I want to believe...

I believe in the power of the imagination to remake the world, to release the truth within us, to hold back the night, to transcend death, to charm motorways, to ingratiate ourselves with birds, to enlist the confidences of madmen.
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I believe in the beauty of all women, in the treachery of their imaginations, so close to my heart; in the junction of their disenchanted bodies with the enchanted chromium rails of supermarket counters; in their warm tolerance of my perversions.
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I believe in Max Ernst, Delvaux, Dali, Titian, Goya, Leonardo, Vermeer, Chirico, Magritte, Redon, Duerer, Tanguy, the Facteur Cheval, the Watts Towers, Boecklin, Francis Bacon, and all the invisible artists within the psychiatric institutions of the planet.
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I believe in the gentleness of the surgeon's knife, in the limitless geometry of the cinema screen, in the hidden universe within supermarkets, in the loneliness of the sun, in the garrulousness of planets, in the repetitiveness or ourselves, in the inexistence of the universe and the boredom of the atom.
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I believe in the non-existence of the past, in the death of the future, and the infinite possibilities of the present.
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I believe in the death of the emotions and the triumph of the imagination.
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I believe all mythologies, memories, lies, fantasies, evasions.
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I believe in the mystery and melancholy of a hand, in the kindness of trees, in the wisdom of light.


El poema completo de J.G. Ballard, en inglés, lo tienen aquí. Encontrarán la traducción en este blog. Y entenderán el porqué de todo si pinchan este último enlace. La imagen que corona este sentido homenaje es de Shintaro Kago y la he tomado prestada de Entrecomics.

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