#reading dump

[endlessandrea]

Burial's last interview

A little exclusive, because why not

"Exactly. It makes so much sense to me that all this stuff was suburban, halfway between the city and the forest… that’s so English. It’s like English mysticism. It’s like the Black Lodge in Twin Peaks, it’s like the curtain between the wolves and the city. That’s why I love FWD>>, because of that curtain, separating the bar and the darkness of the dancefloor."

"Yeah I would literally sit around waiting for night to fall. I don’t want to be a wall-starer, y’know staring at walls, but I would be waiting for night-time, thinking ‘I really want to make some good tunes tonight’. Or I would go out walking, wait for it to get dark, and then I’d go back… I love that feeling when you know that almost everyone in the city is asleep. That’s got to be the only time to work. I get up really early sometimes, or I’m awake all night, and you see the people and the city waking up around you… I actually feel a little bit angry at people (laughs), like they’re intruding on my silent world."

[endlessandrea]

Phantom Thread

Lisa Robertson’s roman-fleuve of reading and stolen time – Claire Foster

"The primary pleasure for a readerof Robertson is always in thinking about reading, and for Lucy, her readerly pleasure is 'in pausing. I noted and ruffled every tiny texture as it arose, whether in my mental sensation of reading, or in my body as I cellularly assimilated the words . . . I was reading my body.' My reading heart turned soft as one of Lucy’s rags upon meeting this passage that begins as a description of duration and blooms into an ethics of love:

I tried to linger with my amorous incomprehension, to slow my attention so as to better savour the most intricate linguistic constructions and transitions as well as their attendant desiring states, which, love-like, kept shifting. With this hard-won slowing came the conviction that to truly savour a book, to savour love . . . one could not read slowly enough. The waking world must be replaced with love. The experience of duration became its own mystical pleasure. Did love ever arrive? Poetry arrived, and what is the difference.

[endlessandrea]

Bruciore individuale, fuoco collettivo

Bruciore individuale, fuoco collettivo

„È stato ampiamente comprovato il legame tra il lavoro, nello specifico quello agrario, e i tarantismi: la sindrome mordeva sistematicamente chi lavorava nei campi. L’antropologo Ernesto de Martino rintraccia un’ulteriore prova, ossia che i sintomi comparivano ciclicamente, non a caso, durante il faticoso epilogo dell’anno agricolo. Era in quel periodo che le forze produttive “misuravano se stesse nella vicenda del raccolto”;[1] nella stagione estiva si tiravano le somme e si saldavano i debiti. Le inquietudini psicofisiche di tale passaggio scatenavano in chi lavorava la terra un turbamento che pareva potersi placare solo attraverso un apparente ulteriore spreco di energie: una frenetica danza rituale. Eppure proprio cortocircuitando la logica produttiva del consumo energetico, si riusciva in un ballo prolungato ed estenuante a guarire dall’esaurimento. Si bruciava, deliberatamente, insieme, per smettere di bruciare in solitudine.“

[chaos-with-wings]

Alongside the non-fic book I’m reading I also started The Martian by Andy Weir because it was recommended by one of my subscribed yt channels and because I really loved the movie. It’s really very good so far. Whatney’s monolouge at the beginning was quite the stretch but the way he explains technical details is really clear without being reductive.