The Age-Herald, Birmingham, Alabama, September 12, 1913
YOU ARE THE REASON
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The Age-Herald, Birmingham, Alabama, September 12, 1913
It was a vast thing, beyond knowing, a sea of information coded in spiral and pheromone, infinite intricacy that only the body, in its strong blind way, could ever read.
– William Gibson, Neuromancer
And it was there that I simply ran out of motives, as a car runs out of gas. There was no reason to go to Cincinnati, Ohio, There was no reason to go to Crestline, Ohio. Or Dayton, Ohio; or Lima, Ohio. There was no reason, either, to go back to the apartment hotel, or for that matter to go anywhere. There was no reason to do anything. My eyes, as Winckelmann said inaccurately of the eyes of the Greek statues, were sightless, gazing on eternity, fixed on ultimacy, and when that is the case there is no reason to do anything even to change the focus of one's eyes. Which is perhaps why the statues stand still. It is the malady cosmopsis, the cosmic view, that afflicted me. When one has it, one is frozen like the bullfrog when the hunter's light strikes him full in the eyes, only with cosmopsis there is no hunter, and no quick hand to terminate the moment—there's only the light.
– John Barth, The End of the Road
What is behind me still remains ahead of me. Can’t a man rest?
— László Krasznahorkai, Satantango
Birders, 2019 (dir. Otilia Portillo Padua)
PARIS IS BURNING (1990) dir. Jennie Livingston
Life Magazine, April 1915
STORY, William Wetmore Medea 1865 Marble, height 209 cm Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York
In the dark times will there also be singing? Yes, there will also be singing. About the dark times.
-Bertolt Brecht
…though in fact any experience of unbearable beauty will bring with it a measure of terror—
– Bae Suah, from “First Snow, First Sight,” North Station: Stories (Open Letter, 2017)
The Church Crowd - Marcus Collin , 1907.
Finnish,1882-1966
Oil on canvas,30 x 24 in.
Omega I - Otto Mäkilä, 1945.
Finnish,1904-1955
Oil on plywood , 48 x 55 cm.
“Poverty, loss, pain, passion, time or money will have marked her eyes, her hands, her mouth and the way she holds her arms and the way she places her feet, but they will not, I think, have changed her soul; in order to play this world she will still believe, and make others believe, that she’s its centre, its prize and its capital, and she is probably right.”
– John Berger, Into Their Labours: Lilac and Flag
"I was becoming a dreamer, and, like a dreamer, I did not know exactly what I wanted."
– Anton Chekhov, An Anonymous Story
There are wild flowers in my desert which take up to twenty years to bloom. The seeds sleep like geodes beneath hot feldspar sand until a flash flood bolts the arroyo, lifting them in its copper current, opens them with memory— they remember what their god whispered into their ribs: Wake up and ache for your life.
— Natalie Diaz, from “Post-Colonial Love Poem,” published in The New Republic