Wednesday, April 30, 2014

ponder

"Whoever has become used to feeling like a hermit, whoever sees with a cold gaze through all the social and comradely connections and notices the tiny threads which tie people together, threads so strong that a gust of air breaks them; whoever sees in addition that it is not the flame of genius which makes him a hermit, that flame from whose circle of light all things flee away, because it makes them appear so like a dance of death, so mad, so spindly, and so inane; whoever is, on the contrary, lonely because of a caprice of nature, because of a curiously brewed mixture of wishes, gifts, and endeavors of the will, he knows what an “incomprehensibly lofty marvel” a friend is; and if he is an idolater, he must first and foremost erect an altar to the “unknown god who created the friend”."
— Friedrich Nietzsche 

ars poetica

You are tired,
(I think)
Of the always puzzle of living and doing;
And so am I.

Come with me, then,
And we’ll leave it far and far away—
(Only you and I, understand!)

You have played,
(I think)
And broke the toys you were fondest of,
And are a little tired now;
Tired of things that break, and—
Just tired.
So am I.

But I come with a dream in my eyes tonight,
And knock with a rose at the hopeless gate of your heart—
Open to me!
For I will show you the places Nobody knows,
And, if you like,
The perfect places of Sleep.

Ah, come with me!
I’ll blow you that wonderful bubble, the moon,
That floats forever and a day;
I’ll sing you the jacinth song
Of the probable stars;
I will attempt the unstartled steppes of dream,
Until I find the Only Flower,
Which shall keep (I think) your little heart
While the moon comes out of the sea.

— e.e. cummings

ponderous

“I want to be somebody’s favorite hiding place, the place they can put everything they know they need to survive, every secret, every solitude, every nervous prayer, and be absolutely certain I will keep it safe. I will keep it safe.”
— Andrea Gibson

literacki

"In the beginning, God created the earth, and he looked upon it in His cosmic loneliness.
And God said, “Let Us make living creatures out of mud, so the mud can see what We have done.” And God created every living creature that now moveth, and one was man. Mud as man alone could speak. God leaned close as mud as man sat up, looked around, and spoke. Man blinked. “What is the purpose of all this?” he asked politely.
“Everything must have a purpose?” asked God.
“Certainly,” said man.
“Then I leave it to you to think of one for all this,” said God.
And He went away."
— Kurt Vonnegut, Cat’s Cradle

quoth the madman

“So plant your own gardens and decorate your own soul, instead of waiting for someone to bring you flowers.”
— Jorge Luis Borges

quoth the madman


so-called ‘external reality’ itself is
already ‘structured like a language’,
that is, its meaning is always-already
overdetermined by the symbolic
framework which structures our
perception of reality. … ‘jouissance
is forbidden to him who speaks as
such’. This gap … forever separates
the lost Thing from … semblances
which are never ‘that’.

‘do not compromise your desire’
can only mean ‘do not put up with
any of the substitutes for the Thing,
keep the gap of desire open’.

the ethics of pure desire compels
us to avoid not only debilitating
contentment with the pleasures
provided by the objects of
phenomenal reality but also the
danger of yielding to fascination
with the Thing, and being drawn
into its lethal vortex, which can
only end in psychosis or suicidal
passage a l’acte.
Zizek

quoth the madman

“I am god, I am hero, I am philosopher, I am demon and I am world, which is a tedious way of saying that I do not exist.”
— Jorge Luis Borges

quoth the madman

"Paris, June ‘59
I have abandoned the moral point of view. Morals lead to abstraction and to injustice. They are the mother of fanaticism and blindness. Whoever is virtuous must cut off the heads. But what to say of those who profess morality without being able to live up to its high standards. The heads fall and he legislates, unfaithful. Morality cuts in two, separates, wastes away. One must flee morality, accept being judged and not judging, saying yes, creating unity—and for the time being, suffering agony."
— Albert Camus, Notebooks 1951-1959

literacki

“When we hold each other, in the darkness, it doesn’t make the darkness go away. The bad things are still out there. The nightmares still walking. When we hold each other we feel not safe, but better. ‘It’s all right’ we whisper, ‘I’m here, I love you.’ and we lie: ‘I’ll never leave you.’ For just a moment or two the darkness doesn’t seem so bad.”
— Neil Gaiman, Neil Gaiman’s Midnight Days

literacki

Hallo, Rabbit,” he said, “is that you?”
“Let’s pretend it isn’t,” said Rabbit, “and see what happens. 
—A.A. Milne

ponder

The qualities I see in other people that I desire: I already possess them: I am afraid to harness them: I italicized-and capitalized should exploit them.pondering

ponderous

And, indeed, I will ask on my own account here, an idle question: which is better - cheap happiness or exalted sufferings? Well, which is better?
~Fyodor Dostoyevsky, Notes from the Underground

Tuesday, April 29, 2014

ponder


On fantasy, shame and a grand lack of irony

You can’t change your fantasy; but you can take responsibility for it by assigning a lack within the fantasy structure itself, that is to say a symbolized understanding (a deep knowing culled through difficult experiences and uncensored reflections) of its necessarily unfulfilled core, the cause of desire itself.
You can come to understand what you’ve been holding out for, its unreachable quality, and how you’ve been hurting from the belief in its reachable existence. There’s no reason to feel shame for fantasy except to find an excuse to preserve it ‘as is.’ “The Other does not respect my fantasy; does not understand me, therefore I will secretly fantasize as I have been and await my day of full reward.” Or: “Perhaps I will always simply enjoy my fantasy in private, shut far out from the world.” Whatever my strategy, my fantasy remains preserved without the inherent irony of its fantastic structure installed within it. And the Big Other thus cruelly remains in a correspondingly despotic position of lacklessness (“Someone’s got to be getting it if I’m not!”).
To understand lack in this way opens a space in which one must arduously wonder just what (or who) one would be without their fantasy as support, without the pain known so well, so personally, of its unbearable unfulfillment.
As is generally the case, a poet turns a prosaic monotony about existential grief into the new warmth of a well designed koan: “What would I lose if I didn’t have pain?”

ponder

We know this much
Death is an evil;
we have the gods’
word for it; if death
were a good thing, they too
would die 
Sappho

ponder

Everyone has his own reality in which, if one is not too cautious, timid or frightened, one swims. This is the only reality there is. 
Henry Miller, Stand Still Like the Hummingbird

ponder

A long time ago I learned not to explain things to people. It misleads them into thinking they’re entitled to know everything I do.