Chato ver os conhecidos se afastando um a um porque você é diferente. Até quando vou me esconder feito um rato a fim de lubrificar relações sociais? Eu não nasci pra ser covarde. Eu não nasci pra ser mentiroso.

Às vezes tenho a impressão que tudo o que nossos antecessores fizeram nos anos 50, 60, 70 não deu em nada. Crítica ao consumismo, amor livre, women’s lib, estilo de vida beat, cadê? Tente aplicar qualquer ideal desses e a Reprovação Pública cairá sobre você como uma marreta. Sei que estou reclamando de barriga cheia; sei que os caras sofreram coisa pior, e os antecessores de nossos antecessores coisa pior ainda. No passado eu seria condenado em tribunal, e mais no passado ainda, queimado vivo. Mas minha dor é a dor que é minha, né, e toda essa tolerância da boca pra fora com repúdio no coração dói pra cacete.

Tava por aí meio deprimido — o interior é terrível pra essas coisas — quando decidi organizar meus livros. Os que sobraram, quero dizer. Antes de sair de Curitiba doei mais de dois terços da minha coleção para a biblioteca (e mais de dois terços de meus mangás para a gibiteca); eram textos que eu não ia ler de novo tão cedo. Fiquei só com dicionários, obras de referência e meus favoritos.

Um dos favoritos é o Book of Lies. Tenho a edição original comentada, que encontrei por acaso no mercadolivre e tive que comprar. Não me arrependi. É o melhor Crowley que li até agora. De bobeira na casa da vó comecei a folheá-lo, ele me fisgou, reli e fiquei feliz. Quanto mais velho fico mais me convenço do que disse Sei Shōnagon no século X: “na vida existem duas coisas nais quais podemos confiar, os prazeres da carne e os prazeres da literatura, e sou afortunada por ter nascido capaz de apreciar ambos”.

Abaixo, alguns trechos do Book of Lies. Eles são representativos do estilo e devem servir de introdução para quem não conhece.

 

Proof is only possible in mathematics, and mathe-
   matics is only a matter of arbitrary conventions.
 And yet doubt is a good servant but a bad master; a
   perfect mistress, but a nagging wife.
 "White is white" is the lash of the overseer: "white
   is black" is the watchword of the slave.  The Master
   takes no heed.
 The Chinese cannot help thinking that the octave has
   5 notes.
 The more necessary anything appears to my mind,
   the more certain it is that I only assert a limitation.
 I slept with Faith, and found a corpse in my arms on
   awaking; I drank and danced all night with Doubt,
   and found her a virgin in the morning.

— 45, “Chinese Music”.

Love is all virtue, since the pleasure of love is but
   love, and the pain of love is but love.
 Love taketh no heed of that which is not and of that
   which is.
 Absence exalteth love, and presence exalteth love.
 Love moveth ever from height to height of ecstasy
   and faileth never.
 The wings of love droop not with time, nor slacken
   for life or for death.
 Love destroyeth self, uniting self with that which is
   not-self, so that Love breedeth All and None in
   One.
 Is it not so?...No?...
 Then thou art not lost in love; speak not of love.

— 28, The Pole-Star

The Self-mastery of Percivale became the Self-
  masturbatery of the Bourgeois.[...]
All moral codes are worthless in themselves; yet in
  every new code there is hope.  Provided always that
  the code is not changed because it is too hard, but
  because if is fulfilled.

— 60, “The Wound of Amfortas”

The desire of the moth for the star at least saves him
  satiety.
Hunger thou, O man, for the infinite: be insatiable
  even for the finite; thus at The End shalt thou
  devour the finite, and become the infinite.
Be thou more greedy that the shark, more full of
  yearning than the wind among the pines.
The weary pilgrim struggles on; the satiated pilgrim
  stops.
The road winds uphill: all law, all nature must be
  overcome.

— 46, “Buttons and Rosettes”

Doubt.
Doubt thyself.
Doubt even if thou doubtest thyself.
Doubt all.
Doubt even if thou doubtest all.
It seems sometimes as if beneath all conscious doubt
  there lay some deepest certainty.  O kill it!  Slay the
  snake!
The horn of the Doubt-Goat be exalted!

— 51, “Terrier-Work”

This Interchange, the Double Gift of Tongues, the
  Word of Double Power-ABRAHADABRA!-is
  the sign of the GREAT WORK, for the GREAT
  WORK is accomplished in Silence.  And behold is
  not that Word equal to Cheth, that is Cancer.
  whose Sigil is {Cancer}?
This Work also eats up itself, accomplishes its own
  end, nourishes the worker, leaves no seed, is per-
  fect in itself.

— 69, “The way to succed — and the way to suck eggs!” (note o número do capítulo)

Some men look into their minds into their memories,
  and find naught but pain and shame.
These then proclaim "The Good Law" unto mankind.
These preach renunciation, "virtue", cowardice in
  every form.
These whine eternally.
Smug, toothless, hairless Coote, debauch-emascu-
  lated Buddha, come ye to me?  I have a trick to
  make you silent, O ye foamers-at-the mouth!
Nature is wasteful; but how well She can afford it!
Nature is false; but I'm a bit of a liar myself.
Nature is useless; but then how beautiful she is!
Nature is cruel; but I too am a Sadist.
The game goes on; it may have been too rough for
  Buddha, but it's (if anything) too dull for me.
Viens, beau negre!  Donne-moi tes levres encore!

— 79, “The Bal Bullier”

The price of existence is eternal warfare.
Speaking as an Irishman, I prefer to say: The price
  of eternal warfare is existence.
And melancholy as existence is, the price is well
  worth paying.
Is there is a Government?  then I'm agin it!  To Hell
  with the bloody English!

— 80, “Blackthorn”