"When I Call You My Love, Is That I Am Calling You, Yourself, Or Is It That I Am Telling My Love? And

_The humanistic cinema of Yasujiro Ozu, where frames, sometimes, speak louder than characters. 

The Courier-News, Bridgewater, Pennsylvania, January 19, 1933

uh so i never do this but maui is quite literally on fire and there isn't nearly enough care or consideration for. you know. Native Hawaiians who live here being displaced and the land (and cultural relevance) that's being eaten up by the fire. so if ya'll wanna help, here's some links:

maui food bank: https://mauifoodbank.org/

maui humane society: https://www.mauihumanesociety.org/

center for native hawaiian advancement: https://www.memberplanet.com/campaign/cnhamembers/kakoomaui

hawai'i red cross: https://www.redcross.org/local/hawaii/ways-to-donate.html

please reblog and spread the word if you can't donate.

Sacrifice

‘me’, I exist—suspended in a realized void—suspended from my own dread— different from all other being and such that the various events can reach all other beings and not 'me’ cruelly throw this 'me’ out of total existence. But, at the same time, I consider my coming into the world—which depended on the birth and on the conjunction of a given man and woman, then on the moment of their conjunction. There exists, in fact, a unique moment in relation to the possibility of me—and thus the infinite improbability of this coming into the world appears.

•Georges Bataille, Visions of Excess Selected Writings, 1927-1939

Sleep Spaces

"When I shut my eyes phosphorescent blooms appear and fade and come to life again like fireworks made of flesh. I pass through strange lands with creatures for company. No doubt you are there, my beautiful discreet spy. And the palpable soul of the vast reaches. And perfumes of the sky and the stars the song of a rooster from 2000 years ago and piercing screams in a flaming park and kisses. Sinister handshakes in a sickly light and axles grinding on paralyzing roads. No doubt there is you who I do not know, who on the contrary I do know. But who, here in my dreams, demands to be felt without ever appearing. You who remain out of reach in reality and in dream. You who belong to me through my will to possess your illusion but who brings your face near mine only if my eyes are closed in dream as well as in reality. You who in spite of an easy rhetoric where the waves die on the beach where crows fly into ruined factories, where the wood rots crackling under a lead sun." -Robert Desnos

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?

Doctor, that is kind of you

– Nothing is harmless anymore. The small joys, the expressions of life, which seemed to be exempt from the responsibility of thought, not only have a moment of defiant silliness, of the cold-hearted turning of a blind eye, but immediately enter the service of their most extreme opposite. Even the tree which blooms, lies, the moment that one perceives its bloom without the shadow of horror; even the innocent “How beautiful” becomes an excuse for the ignominy of existence, which is otherwise, and there is no longer any beauty or any consolation, except in the gaze which goes straight to the horror, withstands it, and in the undiminished consciousness of negativity, holds fast to the possibility of that which is better. •Minima Moralia: Reflections From Damaged Life, Theodor Adorno

“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

ft.com

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