I write differently from what I speak, I speak differently from what I think, I think differently from the way I ought to think, and so it all proceeds into deepest darkness.
Forget not that the earth delights to feel your bare feet and the winds long to play with your hair.
In the realm of the imaginary, the Photograph … represents this very subtle moment where, to tell the truth, I am neither a subject nor object, but rather a subject who feels itself become object: I then live a micro-experience of death (of parenthesis): I become truly a ghost.
Roland Barthes, Camera Lucida
The being I am waiting for is not real. Like the mother’s breast for the infant, “I create and re-create it over and over, starting from my capacity to love, starting from my need for it”: the other comes here where I am waiting, here where I have already created him/her. And if the other does not come, I hallucinate the other: waiting is a delirium.
Life is a disease, sexually transmitted and fatal.
yes,yes,yes! my copy is already printed and adored;]
thank you i12bent
Emil Cioran - RULES AGAINST FALLING PRAY TO MELANCHOLY
to think of the world politically (power and domination);
to make rhythm divine: a military march before a symphony;
to hate all the colors: they awaken spiritual states which end fatally in melancholy; even red dissolves everything, if we are immersed in it a long time. To lose ourselves in the last degradation of the color white, to lose ourselves in the absence of color;
to not look for nuances in feelings; each of them exerts a suggestion, seducing us, and one by one we glide into ourselves as into the unknown;
everything is heartrending, melancholy tells us. To which we would answer: to die objectively;
to be a margin to yourself;
to give a dancing expression to all feelings; to search ourselves on the outside; to take ourselves out into the world of exterior signs;
everything is about overcoming the sensation of weakness which dissolves the body and the soul. And in order to conquer, there is no modality that is either too delicate or too vulgar. To think music politically;
to deliver force through thoughts, and to force the feelings to serve it;
to tear yourself apart in form. A methodology of breaking-up; to liquidate yourself in good taste and in control; to die, that is, to lose your trajectory;
to untie the fear of your own destiny.
My mission is to kill time, and time’s to kill me in its turn. How comfortable one is among murderers.
Between two evils, I always pick the one I never tried before.
It is not opium which makes me work but its absence, and in order for me to feel its absence it must from time to time be present.
If you ain’t scared,you ain’t alive these days.
Was it because she took my first kiss, that she took away my life’s breath? Was it that she lied – she deceived – that one day suddenly the scales fell from my eyes and I saw a Medusa’s head and I saw life as a thing of terror.
Any idiot can face a crisis - it’s day to day living that wears you out.
If the dream is a translation of waking life, waking life is also a translation of the dream.