September 2009
Listen
Chromatics - Hands in the Dark
“We do not live
through our entire
self at each
instance of our
bodies
in an absolute space
of our bodies
We are sometimes
knee
sometimes foot
sometimes lungs
sometimes liver
sometimes membrane
sometimes uterus
sometiemes anus
sometimes nose
sometimes sex
sometimes heart
sometimes saliva
sometimes urine
sometimes aliment
sometimes sperm
sometimes excrement
sometimes idea
We are not only
dispersed throughout
our bodies
We are also
dispersed
in the outside
of things” —Antonin Artaud (via lapetitebaobab) (via misstugui)
through our entire
self at each
instance of our
bodies
in an absolute space
of our bodies
We are sometimes
knee
sometimes foot
sometimes lungs
sometimes liver
sometimes membrane
sometimes uterus
sometiemes anus
sometimes nose
sometimes sex
sometimes heart
sometimes saliva
sometimes urine
sometimes aliment
sometimes sperm
sometimes excrement
sometimes idea
We are not only
dispersed throughout
our bodies
We are also
dispersed
in the outside
of things” —Antonin Artaud (via lapetitebaobab) (via misstugui)
The Door To Infinity
“There’s a bit of Faust in us all, believing as we do that the more we learn about something the closer we are to it. Not so. Any event, fully attended, uproots all our knowing at the source and carries inexhaustible surprises.
True attention is rare and totally sacrificial. It demands that we throw away everything we have been or hope to be, to face each moment naked of identity, open to whatever comes and bereft of human guidance.
Nor is the potential for pain to be underestimated. Now we come face to face with the radical fact that there is nothing, however dear, that cannot be taken from us from one moment to the next; nothing, however sinister or horrifying, from which we will be permitted to recoil or separate ourselves. All the dreadful, mute suffering from which inattention shielded us will now be seen and heard.”
- excerpt from Flora Courtois, “The Door to Infinity,” from Parabola via Whisky River
Full text can be found here.
“I didn’t know where the temple was,
Pushing mile upon mile among cloudy peaks;
Old trees, unpopulated paths,
Deep mountains, somewhere a bell.
Brook voices choke over craggy boulders,
Sunrays turn cold in the green pines.
at dusk by the bend of a deserted pond,
A monk in meditation, taming poisonous dragons.” —Wang Wei
Pushing mile upon mile among cloudy peaks;
Old trees, unpopulated paths,
Deep mountains, somewhere a bell.
Brook voices choke over craggy boulders,
Sunrays turn cold in the green pines.
at dusk by the bend of a deserted pond,
A monk in meditation, taming poisonous dragons.” —Wang Wei
