On the most fundamental level there are transitions from continuous to discontinuous or from discontinuous to continuous. We are discontinuous beings, individuals who perish in isolation in the midst of an incomprehensible adventure, but we yearn for our lost continuity. We find the state of affairs that binds us to our random and ephemeral ( Read more... )

erzulie_eardrum and Miss Patience Ann often make (made?) image collages that I've never quite decoded, but don't care to... that leave me feeling like I've just had something sublime embedded into my memory ( Read more... )

Delicate omens traced in air ( Read more... )

"In poetic genres, artistic consciousness - understood as a unity of all the author's semantic and expressive intentions - fully realizes itself within its own language; in them alone is such consciousness fully immanent, expressing itself in it directly and without mediation, without conditions and without distance. The language of the poet is his ( Read more... )

Today I went to Borders, saw lots of familiar faces there...
I saw Nicole, a Political Sciences student, she was all talkative and electric and pretty as she is, and she kept on mentioning books... she asked me what I had in my hands. "Visions of Excess" and "Erotism: Death and Sensuality" by George Bataille... "The Body in Pain: The Making and ( Read more... )

I won't be using this passage, but I think it's too pretty to keep to myself, and I like you.(...) The work of art, according to Genet, occupies "this tranquil shore" (Giacometti) which separates life from death, being from nonbeing, identity from nonidentity. And the true artist or actor, as Genet will go on to suggest (...), is like a funereal ( Read more... )

By itself, the story becomes plodding, tends toward stereotypes, breaks up as soon as it ceases to excite its author, contradicts itself time and again, is enriched with odd details, meanders off, drifts, bogs down, suddenly reappears, lingers over trivial scenes, skips essential ones, drops back to the past, rushes years ahead, spreads an hour ( Read more... )

I want to drink these words like heavy, heavy, quickly inebriating liquor, or roll them up and smoke them...
I'd probably dream of emptiness within emptiness to further his metaphors, which I wish would keep on, then of fearsome secrets, and I's sleep for days and days.

Thanks again to Mike for buying me this book.

I do not know wether it is ( Read more... )

Vultures:

Foul-feathered and scald-necked,
They sit in evil state;
Raw marks upon their breasts
As on men's wearing chains.
Impure, though they may plunge
Into the morning's springs,
And spirit-dulled, though they
Command the heaven's heights.

Angels of foulness, ye,
Sloth on your muffled wings,
And speed within your eyes!

-Colum

IX. The Dandy ( Read more... )