 3: Got a tip-off about a documentary about the famous faces of Doordarshan from the makers   of     “The Golden Trail , DD@50 :Special feature on Golden Jubilee of Doordarshan ” from which these caps were taken. I managed to catch the incredible documentary and am adding some more faces/name and part of the docu here. New ones can be found after the image of  Narotam Puri. 30th Oct, 2010]  Pratima Puri. Believed to be the first Doordarshan reader.

Indian Cigarette Vintage Ads

He put a cigarette in his mouth and, as a matter of silent routine, offered one to Gwyn, who said ‘No thanks.”Richard looked at him.”I packed it in.”"You what?”"I stopped. Three days ago. Cold. That’s it. You just make the life choice.” Richard looked up and inhaled needfully. He gazed at his cigarette. He didn’t really want to smoke it. He wanted to eat it. Almost the only thing that he still liked about Gwyn was that he still smoked…Paradoxically, he no longer wanted to give up smoking: what he wanted to do was take up smoking. Not so much to fill the little gaps between cigarettes with cigarettes (there wouldn’t be time, anyway) or to smoke two cigarettes at once. It was more that he felt the desire to smoke a cigarette even when he was smoking a cigarette. The need was and wasn’t being met… While it would always be true and fair to say that Richard felt like a cigarette, it would now be doubly true and fair to say it. He felt like a cigarette. And he felt like a cig

Woman by Arun Kolatkar

a woman may collect cats read thrillers her insomnia may seep through the great walls of history a lizard may paralyze her a sewing machine may bend her moonlight may intercept the bangle circling her wrist a woman my name her cats the circulating library may lend her new thrillers a spiked man may impale her a woman may add a new recipe to her scrapbook judiciously distilling her whimper the city lights may declare it null and void in a prodigious weather above a darkling woman surgeons may shoot up and explode in a weather fraught with forceps woman may damn man a woman may shave her legs regularly a woman may take up landscape painting a woman may poison twenty three cockroaches - a poem by Arun Kolatkar from year 1967. Translated by Adil Jussawalla. Found it in New Writing in India (1974) ed. by Adil Jussawalla.