❝ I am aware of myself. And, of course, the only things that are aware of themselves and conscious of their individuality are irritated eyes, cut fingers, sore teeth. A healthy eye, finger, tooth might as well not even be there. Isn’t it clear that individual consciousness is just sickness? ❞

— Yevgeny Zamyatin, We (via ivankaramazovs)


"Desire is the quality of longing and affliction in the heart, which is activated by the representation of the beauty of its goal. This creates an inner movement and an emotion in the heart inviting it to go on until the goal will attained. The wish for the beloved sets the heart into motion and makes it desirous. That desire attracting the heart carries on the body and helps the seeker to set out on his/her way till he/she sees that there is a better stage than the one he/she aspires to. Then he/she will see how he/she should move to reach that higher stage and orbit." - Ibn Abbadi


I always believe that any learning comes through concentration and patience, and that you have to train yourself to have that patience and to perceive. That isn’t slow to me, that’s hard work. It may be slow in the movement of things but it isn’t slow in the stuff that’s going on in your mind when you watch something for a long time and you see very minimal changes: you start to learn from that. So time is a function of becoming more intelligent, I think; you need to take time. The word ‘slow’ seems to belittle that process. How can you rush that?

James Benning, asked what he thinks about the term ‘slow cinema.’ [x]


Faced with the daily prospects of failure and self-loathing, a numb chrysalis starts to develop around you, and if you are not careful you wake up one morning to find yourself not awake, but in a semi-comatose state, baked into a hardened shell, breathless and mind-numbing. You have to poke your finger through the hardened crispy shell, and after you’ve pushed it through you have to wiggle it about until eventually the hole is big enough to smash a whole fist through.

Tracey Emin - My Life in a Column - Friday 5 October 2007

I’m not super into Tracey Emin but this is how I’ve felt lately.

Anonymous :  if you could, would you live forever?


Karl Marx wrote most of Capital at a side table not much larger than an open issue of The New York Times, feeling as he did for most of his creative life, a pain in his side that reminded him constantly of his father’s early death from liver cancer.

And anyway,

the phenomenon of suicide would appear to argue that even mortal life as we now experience it is too long for some people. 

And anyway, 

kites don’t work without the string…



When ya fingerin your pregnant girl and her baby grab ur fingers

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