Thursday, May 23, 2013
He himself is a haunted house. He does not possess himself; his ancestors sometimes come and peer out of the windows of his eyes and that is very frightening. He has the mysterious solitude of ambiguous states; he hovers in a no-man’s land between life and death, sleeping and waking.
"The unreal is more powerful than the real, because nothing is as perfect as you can imagine it. Because its only intangible ideas, concepts, beliefs, fantasies that last. Stone crumbles. Wood rots. People, well, they die. But things as fragile as a thought, a dream, a legend, they can go on and on."
~Chuck Palahniuk, “Choke
I am a selfish, conceited, impudent little animal, it is true, but, after all, I am only one grand conglomeration of Wanting - and when some one comes over the barren hill to satisfy the wanting, I will be humble, humble in my triumph.~Mary MacLane, I Await The Devil’s Coming
"The greedy body that clamours for satisfaction is forced to content itself with a single sensation and, just as the blind hear more acutely and the deaf can feel the grass grow, so the mouth becomes the focus of love and all things pass through it and are re-defined."Jeanette Winterson, “The Passion”
Wednesday, May 22, 2013
What is it in us that lives in the past and longs for the future, or lives in the future and longs for the past? And what does it matter when light enters the room where a child sleeps and the waking mother, opening her eyes, wishes more than anything to be unwakened by what she cannot name?"— Mark Strand ~ "No Words Can Describe It"
[in] imaginary objectification of the other … one loves the other … inasmuch as the other resembles oneself. … One loves the other inasmuch as the other is misrecognised as resembling one’s misrecognition of one’s self. A misrecognition of the self which originates in the other. ‘It is from [the other] as such that the misrecognitions which define me as a self are born.’ (Lacan, 1992: 198)
~Lacanian Ethics And The Assumption Of Subjectivity
"Oddly enough, living only for one’s emotions, like a flag obedient to the breeze, demands a way of life that makes one balk at the natural course of events, for this implies being altogether subservient to nature. The life of emotions detests all constrains, whatever their origin, and thus, ironically enough, is apt eventually to fetter its own instinctive sense of freedom."~Yukio Mishima, Spring Snow
Eugene von Guérard - Milford Sound, New Zealand (1877-1879)
"In a sense, and as in melodrama, killing yourself amounts to confessing. It is confessing that life is too much for you or that you do not understand it."~Albert Camus - “An Absurd Reasoning,” The Myth of Sisyphus