animal, to carry, to endure

忍 ｜ 认 ｜ 仍

[red-ibis-red]

—Emily Dickinson, envelope poem A821, The Gorgeous Nothings

[proustian-dream]

The souvenir is the relic secularized.

The souvenir is the complement of the "experience". In it the increasing self-alienation of the person who inventories his past as dead possession is distilled. In the 19th century allegory left the surrounding world, in order to settle in the inner world. The relic derives from the corpse, the souvenir from deceased experience (Erfahrung) which calls itself euphemistically "Erlebnis."

Walter Benjamin, Central Park

[edwordsmyth]

Blaise Cendrars

[eglisenoire-deactivated20260108]

Ingeborg Bachmann, from “Malina”, tr. Philip Boehm, originally published c. 1971.

[nobrashfestivity]

Edvard Munch, The Kiss IV, Color woodcut, 1902

[proustiansleep]

"No theory today escapes the marketplace. Each one is offered as a possibility among competing opinions; all are put up for a choice; all are swallowed. There are no blinders for thought to don against this, and the self-righteous conviction that my own theory is spared that fate will surely deteriorate into self-advertising. But neither need dialectics be muted by such rebuke, or by the concomitant charge of its superfluity, of being a method slapped on outwardly, at random. The name of dialectics says no more, to begin with, than that objects do not go into concepts without leaving a remainder,"

—Theodor Adorno, Negative Dialectics

[betokeneth]

Tom Stoppard, The Invention of Love (1997)

[mangogatherer]

[kiki-de-la-petite-flaque]

[borderepisteme-deactivated20260]

When the world has been reduced to a single dark wood for our four astonished eyes — to a beach for two loyal children — to a musical house for our clear sympathy —

Rimbaud, Illuminations

[disease]

"ST. FRANCIS CHURCH (RANCHO DE TAOS)" ANSEL ADAMS | NEW MEXICO, 1929 [gelatin silver print | 13 1/2 × 17 1/2"]

[onetwofeb]

"If I were a butcher I would write about butchers and carnivals, and if I were a professional magician I would write about the world, sometimes full of resentment, of the magicians. I am or, more appropriately, I was a poet, which is the same as being nothing. And I write about what I know best. Also about what has let me down the most. And about what I admire most. The territory of poetry is the only territory, along with that of pain, where it is still possible to get lost, where it is possible to find wonderful formulas (or better said: the 'half' of a formula), and where one, consciously or not, puts his own life at stake."

Roberto Bolaño.

[irwonder]

“Political activity is whatever shifts a body from the place assigned to it or changes a place’s destination. It makes visible what had no business being seen, and makes heard a discourse where once there was only noise.”

— Jacques Rancière, Disagreement: Politics and Philosophy

[xanaxfarts]

Meoto Iwa (wedded rocks), Futami Okitama Shrine, Mie Prefecture

[bwv572-deactivated20260113]

According to tradition, Lazarus never smiled during the thirty years after his resurrection, worried by the sight of unredeemed souls he had seen during his four-day stay in Hell. The only exception was, when he saw someone stealing a pot, he smilingly said: "the clay steals the clay."[1][46]

[onetwofeb]

“To cheat oneself out of love is the most terrible deception; it is an eternal loss for which there is no reparation, either in time or in eternity.”

Søren Aabye Kierkegaard, Works of Love, 1847

[gabri-el]

vuillard