pennymoons

Hullo. This is where I devise my infinite cat's cradles of could-have-beens.

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In the first centuries of our era, the Gnostics disputed with the Christians. They were annihilated, but we can imagine their possible victory. Had Alexandria triumphed and not Rome, the bizarre and confused stories that I have summarized would be coherent, majestic, and ordinary. Lines such as Novalis’ “Life is a sickness of the spirit,” or Rimbaud’s despairing “True life is absent; we are not in the world,” would fulminate from the canonical books. Speculations, such as Richter’s discarded theory about the stellar origin of life and its chance dissemination on this planet, would know the unconditional approval of pious laboratories. In any case, what better gift can we hope for than to be insignificant? What greater glory for a God than to be absolved of the world?

Jorge Luis Borges, A Defense of Basilides the False (1932) +
Carl Andre, now now now now (via paullegault) +

Carl Andre, now now now now (via paullegault) +

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Giuseppe Sanmartino, The Veiled Christ (detail), 1753, marble

Giuseppe Sanmartino, The Veiled Christ (detail), 1753, marble

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So I’ve been feeling sort of run-down and heavy lately. But then yesterday night a blackbird (my favorite bird) came singing behind my window. Of course, I was instantly reminded of The Beatles.

Blackbird singing in the dead of night
Take these broken wings and learn to fly
All your life
You were only waiting for this moment to arise

Blackbird singing in the dead of night
Take these sunken eyes and learn to see
All your life
You were only waiting for this moment to be free

Blackbird fly, blackbird fly
Into the light of the dark black night

Also, yesterday I drew a blackbird, just because. Sometimes life is graceful in these very subtle ways.

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In my silence only my voice is lacking.

Antonio Porchia

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belcimer:

Things are not so beautiful as we imagine them to be, but they have more personality, more nuance, than we can reasonably expect.

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Cherry Blossoms, 2013Masakazu Ejiri

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Jennifer Dalton

Jennifer Dalton

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Over the Pond, by The Album Leaf

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There are moments of clarity daily. They open me up with a breath and keep me calm. They feed me the answers. And they hold me lovingly. They are gospelstiches. My childish ass has got to let them heal. This feud I’m having with myself isn’t even original. But it is thick and rooted.

Here’s to today, slowing down, suspending judgment, and breast strokes through chaos.

Buddy Wakefield, from “Growing up Slowly”, in Live for a Living +
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