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DEAR READER
I'd rather be in outer space 🛸
Mike Driver
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open

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PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
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@theartofmadeline

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shark vs the universe
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Misplaced Lens Cap
Aqua Utopia|海の底で記憶を紡ぐ

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@tengocaries

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dearest did you finally find that black cat you wanted to pet? I remember laughing so hard once I got back home from yours, telling me that you wanted to form a "black-furred pet squad". Hilarious. I always wish I could tease you about it. Not that I was ever able to before. But I'd like to think someday I can.
You're still the voice inside my head. I stopped believing in soulmates, I think. But you make it difficult to remain a non-believer.
I've started to send my love back again, even though it's in these secret-coded ways, only for my heart to nurture on it's own. I'd rather give it to myself first, god knows I've missed it.
The exhilaration of knowing what you are and being unafraid.
I wish it for you, too. Not out of entirely selfish reasons, you deserve some of it. Quit picking out karma's lashes and she'll leave you alone.
I like to wonder whether you've grown, I wish I knew you enough to know so.
I wonder if we hadn't shown the worst of ourselves, would it still be beating?
I worry it'll beat on forever, for you, for you and nobody else. So at least for now, I'll let it beat for me. And find the beat I'll need if the time ever comes for us to say goodbye,
for good,
for never again.
Esperando el bus
Dementes ancianas esperando el bus que las llevará a su último destino.
Al que intentan ignorar cuando lo ven entrando por la esquina.
"Qué más da" si llega hoy o mañana.
No recuerdo ya lo que es el tiempo
Aquella línea direccionada pasa de mi mente.
Observador inconsciente, opiniona en sucesiones de símbolos
Será todo, algo o nada.
Seguirá atado al abstracto.
El vacío por el infinito es indeterminado.
There's a boy in me that doesn't want me being a man
If I grew out of these new, branded clothes, I would end up too naked, too exposed. Close up, you notice me, slewed and stranded to a fake poise .
My body begs of me that I take up more space than the circled edge that embraces a child in its place. If I moved a single muscle, I would spill over the cradle; get melded into world views, muddled and adulterated. So I siphon this bottle Into wonder and disaffection Undisappointed and disconnected Face value's all i've got when i never leave the house And the doors are never open And my heart remains as dead as the night When the windows rattle straight into my skull Ringing my thoughts intrudingly Still, i lay only On my back waiting for it to take me Home or someplace lonely Where my porcelain skin won't be broken Into thousands by someone of my own kin Always bathed in criticism Hair well combed under a kiss Surround me with smiles always at risk of fading into dismissal Unless i pick the right shoes and shirt Mama dress me into my casket Nobody will think of all the bad shit That i did before i died Only dad might reassess the ways I chose to lie in And sis surely won't admit she always knew I'd be the first And my dearest dearest brother would be the last to leave and the first to cry
quien es el marquetero
desde mi cajón
levanto la mirada
una ventana
vista enmarcada
cajones de cajones
cierran el cielo
mínima franja
de azul que se asoma
entre el concreto
brinda a mi alma
espacio necesario
para respirar

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I took you in
your bags, your weight, your face s
I wel come you home
our snug, viscous place
your little, gooey phantoms
stationed, unevicted
inhabit the otherwise empty space lodged between my
brains and my loins
the heart
that lies and lies
longingly expecting me
to rent my Self out
exchanging, we
take part in this transaction
to prove with action,
a demonstration of my affection
to pay off the overdue pains
I've beared with all these months
to carry you inside me,
for so long, for so much
you never grew on me,
you arrived from within
every inch of my body
coated in our sin
Andrei Tarkovsky In Tarkovsky’s last diary entry (15 December 1986), he wrote: ‘But now I have no strength left - that is the problem’.
"Rituals are architectures of time, structuring and stabilising life, and they are on the wane. The pandemic has accelerated the disappearance of rituals. Work also has ritual aspects. We go to work at set times. Work takes place in a community. In the home office, the ritual of work is completely lost. The day loses its rhythm and structure. This somehow makes us tired and depressed.
In The Little Prince [1943], by [Antoine de] Saint-Exupéry, the little prince asks the fox to always visit at the exact same time, so that the visit becomes a ritual. The little prince explains to the fox what a ritual is. Rituals are to time as rooms are to an apartment. They make time accessible like a house. They organise time, arrange it. In this way you make time appear meaningful.
Time today lacks a solid structure. It is not a house, but a capricious river. The disappearance of rituals does not simply mean that we have more freedom. The total flexibilisation of life brings loss, too. Rituals may restrict freedom, but they structure and stabilise life. They anchor values and symbolic systems in the body, reinforcing community. In rituals we experience community, communal closeness, physically.
Digitalisation strips away the physicality of the world. Then comes the pandemic. It aggravates the loss of the physical experience of community. You’re asking: can’t we do this by ourselves? Today we reject all rituals as something external, formal and therefore inauthentic. Neoliberalism produces a culture of authenticity, which places the ego at its centre. The culture of authenticity develops a suspicion of ritualised forms of interaction. Only spontaneous emotions, subjective states, are authentic. Modelled behaviour, for example courtesy, is written off as inauthentic or superficial. The narcissistic cult of authenticity is partly responsible for the increasing brutality of society.
In my book I argue the case against the cult of authenticity, for an ethic of beautiful forms. Gestures of courtesy are not just superficial. The French philosopher Alain says that gestures of courtesy hold a great power on our thoughts. That if you mime kindness, goodwill and joy, and go through motions such as bowing, they help against foul moods as well as stomach ache. Often the external has a stronger hold than the internal.
Blaise Pascal once said that instead of despairing over a loss of faith, one should simply go to mass and join in rituals such as prayer and song, in other words mime, since it is precisely this that will bring back faith. The external transforms the internal, brings about new conditions. Therein lies the power of rituals. And our consciousness today is no longer rooted in objects. These external things can be very effective in stabilising consciousness. It is very difficult with information, since it is really volatile and holds a very narrow range of relevance."
- Byung-Chul Han being interviewed by Gesine Borcherdt, from "Byung-Chul Han: 'I Practise Philosophy as Art.'" Art Review, 2 December 2021.
Shiki-Jitsu (2000) dir. Hideaki Anno

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{1}from Yaeji-easy breezy music video {2}from Ode to the west wind by Percy Bysshe Shelley
doing a bit of soul seeking via observing the content offered by the instagram algorithm
cemetery flowers after the ice storm photography: Peter Fricke

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