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@cruelmiracles

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does god like bdsm
it's too vanilla for him
BDSM is too vanilla for God… the implication of consent has it all totally askew for him. God coerces even himself
bdsm is trappings, gestures, counterfeitings. he's not interested in that. not interested in your "yes" or your "no"
limit consent is the notion that you can only ever consent to your limits, though you never know them before they're teased-into. there is no consent, then: you can never know the content or feel of your limits before they greet you. they greet you, and not vice versa; you never greet them. fucking, or love itself, tears the rug from you. it is the thwarting, riotous fleshing-out of things. i'm trying to tell you how religion feels. how god feels. you cannot consent to faith, to your limits in faith, to god godself. they know you before you know them

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A Grief Observed, C.S. Lewis
Salon Kitty, 1976 dir. Tinto Brass
Saint George and the Dragon, Bernat Martorell, 1434-35

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La Danse, Georges Braque, 1934
Etching on paper 9.44 x 6.81 in. (24 x 17.3 cm) Des Moines Art Center, Des Moines, IA, USA
Is my theme the instant? the theme of my life. I try to keep up with it. I divide thousands of times into as many times as the number of instants running by, fragmented as I am and the moments so fragile—my only vow is to life born with time and growing along with it: only in time itself is there room enough for me.
Clarice Lispector ǁ Água Viva (1973)
the geometry of us
This war will indeed bring destruction upon human civilization. But this is a civilization which merits annihilation and destruction. There is no doubt that Hitlerian Nazism will ultimately be defeated, for in the end the civilized nations will rise up to defend the liberty which the German barbarians seek to steal from mankind. However, I doubt that we will live through this carnage. The bombs filled with lethal gas will poison every living being, or we will starve because there will be no means of livelihood.
Chaim Kaplan ǁ Scroll of Agony, September 1, 1939

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Lawrence Schiller ǁ Marilyn Monroe in Something's Got to Give (1962)
we bought Flying Aces magazine at the newsstand we knew about Baron Manfred von Richtofen and Capt. Eddie Rickenbacker and we fought in dream trenches with our dream rifles and had dream bayonet fights with the dirty Hun . . . and those movies, full of drama and excitement, about good old World War One, where we almost got the Kaiser, we almost kidnapped him once, and in the end we finished off all those spike-helmeted bastards forever.
the young kids now, they don't build model warplanes nor do they dream fight in dream rice paddies, they know it's all useless, ordinary, just a job like sweeping the streets or pickin up the garbage, they'd rather go watch a Western or hang out at the mall or go to the zoo or a football game, they're already thinking of college and automobiles and wives and homes and barbecues, they're already trapped in another kind of dream, another kind of war, and I guess it won't kill them as fast, at least not physically.
it was wrong but World War One was fun of us it gave us Jean Harlow and James Cagney and "Mademoiselle from Armentières, Parley-Voo?" it gave us long afternoons and evenings of play (we didn't realize that many of us were soon to die in another war) yes, they fooled us nicely but we were young and loved it— the lies of our elders— And see how it has changed— they can't bullshit even a kid anymore, not about all that.
Charles Bukowski ǁ “Mademoiselle from Armentières.” what matters most is how well you walk through the fire (1999)