[autailome]

The thought here is that to love is to negate. Love is a process of stripping away, cutting away, tearing away, that opens us up to what exceeds the self and the realm of knowledge. As Marguerite Porete dramatically puts it, “One must crush oneself, hacking and hewing away at oneself to widen the place in which Love will want to be.” Only when one has hacked away at the self will love be able to enter.

Simon Critchley, Mysticism

[soracities]

Mia Mingus, from "Moving Toward the Ugly: A Politic Beyond Desirability" [ID'd]

[soracities]

"[...] Understanding the world as a collection of  aesthetics, of brands, instead of a series of philosophies and power struggles means focusing on how things appear, and not how or why they work.  It’s bad enough to think about art this way, but thinking of yourself this way is a real disaster, [it] means neglecting what drives you, what fulfills you, what makes you human. The invented lifestyles of these aesthetics offer no path to embodiment, because they aren’t designed for entities with bodies. They’re  designed for TikTok, and hashtags, and the wiki."

"Millions of Dead Vibes", Lily Alexandre

[petaltexturedskies]

The world is violent and mercurial — it will have its way with you. We are saved only by love — love for each other and the love that we pour into the art we feel compelled to share: being a parent; being a writer; being a painter; being a friend. We live in a perpetually burning building, and what we must save from it, all the time, is love.

Tennessee Williams

[blackcontemporaryart]

“That’s the best thing about language: every time you use a word you are summoning so many other things—all the times that word has ever been used. I know this sounds a little psychedelic, but maybe I have an ancestor one hundred years ago who used this word that I choose to write now. What does it mean that everything that we are writing is recycled? Words are full of ghosts. Poetry is full of ghosts.”

— Morgan Parker

[soracities]

H.D., from poem [5] in Red Rose and a Beggar, Hermetic Definition [ID'd]

[soracities]

Asli Mahdi, "Origin Story #4", pub. The Offing [ID'd]

[soracities]

Mia Mingus, from "'Disability Justice' is Simply Another Term for Love", pub. Leavings [ID'd]

[vivalasigh]

Jericho Brown, "To Be Asked for a Kiss"

[soracities]

Megan Garber, "We've Lost the Plot: We're Already in the Metaverse", pub. The Atlantic [ID'd]

[rottenvampbat]

I don’t have any disorders these are all symptoms of being a vampire

[that-one-idiot-11]

whenever I tell a story I feel like Uncle Colm from Derry Girls

[jetix]

Sara Hagale, 2023-09-06

[soracities]

Emily Skaja, from "I Liked Myself Better as an Exquisite Skeleton", pub. The Offing [ID'd]

[thirdity]

“There is no sadness and no cruelty in that gaze; it is a gaze without adjectives, it is only, completely, a gaze which neither judges you nor appeals to you; it posits you, implicates you; makes you exist. But this creative gesture is endless; you keep on being born, you are sustained, carried to the end of a movement which is one of infinite origin, source, and which appears in an eternal state of suspension. God and the emperor had the power of the hand, man has the gaze. All history reaches the grandeur of its own mystery in an endless look.”

— Roland Barthes, Critical Essays

[soracities]

“To define force—it is that x that turns anybody who is subjected to it into a thing. Exercised to the limit, it turns man into a thing in the most literal sense: it makes a corpse out of him. Somebody was here, and the next minute there is nobody here at all.”

— Simone Weil, “The Iliad, or the Poem of Force” (trans. Mary McCarthy)

[thirdity]

“Writing exists (for me) at the intersection of three precarious, uncertain elements: language, the world, the self. The first is never wholly mine; the second I can only ever know in a partial sense; the third is a malleable and improvised response to the previous two. If my writing is a psychodrama I don’t think it is because I have, as the internet would have it, so many feels, but because the correct balance and weight to be given to each of these three elements is never self-evident to me. It’s this self — whose boundaries are uncertain, whose language is never pure, whose world is in no way “self-evident” — that I try to write from and to. My hope is for a reader who, like the author, often wonders how free she really is, and who takes it for granted that reading involves all the same liberties and exigencies as writing.”

— Zadie Smith, “Forward”, Feel Free