Kaveh Akbar, from “Unburnable the Cold is Flooding Our Lives", Calling a Wolf a Wolf
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he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
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Kaveh Akbar, from “Unburnable the Cold is Flooding Our Lives", Calling a Wolf a Wolf
— Richard Siken, Portrait of Fryderyk in Shifting Light (via letsbelonelytogetherr)
-Anaïs Nin, 1939
in S/he by Minnie Bruce Pratt
[I]t is the durability of things that gives them their ‘relative independence from men’. They ‘have the function of stabilizing human life’. Their ‘objectivity lies in the fact that . . . men, their ever-changing nature notwithstanding, can retrieve their sameness, that is, their identity, by being related to the same chair and the same table’. In life, things serve as stabilizing resting points. [ . . . ] The contemporary compulsion to produce robs things of their endurance: it intentionally erodes duration in order to increase production, to force more consumption. Lingering, however, presupposes things that endure. If things are merely used up and consumed, there can be no lingering. And the same compulsion of production destabilizes life by undermining what is enduring in life. Thus, despite the fact that life expectancy is increasing, production is destroying life’s endurance.
A smartphone is not a ‘thing’ . . . It lacks the very self-sameness that stabilizes life. It is also not a particularly enduring object. It differs from a thing like a table, which confronts me in its self-sameness. The content displayed on a smartphone, which demands our constant attention, is anything but self-same; the quick succession of bits of content displayed on a smartphone makes any lingering impossible. The restlessness inherent in the apparatus makes it a non-thing. The way in which people reach for their smartphones is also compulsive. But things should not compel us in this way.
Byung-Chul Han, The Disappearance of Rituals
........ tbc of course
January 2025
Source details and larger version.
Crawling along is my collection of vintage snail imagery.
People might bring up Vincent van Gogh as an example of a painter who did great work in spite of, or because of, his suffering. I like to think that van Gogh would have been even more prolific and even greater if he wasn't so restricted by the things tormenting him. I don't think it was pain that made him so great, I think painting brought him whatever happiness he had.
—David Lynch
just read “to be loved is to be worth the inconvenience” it blew my mind away