Nothing is harder on the soul, than the smell of dreams - while they are evaporating.
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Nothing is harder on the soul, than the smell of dreams - while they are evaporating.
Mahmoud Darwish

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Whether advanced by military or by other means, two things are remarkable about tobacco’s conquest of Europe and Asia during the seventeenth century.
The first is that use of the drug cut across all social categories. Lowborn and high, ortho- and heterodox partook of its pleasures, though whether by quid, pipe, or snuff varied with class, gender, and local custom. The second is that tobacco managed to overcome sharp and sometimes violent initial opposition by civil and clerical authorities. English smokers risked the disapproval of James I, who declaimed against the Stygian weed. Monarchs of more absolute sway meted out cruel punishments. Russian smokers suffered beatings and exile; snuff-takers had their noses torn off. Chinese smokers had their heads impaled on pikes. Turkish smokers under the reign of Ahmed I endured pipe stems thrust through their noses; Murad IV ordered them tortured to death. Priests who indulged in tobacco during Mass—one vomited up the Sacrament after dipping snuff—were threatened with excommunication.
Added to the fines, floggings, mutilations, and threats of death and damnation was the everyday obloquy of those who did not indulge. Tobacco, as its critics tirelessly pointed out, fouled the breath, stained the teeth, soiled the clothing, and brought forth umbered streams of snot and spittle. Smoking also entailed the risk of fire, a mortal danger in a world of combustible dwellings. Yet nothing checked tobacco’s progress. The drug was so reinforcing— the historian V. G. Kiernan called it the most universal new pleasure human beings have acquired—that it triumphed over all legal obstacles and offended sensibilities.
-- David T. Courtwright, Forces of Habit
[Doesnt do it] [gets stressed] [gets scared thinking about doing it] [doesnt do it because it's scary] [keeps not doing it]
“Paths should be laid where people walk, instead of walking where paths are laid.”
— John Barth, The End of the Road
August has a certain fiery & sultry quality of her own, which fades before her last days of the month are over. September has mellowed whatever there was of roughness in her heat: the days are more perfect, but less vigorous. The summer in fact is on the wane; peacefully fading like some brilliant spot of light. The colours of the sunset are everywhere. When the sun sets you may see from this window little sparks of light scattered among the sandhills where no houses themselves are visible; the windows are thus emblazoned by the sun.
Virginia Woolf, A Passionate Apprentice: The Early Journals Journals 1897-1909

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holy shit i love grieving things before they’re gone
the problem is i really do love staying up until one billion o'clock. it just cant be helped
photograph by Man Ray (1937), used for André Breton’s “L’Amour fou”.
One should not surrender to incomprehensible matter, one must not just sit down. We are here for this — to make mistakes and to correct ourselves, to stand the blows and hand them out. We must never feel disarmed: nature is immense and complex, but it is not impermeable to the intelligence; we must circle around it, pierce and probe it, look for the opening or make it.
— Primo Levi, The Periodic Table (1975) "Nickel". Raymond Rosenthal, Translator. (Everyman's Library, October 1, 1996)
walks around the dashboard with my hands behind my back like someone's grandpa

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“We tell ourselves stories in order to live...We look for the sermon in the suicide, for the social or moral lesson in the murder of five. We interpret what we see, select the most workable of the multiple choices. We live entirely, especially if we are writers, by the imposition of a narrative line upon disparate images, by the "ideas" with which we have learned to freeze the shifting phantasmagoria which is our actual experience.” Joan Didion
And along with indifference to space there went an even more complete indiffreence to time.
Aldous Huxley ❂ The Doors of Perception (1954)
Death Reality (1997) by Nobuyoshi Araki
To him who has had the experience no explanation is necessary, to him who has not, none is possible.
Ram Dass ❂ Be Here Now (1971)
Amida Buddha sits on a tiered lotus pedestal, hands forming a variation of the vitarka-mudrā (raigō-in), the "gesture of welcoming to paradise"

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This was only the beginning. During the next few weeks, thanks to the miracle of modern radio-telemetry, the nation's TV screens became a scoreboard registering every detail of the President's physical and mental functions. His brave, if tremulous, heartbeat drew its trace along the lower edge of the screen, while above it newscasters expanded on his daily physical routines, on the twenty-eight feet he had walked in the rose garden, the calorie count of his modest lunches, the results of his latest brain-scan, read-outs of his kidney, liver and lung function. In addition, there was a daunting sequence of personality and IQ tests, all designed to reassure the American public that the man at the helm of the free world was more than equal to the daunting tasks that faced him across the Oval Office desk.
For all practical purposes…the President was scarcely more than a corpse wired for sound.
– J. G. Ballard, from “The Secret History of World War 3,” War Fever (Collins, 1990)
Copying reliefs in the temple of Ramses, photography by Kees Scherer, 1968, in Abu Simbel, Egypt