“Who put this brain inside of me? It cries. It demands. It says that there is a chance. It will not say “no”.”— Bukowski (via finallyseeing) (via thejoyofrain)
September 28, 2009
„Ich suchte eine Seele, die mir ähnlich wäre, und konnte sie nicht finden. Ich durchsuchte die verborgensten Winkel der Erde; meine Ausdauer war vergeblich. Allein konnte ich jedoch nicht bleiben. Ich brauchte jemanden, der meinen Charakter bejahte; ich brauchte jemanden, der ebenso dachte wie ich. (…) Einige Minuten lang sahen sie sich fest ins Gesicht; und beide erstaunten, so viel grausame Lust in den Blicken des anderen zu finden. Schwimmend drehen sie sich im Kreise, lassen einander nicht aus den Augen und jeder sagt sich: ‚Ich lebte bis jetzt im Irrtum; da ist einer, der böser ist als ich.‘ Da glitten sie zwischen zwei Wellen, einstimmig und in gegenseitiger Bewunderung aufeinander zu, die Haiin, das Wasser mit ihren Flossen zerteilend, und Maldoror, die Fluten mit seinen Armen schlagend; und sie hielten den Atem an in tiefer Verehrung, jeder von dem Wunsche erfüllt, zum erstenmal sein lebendiges Ebenbild zu betrachten.“
(2. Gesang, 13. Strophe)
- comte de lautréamont, die gesänge des maldoror
Bash in my brain,
And make me scream with pain,
Then kick me once again,
And say well never part.
I know too well
Im underneath your spell,
So, darling, if you smell
Something burning, its my heart.
Take your cigarette from its holder,
And burn your initials in my shoulder.
Fracture my spine,
And swear that youre mine
- tom lehrer, the masochism tango
September 26, 2009
[Sagan]
If you wish to make an apple pie from scratch
You must first invent the universe
Space is filled with a network of wormholes
You might emerge somewhere else in space
Some when-else in time
The sky calls to us
If we do not destroy ourselves
We will one day venture to the stars
A still more glorious dawn awaits
Not a sunrise, but a galaxy rise
A morning filled with 400 billion suns
The rising of the milky way
The Cosmos is full beyond measure of elegant truths
Of exquisite interrelationships
Of the awesome machinery of nature
I believe our future depends powerfully
On how well we understand this cosmos
In which we float like a mote of dust
In the morning sky
But the brain does much more than just recollect
It inter-compares, it synthesizes, it analyzes
it generates abstractions
The simplest thought like the concept of the number one
Has an elaborate logical underpinning
The brain has it’s own language
For testing the structure and consistency of the world
[Hawking]
For thousands of years
People have wondered about the universe
Did it stretch out forever
Or was there a limit
From the big bang to black holes
From dark matter to a possible big crunch
Our image of the universe today
Is full of strange sounding ideas
[Sagan}
How lucky we are to live in this time
The first moment in human history
When we are in fact visiting other worlds
The surface of the earth is the shore of the cosmic ocean
Recently we’ve waded a little way out
And the water seems inviting
September 18, 2009
V (II)
The monolith in 2001 seems the most appropriate cinematic analog, incontrovertibly there but virtually inviolate to interpretation.71 Similarly the hallway also remains meaningless, though it is most assuredly not without effect.
*
Absolutely nothing visible to the eye provides a reason for or even evidence of those terrifying shifts which can in a matter of moments reconstitute a simple path into an extremely complicated one. 77
*
I start filling caps with purple, concentrating on its texture, the strange hue, imagining I can actually observe the rapid pulse of its bandwidth. These are stupid thoughts, and as if to confirm that sentiment, darkness pushes in on me. Suddenly the slash of light on my hands looks sharp enough to cut me. Real sharp. Move and it will cut me. I do move and guess what? I start to bleed. The laceration isn’t deep but important stuff has been struck, leaking over the table and floor. Lost.
- mark z. danielewski, house of leaves
September 17, 2009
“She stood, in a room of crumbling plaster, pressed to the window-pane, looking up at the unattainable form of everything she loved. She did not know the nature of her loneliness. The only words that named it were: This is not the world I expected.”— Ayn Rand (via infinitebutterflies) (via aura-avis) (via sine-qua-non)
Jack walked down the beach, ripping off girls bikini’s and fucking them hard while still walking forward. He did this for a couple blocks down the boardwalk until he turned down an alley. Drake followed him, as Jack left a trail of knocked over trashcans and dead killfucked women
laying on the ground, it was easy for Drake to stay hot on his trail.
*
Then Jack stopped. He saw a pink convertible parked in front of Mermaid Cove. He forgot about the girl who was still violently fucking the shit out of his cock and proceeded into the cove. Somewhere in between walking over to the cove and enter…ing it Jack blew his shit and his nukegasm caused her body parts to be scattered all over Ocean Avenue, I don’t fucking know
*
As Jack approached the merman to pass by, the merman shoulder blocked the shit out of him. Then swiftly picked Jack up and put his nuts right in his face then performed a tombstone finishing move. Jack was on the ground, completely bewildered that he just got tombstoned by a mermaid. So bewildered, that he in fact, shit bricks.
*
RING RING! RING RING RING!!!
Jack slowly opens his eyes and searches for his cellphone. He lifts up the blanket and notices his Samsung in between the tight buttcheeks of a bomb-ass brunette.
“Bitch, I swear to God, if you farted on my FUCKING cellular, I will punish you like I punish my calves every Tuesday.” She lifts her head groggily.… Mehr lesen
“What?”
“Did you fart on my cellular?”
“I don’t… I…”
Jack pushes her out of his bed with the force of many men. Her head slams into the corner of the nightstand.
“What the fuck, Jack?” the Bomb-ass Brunette asks as she gathers her belongings.
Jack smells his cellphone. “I fucking knew it… farts! Get out of here before you fart all over everything, whore!”
- http://forums.skateperception.com/index.php?s=37c3854fd592de165fd8ca5b5195bf22&showtopic=200719&st=0&p=2733715&#entry2733715
September 16, 2009
marianne [singing]:
I never told you I’d love you all my life. Oh my love, you never swore to adore me all your life. We never made promises like that, knowing me knowing you. We never thought we ever would be caught by love fickle as we were. And yet, and yet, step by step, without a word between us, bit by bit, feelings slipped between our merry mingle bodies and words of love rose to our naked lips. Bit by bit lots of words of love began to mingle gently with our kisses. How many words of love? I never would have thought I’d always want you. Oh my love, we never would have thought we two could live together and not get bored. Wake up every morning and be just as surprised to be just as happy in the same bed, desire nothing more than that oh so banal pleasure of feeling so good to be together. And yet, and yet, step by step without a word between us, bit by bit our feelings bound us tight in spite of ourselves, bound us tight forever Feelings stronger than any words of love known or unknown. Feelings so wild and so strong. Feelings we never thought were possible before. Don’t ever promise to adore me all your life. Let’s not make promises like that knowing me knowing you. Let’s keep the feeling that this love of ours, this love of ours, will be short and sweet.
- jean-luc godard, {1965} pierrot le fou
September 15, 2009
V
“Her still singing limbs.”
*
“Look at the sky, look to yourself and remember: we are only god’s echoes and god is Narcissus.”
*
Aside from recurrence, revision and commensurate symbolic reference, echoes also reveal emptiness. Since objects always muffle or impede acoustic reflection, only empty places can create echoes of lasting clarity.
Ironically, hallowness only increases the eerie quality of otherness inherent in any echo. Delay and fragmented repetition create a sense of another inhabiting a necessarily deserted place. Strange then how something so uncanny and outside of the self, even ghostly as some have suggested, can at the same time also contain a resilient comfort: the assurance that even if it is imaginary and at best the product of a wall, there is still something else out there, something to stake out in the face of nothingness.
*
As Gloucester murmured, “I see it feelingly.”
*
Lude would never feel how “empty hallways long past midnight” could slice inside of you, though I’m not sure he wasn’t sliced up just the same. Not seeing the rip doesn’t mean you automatically get to keep clear of the Hey-I’m-Bleeding part.
*
Myth makes Echo the subject of longing and desire. Physics makes Echo the subject of distance and design. Where emotion and reason are concerned both claims are accurate.
And where there is no Echo there is no description of space or love.
There is only silence.
*
And so it was that before another synapse could fire within my bad-off labyrinthine brain, he was already lying on the floor. Or I should say his mangled body was lying on the floor. His head remained in my hands. Twisted off like a cap. Not as difficult as I’d imagined. The first turn definitely the toughest, necessitating the breaking of cervical vertebrae and the snapping of the spinal cord, but after that, another six or so turns, and voilà - the head was off. Nothing could be easier. Time to get bowling.
*
Quick note here: if this crush - slash - swooning stuff is hard for you to stomach; if you’ve never had a similar experience, then you should come to grips with the fact that you’ve got a TV dinner for a heart and might want consider climbing inside a microwave and turning it on high for at least an hour, which if you do consider only goes to show what kind of idiot you truly are because microwaves are way too small for anyone, let alone you, to climb into.
- mark z. danielewski, house of leaves
IV
Hillary, their one year old Siberian Husky, and Mallory, their tabby cat, lie on either side of the 24” Sony television unperturbed by the new closet or the flicker from the tube or the drone from the speakers - Letterman, new revelations regarding the Iran-Contra affair, reruns, the traffic of information assuring everyone that the rest of the world is still out there, continuing on as usual, even if two new doors now stand open, providing a view across a new space of darkness, from parent’s room to children’s room, where a tiny nightlight of the Star Ship Enterprise burns like some North Star.
- mark z. danielewski, house of leaves