無意識的河童子(*´σー`)

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What can I hlod you with ?

I offer you lean streets, desperate sunsets, the moon of the jagged suburbs. 


I offer you the bitterness of a man who has looked long and long at the lonely moon. 


I offer you my ancestors, my dead men, the ghosts that living men have honoured in bronze: 


my father's father killed in the frontier of Buenos Aires, two bullets through his lungs, 

bearded and dead, wrapped by his soldiers in 

the hide of a cow; 


my mother's grandfather -- 

just twentyfour-- heading a charge of three hundred men in Peru, now ghosts on 

vanished horses. 


I offer you whatever insight my books may hold, whatever manliness or humour my life. 


I offer you the loyalty of a man who has never been loyal. 


I offer you that kernel of myself that I have saved, somehow 

--the central heart that deals not in words, traffics not with dreams, and is untouched by time, by joy, by adversities. 


I offer you the memory of a yellow rose seen at sunset, years before you were born. 


I offer you explanations of yourself, theories about yourself, authentic and surprising news of yourself. 


I can give you my loneliness, my darkness, the hunger of my heart; 


I am trying to bribe you with uncertainty, with danger, with defeat. 


- Jorges Luis Borges (1934)