#prometeo

[constanzarte]

Prométhée, Jean Delville. 1907.

[midnight-x-muse]

Michael Fassbender para The New York Times Style Magazine, 2015.

Fotografias por Bruce Weber.

[sononatanellepocasbagliata]

"Se l'anima è malata, le parole sono i medici, purchè si blandisca il cuore al momento opportuno."

-Eschilo

[cheminer-poesie-cressant]

à Luigi Nono

Je composais un rêve pour des espaces insonores, des mots de nulle contrainte, des sons d'un nouvel ordre, le spectre musical du plus bel artifice au centre du palais.

Et l'étendue musicale pénétrait différents espaces, ils étaient mosaïque à chaque sommet, vague sans retombée. Chaque chambre créait le souffle nouveau.

Et j’immobilisais mes forces apaisées, mon regard relatif au cœur pur de cette musique qui s'emparait des lieux, qui les dévalisait, qui les engloutissait, les dévorait, les retranchait, les agrandissait, les contraignait, les propageait.

--

I was composing a dream for soundless spaces, words without constraint, sounds of a new order—the musical spectrum of the most exquisite artifice at the heart of the palace.

And the musical expanse permeated different spaces; they formed a mosaic at every summit, a wave without ebb. Each chamber created a new breath.

And I stilled my calmed forces, my gaze attuned to the pure heart of this music that seized the spaces, plundered them, engulfed them, devoured them, cut them off, enlarged them, constrained them, and spread them.

.

(De disparition fondé, extraits)

© Pierre Cressant

(mardi 7 novembre 2006)

[mustacactus]

I know most of the people that follow me are here for MCL, Dungeon Meshi or Genshin, but there's a big fandom that I've never drawn for.

I love wrestling, I'm from México and la lucha libre has always been something that's part of my culture and country but I've never drawn something from it so I wanted to try it

And what best to choice but one of the Wrestlers that's not only from my country but from my state, Prometeo is one of my favorite wrestlers from the independent side

[byronthesecond]

Titan! to whose immortal eyes The sufferings of mortality, Seen in their sad reality, Were not as things that gods despise; What was thy pity's recompense? A silent suffering, and intense; The rock, the vulture, and the chain, All that the proud can feel of pain, The agony they do not show, The suffocating sense of woe, Which speaks but in its loneliness, And then is jealous lest the sky Should have a listener, nor will sigh Until its voice is echoless. Titan! to thee the strife was given Between the suffering and the will, Which torture where they cannot kill; And the inexorable Heaven, And the deaf tyranny of Fate, The ruling principle of Hate, Which for its pleasure doth create The things it may annihilate, Refus'd thee even the boon to die: The wretched gift Eternity Was thine—and thou hast borne it well. All that the Thunderer wrung from thee Was but the menace which flung back On him the torments of thy rack; The fate thou didst so well foresee, But would not to appease him tell; And in thy Silence was his Sentence, And in his Soul a vain repentance, And evil dread so ill dissembled, That in his hand the lightnings trembled. Thy Godlike crime was to be kind, To render with thy precepts less The sum of human wretchedness, And strengthen Man with his own mind; But baffled as thou wert from high, Still in thy patient energy, In the endurance, and repulse Of thine impenetrable Spirit, Which Earth and Heaven could not convulse, A mighty lesson we inherit: Thou art a symbol and a sign To Mortals of their fate and force; Like thee, Man is in part divine, A troubled stream from a pure source; And Man in portions can foresee His own funereal destiny; His wretchedness, and his resistance, And his sad unallied existence: To which his Spirit may oppose Itself—and equal to all woes, And a firm will, and a deep sense, Which even in torture can descry Its own concenter'd recompense, Triumphant where it dares defy, And making Death a Victory. PROMETEO George Gordon Noel Lord Byron 

[viviween]

Il mostro di 𝗙𝗿𝗮𝗻𝗸𝗲𝗻𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗶𝗻 ha lo spessore degli archetipi junghiani: la solitudine della creatura è la nostra solitudine; il Prometeo lancinante ci assomiglia nel dolore; la direzione del racconto, verso la nostra attuale condizione umana, lo fanno esistere tra noi.

[carloskaplan]

Carl Bloch: Liberación de Prometeo