July 8, 2014

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July 7, 2014

July 6, 2014

An idea’s birth is legitimate only if one has the feeling that one is catching oneself plagiarizing oneself. —Karl Kraus

Thomas Hardy’s anecdote about looking up a word in the dictionary because he wasn’t certain it existed—and finding that he himself was the only authority cited for its usage. —David Markson, Vanishing Point

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June 29, 2014

June 22, 2014

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May 31, 2014

May 22, 2014

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May 22, 2014

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May 18, 2014
The Prophet by Alexander Pushkin, Google 17/5/14, trans.

Tormented by spiritual thirst, 
In the wilderness, I eked out a bleak, 
And a six-winged seraph 
At the crossroads I was; 
finger light as a dream 
he touched my Lids: 
hath prophetic apple, 
like a startled eagle. 
My ears touched it, 
and filled their noise and ringing: 
And heed I shudder sky, 
and mountain flight of angels, 
and marine reptile submerged speed, 
and sub-vine vegetation. 
And he clung to my mouth, 
And tore my sinful tongue, 
My tongue idle and sly, 
And the sting-forked snake 
in my mouth he stilled 
Invested bloody right hand. 
And he cut my chest with the sword, 
and took heart quivering 
and a coal burning fire 
into the chest hole pushed. 
Like a corpse in the desert I lay, 
And the voice of God called to me: 
'Arise, O Prophet, and see, and give ear, 
Be filled with the will of My, 
And, bypassing the sea and land, 
Verb-burn the hearts of men.’

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May 13, 2014

Anonymous said: who r u

May 12, 2014

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May 11, 2014

May 10, 2014

May 9, 2014

Well no, I think you’re right to worry about it:

I find it difficult to deal with praise because there is something irritating about pleasure. being told that I am special or good at doing things right, this tensions me. I’m imagining those little rubber hemispheres we played with as kids. the ones whose poles you pushed in and partways inverted, and then waited for the nipple-shape you’d made to flip back into a dome as it flew off the table. it’s fun to be fucked with like that, but like anything that springs you, the tautness dissipates and the irritation at being unable to live up to our transient pleasures takes its place. 

and anyway, it’s a grave mistake to think that praise aimed at what you’ve done strikes anything close to the person who did it. the arrow always sails far over our heads, on its way to the work. and feeling better about yourself for being told you’ve done something ‘good’ is a little like running up to where the arrow fell, sticking it in your chest and shouting ‘You got me!’

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May 9, 2014

Anonymous said: do you like books on tape?

they’re a little—no, a lot like being facefucked