excesspool

just the worst

[elexecution]

they tell u not to drill a hole in your skull because they dont want you to unlock your powers btw

[hautaaja]

your local neophyte theurgist wants YOU to know that the most fortuitous state for communing with the divine can be achieved by first sleeping for 16 hours and proceeding to maintain a state of continuous wakefulness for at least 36 six hours. at the 24 hour mark, whether a novice or an expert, you senses should be receptive to things which are not to be explained further -- they will be clear and precise to you. pharmacologic aids are optional but recommended. in a pinch, lager will suffice. and ye shall never pay more than a fiver for it. trust the neophyte theurgist, for they are your friend.

[hautaaja]

HAMM: A few words… from your heart. (Pause.) CLOV (fixed gaze, tonelessly, towards auditorium): They said to me, That's love, yes, yes, not a doubt, now you see how— HAMM: Articulate! CLOV (as before): How easy it is. They said to me, That's friendship, yes, yes, no question, you've found it. They said to me, Here's the place, stop, raise your head and look at all that beauty. That order! They said to me, Come now, you're not a brute beast, think upon these things and you'll see how all becomes clear. And simple! They said to me, What skilled attention they get, all these dying of their wounds. HAMM: Enough! CLOV (as before): I say to myself— sometimes, Clov, you must learn to suffer better than that if you want them to weary of punishing you—one day. I say to myself—sometimes, Clov, you must be better than that if you want them to let you go—one day. But I feel too old, and too far, to form new habits. Good, it'll never end, I'll never go.

from Endgame by Samuel Beckett

[mycupoverfloweth]

[hautaaja]

CLOV: Why do you keep me? HAMM: There's no one else. CLOV: There's nowhere else. (Pause.) HAMM: You're leaving me all the same. CLOV: I'm trying.

from Endgame by Samuel Beckett

[erythroxyloffsworld]

[gouldblogger]

IGOR STRAVINSKY in a picture with Russian dancer VASLAV NIJINSKY, who acted as the titular character in the premiere of his new Ballets Russes production, PETRUSHKA, Paris, June 1911.

[thefugitivesaint]

George Barbier (1882-1932), ''Dessins sur les danses de Vaslav Nijinsky '', 1913

[iamoutofideas]

no one has ever gone to the club

[iamoutofideas]

true club has never been tried

[hautaaja]

Love's Languour Subtle state of amorous desire, experienced in its dearth, outside of any will-to-possess.

from A Lover's Discourse by Roland Barthes

[hautaaja]

For to go on means going from here, means finding me, losing me, vanishing and beginning again, a stranger first, then little by little the same as always, in another place, where I shall say I have always been, of which I shall know nothing, being incapable of seeing, moving, thinking, speaking, but of which little by little, in spite of these handicaps, I shall begin to know something, just enough for it to turn out to be the same place as always, the same which seemd made for me and does not want me, which I seem to want and do not want, take your choice, which spews me out or swallows me up, I'll never know, which is perhaps merely the inside of my distant skull where I once wandered, now am fixed, lost for tininess, or straining against the walls, with my head, my hands, my feet, my back, and ever murmuring my old stories, my old story, as if it were the first time. So there is nothing to be afraid of. And yet I am afraid ... Is there really nothing new to try?

from The Unnamable by Samuel Beckett

[lettersfromthelostdays-blog-blog]

[hautaaja]

But has nothing really changed, all this time? If instead of having something to say I had something to do, with my hands or feet, some little job, sorting things for example, or simply arranging things, suppose for the sake of argument I had the job of moving things from one place to another, then I'd know where I was, and how far I had got, no, not necessarily, I can see it from here, they would contrive things in such a way that I couldn't suspect the two vessels, the one to be emptied and the one to be filled, of being in reality one and the same, it would be water, water, with my thimble I'd go and draw it from one container and then I'd go and pour it into another, or there would be four, or a hundred, half of them to be filled, the other half to be emptied, numbered, the even to be emptied, the uneven to be filled, no, it would be more complicated, less symmetrical, no matter, to be emptied, and filled, in a certain way, a certain order, in accordance with certain homologies, the word is not too strong, so that I'd have to think, tanks, communicating, communicating, connected by pipes under the floor, I can see it from here, always showing the same level, no, that wouldn't work, too hopeless, they'd arrange for me to have little attacks of hope from time to time, yes, pipes and taps, I can see it from here, so that I might fool myself from time to time, if I had that to do, instead of this, some little job with fluids, filling and emptying, always the same vessel, I'd be good at that, it would be a better life than this, ...

from The Unnamable by Samuel Beckett

[hautaaja]

Even if there were things, a thing somewhere, a scrap of nature, to talk about, you might be reconciled to having no one left, to being yourself the talker, if only there were a thing somewhere, to talk about, even though you couldn't see it, or know what it was, simply feel it there, with you, you might have the courage not to go silent, no, it's to go silent that you need courage, for you'll be punished, punished for having gone silent, and yet you can't do otherwise than go silent, than be punished for having gone silent, than be punished for having been punished, since you begin again, the breath fails, if only there were a thing, but there it is, there is not, they took away things when they departed, they took away nature, there was never anyone, anyone but me, anything but me, talking to me of me, impossible to stop, impossible to go on, but I must go on, I'll go on, without anyone, without anything, but me, but my voice, that is to say I'll stop, I'll end, it's the end already, short-lived, what is it, a little hole, you go down into it, into the silence, it's worse than the noise, you listen, it's worse than talking, no, not worse, no worse, you wait, in anguish, have they forgotten me, no, yes, no, someone calls me, I crawl out again, what is it, a little hole, in the wilderness.

from The Unnamable by Samuel Beckett

[zegalba]

Yoshitaka Amano: Nocturne :: ノクターン (1992)

[hautaaja]

"I am a lady's man, I was born to be a lady's man," said Vasya, laughing a little noiseless, nervous laugh and dodging the passers-by, whom he suspected of designs for crushing his precious cap.

"Listen, Arkady, brother," he began a minute later, and there was a note of triumph, of infinite affection in his voice. "Arkady, I am so happy, I am so happy!"

"Vasya! how glad I am, dear boy!"

"No, Arkasha, no. I know that there is no limit to your affection for me; but you cannot be feeling one-hundredth part of what I am feeling at this moment. My heart is so full, so full! Arkasha, I am not worthy of such happiness. I feel that, I am conscious of it. Why has it come to me?" he said, his voice full of stifled sobs.

from A Faint Heart by Fyodor Dostoyevsky

[caffeinatedopossum]

(Totally normal guy at a party voice) you know that feeling when you laugh and feel the grief rise in your throat like tears? I mean, whaaat... what's in this punch haha...