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nyctophilic

this blog is basically a collage.

foxesinbreeches:

La volupté est une douleur abrégée (The sensual delight is an abbreviated pain) by Hugues Erre, 1994

contramonte:

Moon Rise / Moon Set (by Jem Magbanua Illustration)

theparisreview:

“The history of the typewriter is, as with the history of the personal computer after it, rife with collaboration, ingenuity, betrayal, setbacks, lucre, acrimony, misguided experimentation, and bickering white men.”

The history of the first successful typewriter, patented 146 years ago today.

I Am The Resurrection

To Wish Impossible Things

Instead of paper — a leaf of thin, spring air. I want to write
Uninterrupted for a second, with teeth instead of pencil,
Like fire, fearing water more than fire.
I want to write one second, so an eternity remains.

I want to write for the beggar, the value of a coin.
I want to write for the sound, that should not work in vain.
I want to write for my childhood in a winged blizzard.
I want to write for the grass growing out of me, green.

I want to write for the silkworm, to spin out his silk.
I want to write for the suicide, to soothe his pain.
I want to write for the dying, run out of time to suffer.
I want to write for the mirror, like the hand of Leonardo.

by A. Sutzkever - Square Letters and Miracles (1967)

nevver:

Wanting you - Tracy Emin

Fluorescent Adolescent Acoustic

wordmeds:

The introductory quote to “The Myth of Sisyphus” by Albert Camus.

tornandfrayed:

Salvador Dali by Francesc Català-Roca

How to Meditate

      -lights out-
fall, hands a-clasped, into instantaneous
ecstasy like a shot of heroin or morphine,
the gland inside of my brain discharging
the good glad fluid (Holy Fluid) as
i hap-down and hold all my body parts
down to a deadstop trance-Healing
all my sicknesses-erasing all-not
even the shred of a “I-hope-you” or a
Loony Balloon left in it, but the mind
blank, serene, thoughtless. When a thought
comes a-springing from afar with its held-
forth figure of image, you spoof it out,
you spuff it off, you fake it, and
it fades, and thought never comes-and
with joy you realize for the first time
“thinking’s just like not thinking-
So I don’t have to think
    any
      more”

Jack Kerouac

Love Spreads