Blow-Upby Julio Cortázar "Blow-Up" was first published in Argentina in 1964 in the collection Final del juego. It was translated into English and published in the United States in 1967. The story inspired Michelangelo Antonioni to co-write the screenplay for Blow-Up, which he also directed; the film is now considered a cult classic. It starred Vanessa Redgrave, Sarah Miles, Verushka, Jane Birkin, and Peter Bowles, and featured a soundtrack by Herbie Hancock and the Yardbirds.When Blow-Up was released in 1967, it won the Palme d'Or at Cannes and was nominated for Academy Awards in Directing and Writing.Story is originally titled: Las Babas del Diablo(literally, "The Droolings of the Devil", an Argentine expression for the long threads some spiders and other insects leave hanging between the trees).~ It'll never be known how this has to be told, in the first person or in the second, using the third person plural or continually inventing modes that will serve for nothing. If one might say: I will see the moon rose, or: we hurt me at the back of my eyes, and especially: you the blonde womanwas the clouds that race before my your his our yours their faces. What the hell.Seated ready to tell it, if one might go to drink a bock over there, and the typewriter continue byitself (because I use the machine), that would be perfection. And that's not just a manner of speaking. Perfection, yes, because here is the aperture which must be counted also as a machine(of another sort, a Contax 1.1.2) and it is possible that one machine may know more about another machine than I, you, she--the blonde--and the clouds. But I have the dumb luck to know that if I go this Remington will sit turned to stone on top of the table with the air of being twice as quiet that mobile things have when they are not moving. So, I have to write. One of us all has to write, if this is going to get told. Better that it be me who am dead, for I'm less compromisedthan the rest; I who see only the clouds and can think without being distracted, write withoutbeing distracted (there goes another, with a grey edge) and remember without being distracted, Iwho am dead (and I'm alive, I'm not trying to fool anybody, you'll see when we get to themoment, because I have to begin some way and I've begun with this period, the last one back, theone at the beginning, which in the end is the best of the periods when you want to tellsomething.)All of a sudden I wonder why I have to tell this, but if one begins to wonder why he does all hedoes do, if one wonders why he accepts an invitation to lunch (now a pigeon's flying by and itseems to me a sparrow), or why when someone has told us a good joke immediately there startsup something like a tickling in the stomach and we are not at peace until we've gone into theoffice across the hall and told the joke over again; then it feels good immediately, one is fine,happy, and can get back to work. For I imagine that no one has explained this, that really the bestthing is to put aside all decorum and tell it, because, after all's done, nobody is ashamed of breathing or of putting on his shoes; they're things that you do, and when something weird happens, when you find a spider in your shoe or if you take a breath and feel like a brokenwindow, then you have to tell what's happening, tell it to the guys at the office or to the doctor.Oh, doctor, every time I take a breath.... Always tell it, always get rid of that tickle in thestomach that bothers you. And now that we're finally going to tell it, let's put things a little bit inorder, we'd be walking down the staircase in this house as far as Sunday, November 7, just amonth back. One goes down five floors and stands then in the Sunday in the sun one would
nothave suspected of Paris in November, with a large appetite to walk around, to see things, to takephotos (because we were photographers, I'm a photographer). I know that the most difficult thingis going to be finding a way to tell it, and...
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