Match the three diary extracts below to these three writers:
a) Fernando Pessoa
b) Bubba Tribunales
Correct answers by females win a night out with the authors of the diaries, if living. Correct answers by males get a free torrent download of their favorite pop song. Good luck!
1. Οι τεράστιες μάζες των ανθρώπων είναι πέρα για πέρα αδιάφορες για όλα αυτά – ‘ανθρωποι ανεύθυνοι που ψάχνουν να γεμίσουν τη δική τους εγωιστική ζωή εξευγενίζοντας τις επιθυμίες τους, αλλά παραμένοντας εγωιστές. (loosely translated by me and google-translate: The huge masses of people are completely indifferent to all this; irresponsible people looking to fill their own selfish life, by refining their desires, but remaining selfish.)
2. …so I did what the Danes do, I wrapped myself in the airplane style blanket and sipped my 5 euro coffee. Welcome to wonderful Kobenhavn. You WILL be happy! … on the SAS flight back to London, the screens were showing the pilots eye view! Yeah, that’s where the excitement ends, because NOTHING happens. No birds being squashed on the windshields, no aliens flying about, no juggling homeless angels cleaning the windows at the lights…
3. I experienced the pain of truth when I saw myself there, because, inevitably, it was my face I looked for first. I have never had a very high opinion of my physical appearance but never before have I felt such a nonentity as I did then, comparing myself with other faces, so familiar to me, in that line-up of my daily companions. I look like a rather dull Jesuit. My thin inexpressive face betrays no intelligence, no intensity, nothing whatever to make it stand out from the stagnant tide of the other faces. But they’re not a stagnant tide. There are some really expressive faces there. Senhor Vasques is exactly as he is in real life – the firm, likable face, the steady gaze, all set off by the stiff moustache. The energy and intelligence of the man – qualities which are after all utterly banal and to be found in thousands of other men all over the world – are stamped on that photograph as if it were a psychological passport. The two travelling salesmen look superb; the clerk has come out well but he’s half hidden behind Moreira. And Moreira! My immediate superior Moreira, the embodiment of monotony and routine, looks much more human than I do! Even the errand boy – I detect in myself, without being able to suppress it, a feeling that I hope is not envy – has a directness in his smile that far outshines the insignificant dullness of my face, of me, the sphinx of the stationery cupboard.