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[olreid]

something else i’ve been thinking about lately is how much more alive houses are to people who experience domestic abuse. some things in the house are protectors - the door to your room that swings shut behind you without you pushing it, the stairs that always creak loud enough to let you know that someone’s coming before they get there… whereas other things are alive with malice - the cabinets that slam and the dishes that break, the vacuum cleaner that always manages to sound angry and accusing. the whole house listens, and the whole house remembers, and everything takes sides.

[notmanthelessbutnaturemore]

Rothko // Autobiography of Red, Anne Carson

[voirlvmer]

“MY HEART IS FULL OF AN UNRIPE GRIEF. IT IS FAR TOO SOFT, & I AM NOT READY. YET, THERE IT SITS. PEERING OUT AT ME FROM BEHIND THE CURTAINS OF MY HEART. THIS DOESN’T CHANGE ANYTHING, I SAY OUT LOUD EVERY MORNING. THEN I GO ABOUT MY DAY, WONDERING WHO I WAS TALKING TO.”

— Eleanor Eli Moss, “THE BOOK OF LOVE,” from THE HOLY BIBLE (via bostonpoetryslam)

[stay-close]

Slept, awoke, slept, awoke, miserable life.

— Franz Kafka

[sun-death]

“In his book, Parsani questions the irony of creation: ‘If dust composes creation out of its own logic and order, it is because for dust, creation is the very essence of sadism: giving birth to something, feeding it, waiting and the reducing it to dust. If dust is inseparable from creation, it is because creation is always a “reducing to dust”. What would be the point, for dust, of composing an entity whose purpose is to become dust again, other than to quench a morbid desire, a desire for which creation is a conspiracy to experience the dusting process at a more aggravated intensity — an unabated sado-masochism…?’”

— Reza Negarestani, Cyclonopedia: complicity with anonymous materials

[proustiansleep]

“…summer had been hooted offstage and autumn with its bottles of blood and gold had everybody’s attention.”

— Toni Morrison, Beloved

[megairea]

“How inconsolably my constellations Sorrowed over You.”

— Alexander Blok, from “Your image appears spontaneously” (tr. by Boris Jakim), 1900

[garadinervi]

Roland Barthes, (1970), Empire of Signs, Translated by Richard Howard, Hill and Wang, New York, NY, (1982-)1992, pp. 63-68 (pdf here). Designed by Stephen Dyer