Secrecy flows through you, a different kind of blood. It’s as if you’ve eaten it like a bad candy, taken it into your mouth, let it melt sweetly on your tongue, then allowed it to slide down your throat like the reverse of uttering, a word dissolved into its glottals and sibilants, a slow intake of breath—
And now it’s in you, secrecy. Ancient and vicious, luscious as dark velvet. It blooms in you, a poppy made of ink.
You can think of nothing else. Once you have it, you want more. What power it gives you! Power of knowing without being known, power of the stone door, power of the iron veil, power of the crushed fingers, power of the drowned bones crying out from the bottom of the well. Margaret atwood
what is good about automation? people will come up and spew the most rotted empire shit but then add “healthcare and basic rights” and everyone rejoices. humans are incalculable, automation is never good especially if the governing bodies are fascist and racist be default. imagine automated policing, and discrimination. there is a naiveté in the politics around automation, it has this very childish idea that if an AI took over we will all just enjoy. where in our modern history has this ever happened?
“Why can’t we stay closed up inside ourselves? why do we chase after expression and form, trying to deliver ourselves of our precious contents or “meanings,” desperately attempting to organize what is after all a rebellious and chaotic process? wouldn’t it be more creative simply to surrender to out inner fluidity without any intention of objectifying it, intimately and voluptuously soaking in our inner turmoil and struggle? then we would feel with much richer intensity the whole inner growth of spiritual experience. All kinds of insights would blend and flourish in a fertile effervescence. A sensation of actuality and spiritual content would be born, like the rise of a wave or a musical phrase. To be full of one’s self, not in the sense of pride, but of enrichment, to be tormented by a sense of infinity, means to live so intensely that you feel you are about to die of life.” Emil M. Cioran from On the Heights of Despair Translated by Ilinca Zarifopol-Johnston
I ought to have a special hell for my anger, a hell for my pride, - and a hell for sex; a whole symphony of hells!
I am weary, I die. This is the grave and I'm turning into worms, horror of horrors! Satan, you clown, you want to dissolve me with your charms. Well, I want it. I want it! Stab me with a pitchfork, sprinkle me with fire. Arthur Rimbaud’s Night in Hell from “A season in hell”
“ Never let me lose the marvel of your statue-like eyes, or the accent the solitary rose of your breath places on my cheek at night. I am afraid of being, on this shore, a branchless trunk, and what I most regret is having no flower, pulp, or clay for the worm of my despair. If you are my hidden treasure, if you are my cross, my dampened pain, if I am a dog, and you alone my master, never let me lose what I have gained, and adorn the branches of your river with leaves of my estranged Autumn.” Federico García Lorca
Like love, mourning affects the world—and the worldly—with unreality, with importunity. I resist the world, I suffer from what it demands of me, from its demands. The world increases my sadness, my dryness, my confusion, my irritation, etc. The world depresses me. Mourning Diary, Roland Barthes
_The humanistic cinema of Yasujiro Ozu, where frames, sometimes, speak louder than characters.
“Suppose we were in the market place one day, and we noticed someone laughing at us as we went by: this event will signify this or that to us according to whether this or that drive happens at that moment to be at its height in us—and it will be a quite different event according to the kind of person we are. One person will absorb it like a drop of rain, another will shake it from him like an insect, another will try to pick a quarrel, another will examine his clothing to see if there is anything about it that might give rise to laughter, another will be led to reflect on the nature of laughter as such, another will be glad to have involuntarily augmented the amount of cheerfulness and sunshine in the world—and in each case, a drive has gratified itself, whether it be the drive to annoyance, or to combativeness or to reflection or to benevolence. This drive seized the event as its prey. Why precisely this one? Because, thirsty and hungry, it was lying in wait” Daybreak: Thoughts on the Prejudice of Morality by Friedrich Nietzsche. 1881
Suehiro Maruo
incredibly fascinating to see liberals who have cheered on the destruction of the soviet union and consider the reintroduction of capitalism to eastern europe to be positive/an act of liberation suddenly being really confused and scratching their head as to how there could possibly be a resurgence of fascism across europe