“Thinking has a quiet skin. But I feel the break and fled of things inside it. — Laurie Sheck, “A Quiet Skin”
Blue hills most gentle in calm light, then stretches of assail
And ransack. Such tangles of charred wreckage, shrapnel-bits
Singling and singeing where they fall. I feel the stumbling gait of what I am,
The quiet uproar of undone, how to be hidden is a tempting, violent thing—
Each thought breaking always in another.
All the unlawful elsewheres rushing in.”
The word forbidden
“Vanessa sat silent and did something mysterious with her needle or her scissors. I talked, egotistically, excitedly, about my own affairs no doubt. Suddenly the door opened and the long and sinister figure of Mr. Lytton Strachey stood on the threshold. He pointed his finger at a stain on Vanessa’s white dress.
‘Semen?’ he said.
Can one really say it? I thought and we burst out laughing. With that one word all barriers of reticence and reserve went down. A flood of the sacred fluid seemed to overwhelm us. Sex permeated our conversation. … When all intellectual questions had been debated so freely, sex was ignored. Now a flood of light poured in upon that department too. We had known everything but had never talked. Now we talked of nothing else.”
— Virginia Woolf, from “Old Bloomsbury,” c. 1921-22
Organized robots
SERIGRAPHIE Moebius Paris
5 ème Sérigraphie de la série “Paris”
35 Passages couleurs / format 70 x 50 cm
numérotée / signée à 120 exemplaires
Atelier Humbert-Droz
Tomorrow
“I have walked with the random sound
that silence makes in the grass in the air
I have walked with the wind the old
vertigo of vaults The traveler’s
final halt There is blood in the flowers…
Tomorrow is a desert without chosen people”
—Edmond Jabès, from “I Build My Dwelling,” trans. Rosmarie Waldrop
“M’interesso al linguaggio perché mi ferisce o mi seduce”
R. BARTHES, Il piacere del testo (via leparolerubate) (via vpervalentina) (via insalatadiparole) (via 42andpointless)
“Spesso confondiamo l’uomo con gli uomini che abbiamo sotto gli occhi. Sappiamo assai bene cos’è un borghese di Londra e di Parigi, ma non sapremo mai che cos’è un uomo”
-Jean-Jacques Rousseau-
Identity
— Neil Gaiman, Coraline“Please. What’s your name?” Coraline asked the cat. “Look, I’m Coraline. Okay?”
The cat yawned slowly, carefully, revealing a mouth and tongue of astounding pinkness.
“Cats don’t have names,” it said.
“No?” said Coraline.
“No,” said the cat. “Now, you people have names. That’s because you don’t know who you are. We know who we are, so we don’t need names.”
Life vs. Death
Life is a great sunrise. I do not see why death should not be an even greater one. -Vladimir Nabokov-
There’s no greater aphrodisiac than anticipation
found somewhere
Christmas preparations in purple
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