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September 16, 2014 at 2:07 PM

(Source: parallahx, via simply-boho)

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September 16, 2014 at 2:02 PM

In order to see things differently, sometimes you need to see different things.

— Cassie Parks (via psych-facts)

(via joyfrequencies)

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September 16, 2014 at 12:39 PM

If something can corrupt you, you’re corrupted already.

— Bob Marley (via psych-facts)

(via joyfrequencies)

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September 16, 2014 at 11:48 AM

…the moon is the very image of silence – and, as Charles Simic says, “The highest levels of consciousness are wordless.” The great lunacy of most lyric poems is that they attempt to use words to convey what cannot be put into words. On the other hand, stars were the first text, the first instance of gabbiness; connecting the stars, making a pattern out of them, was the first story, sacred to storytellers. But the moon was the first poem, in the lyric sense, an entity complete in itself, recognizable at a glance, one that played upon the emotions so strongly that the context of time and place hardly seemed to matter.

— Mary Ruefle, Madness, Rack, and Honey: Collected Lectures, (with thanks to Whiskey River)

(Source: litverve)

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September 16, 2014 at 11:46 AM

We all arrive by different streets,
by unequal languages, at Silence.

— Pablo Neruda, from “Still Another Day: XVII/Men” (via litverve)

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September 16, 2014 at 11:34 AM

You get a strange feeling when you’re about to leave a place, I told him, like you’ll not only miss the people you love but you’ll miss the person you are now at this time and this place, because you’ll never be this way ever again.

Azar Nafisi (via heteroglossia)

(via heteroglossia)

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September 16, 2014 at 11:29 AM

The purpose of art is to destroy meaning. Unfortunately we live in a culture which, in its humanist babble, says the purpose of art is to produce meaning. As if meaning is a kind of unalloyed good. I shall be arguing that meaning is a terrible reactionary shackle and that the purpose of art is always to destroy meaning… Actually, this thesis, concerning the destruction of meaning and, as it were, why we should be in favour of it, can, I think, perhaps be better initially illuminated by thinking about our normal account of power. Power is something which is sustained only by obedience. Now, if you take power at the most simple sense - in the form of a command - a command is here, above all, a piece of meaning; therefore, disobedience is the destruction of the meaning of the command… The state of emergency here is prefigured by the poetry - I don’t just mean poetry here, I can mean art, the visual arts or architecture - and I return to the fact that they are, in some sense, nothing other than an attack on signification. So when I say it’s an attack on meaning, or it’s an attack of signification (what some other people will call reality since reality is nothing other than the conventional way but which is non optional); it’s a compulsory interpretation of what’s what, and so the poetic image is always, by its nature, a fundamental, we might almost say an ontological rebellion against signification. So the poetic image calls us, in a sense, to rebel against signification.

— Mark Cousins, The Poetics of Cliché, The Architectural Association, London 2012 (via heteroglossia)

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September 16, 2014 at 11:19 AM

The eternal silence of these infinite spaces fills me with dread.

— Pascal, Pensées (via heteroglossia)

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September 15, 2014 at 7:57 PM

Argument with someone else is a rhetoric. Argument with yourself is poetry.

William Butler Yeats (via literarymiscellany)

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September 13, 2014 at 2:14 PM


Rudolf Eickemeyer, The Summer Sea, 1903

Rudolf Eickemeyer, The Summer Sea, 1903

(Source: the-night-picture-collector, via seemoreandmore)