Saturday, January 5, 2019

Monday, October 15, 2018

radio darkness


The 37th parallel.

"And so when you have lost everything, no more roads, no direction, no fixed signs, no ground, no thoughts able to resist other thoughts, when you are lost, beside yourself, and you continue getting lost, when you become the panicky movement of getting lost, then, that's when, where you are unwoven weft, flesh that lets strangeness come through, defenseless being, without resistance, without batten, without skin, inundated with otherness, it's in these breathless times that writings traverse you, songs of an unheard-of purity flow through you, addressed to no one, they well up, surge forth, from the throats of your unknown inhabitants, these are the cries that death and life hurl in their combat." --Hélène Cixous

Monday, October 1, 2018

quanreuse


(via)

Firbank's brand of irony is Camp meets Surrealism, like Dali in prose.

Tuesday, September 18, 2018

muzzy bugonia


(via lighbulbs on tumblr)

Fruit flies for Titan.

Most of our law, too much of our medicine, & an increasingly onerous share of our education, is filled with the exigencies of magic ritual. In this mileu, clear thinking is at best a handicap; at worst, heresy. Magic never died, because as the masses were disenfranchised of their contact with the land, so was its logic erased from the book of representations. What took its place is arbitrary & unreal. I have not wanted to waste my time learning the rules of games they would never let me play.

(Yet it turns out--i did.)