[Image: graffiti artist Bansky visited a subway archway in central London, adding a caption to a wall which just happens to fall within the view of a surveillance camera.]
From whiskey river:
All men, at one time or another, have fallen in love with the veiled Isis whom they call Truth. With most, this has been a passing passion: they have early seen its hopelessness and turned to more practical things. But others remain all their lives the devout lovers of reality: though the manner of their love, the vision which they make to themselves of the beloved object varies enormously. Some see Truth as Dante saw Beatrice: an adorable yet intangible figure, found in this world yet revealing the next. To others she seems rather an evil but an irresistible enchantress: enticing, demanding payment and betraying her lover at the last. Some have seen her in a test tube, and some in a poetâs dream: some before the altar, others in the slime. The extreme pragmatists have even sought her in the kitchen; declaring that she may best be recognized by her utility. Last stage of all, the philosophic skeptic, has comforted an unsuccessful courtship by assuring himself that his mistress is not really there. (Evelyn Underhill, Mysticism [source])
âŠand:
Youâre like a witness. Youâre the one who goes to the museum and looks at the paintings. I mean the paintings are there and youâre in the museum too, near and far away at the same time. Iâm a painting. Rocamadour is a painting. Etienne is a painting, this room is a painting. You think that youâre in the room but youâre not. Youâre looking at the room, youâre not in the room. (Julio CortĂĄzar [source])
Thanks to âRunning After My Hatâ
