[thelonerforlife]

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[cor-ardens-archive]

[thelonerforlife]

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[lnqdty]

crown of cerberus//as she wipes the blood away from my dying hand (crown tapes, 2014)

[thewomanwithmissingfingers]

I have led a toothless life, he thought. A toothless life. I have never bitten into anything. I was waiting. I was reserving myself for later on - and I have just noticed that my teeth have gone.

The Age of Reason, Jean-Paul Sartre, 1945

[thelonerforlife]

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[questcequecestqueca]

Andreas Duscha

[thelonerforlife]

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as she wipes the blood away from my dying hand

[ivynightshade]

fatima aamer bilal, from we were put on this earth desperate, hungry and willing.

[text id: you get nervous when someone holds your hand, you wonder if they can feel the rot.]

[thelonerforlife]

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[milksockets]

'sod maze' by richard fleischner, 1974 in earthworks and beyond: contemporary art in the landscape - john beardsley (1989)

[funeral]

Rosario Castellanos, "Entrevista de prensa"

[thelonerforlife]

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[scavengedluxury]

Soot factory, Copșa Mică, 1988. From the Budapest Municipal Photography Company archive.

[funeral]

We might call this existential paradox the condition of individuality within finitude. Man has a symbolic identity that brings him sharply out of nature. He is a symbolic self, a creature with a name, a life history. He is a creator with a mind that soars out to speculate about atoms and infinity, who can place himself imaginatively at a point in space and contemplate bemusedly his own planet. . . . . Yet, at the same time . . . man is a worm and food for worms. This is the paradox: he is out of nature and hopelessly in it; he is dual, up in the stars and yet housed in a heart-pumping, breath-gasping body that once belonged to a fish and still carries the gill-marks to prove it. His body is a material fleshy casing that is alien to him in many ways—the strangest and most repugnant way being that it aches and bleeds and will decay and die. Man is literally split in two: he has an awareness of his own splendid uniqueness in that he sticks out of nature with a towering majesty, and yet he goes back into the ground a few feet in order blindly and dumbly to rot and disappear forever. It is a terrifying dilemma to be in and to have to live with.

Ernest Becker, The Denial of Death

[thelonerforlife]

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[scavengedluxury]

Blast furnace, Dunaújváros, 1953. From the Budapest Municipal Photography Company archive.