January 2012
1 post
November 2011
1 post
August 2011
1 post
April 2011
2 posts
January 2011
3 posts
December 2010
2 posts
October 2010
4 posts
September 2010
1 post
August 2010
3 posts
June 2010
1 post
May 2010
2 posts
March 2010
1 post
February 2010
16 posts
What if he were to have been right, in all his fear of death, because he would now end his life as one who was interrupted at the very beginning? In that house there was not one room where he had not been afraid of dying. […] And with an unparalleled horror he realized that what was within him was scarcely begun; that, if he were to die now, he would not be capable of living in the afterlife; that...
December 2009
1 post
1 tag
A solitary house...
…But somewhere
In a remote suburb, a solitary house,
Where it is cold in winter, hot in summer,
Where there are spiders, and dust on everything,
Where ardent letters are decomposing,
Portraits are stealthily changing.
People walk to this house as if to their grave,
And wash their hands with soap when they return,
And blink away a facile tear
From weary eyes – and breathe out heavy...
October 2009
1 post
July 2009
2 posts
May 2009
2 posts
March 2009
2 posts
Qu’y a-t-il en nous de pareil aux herbes ?
Fines et nues, toujours d’humeur froide,
Froides et unes,
Non pas mille grâces mais mille herbes,
D’attitude très naturelle.
Contentes sur place,
Sûres à l’ancienneté de leur décoration,
Elles assistent au bœuf.
Francis Ponge, L’herbe
February 2009
4 posts
“People ask me, ‘Don’t you ever run out of ideas?’ In the first place I don’t use...”
– Robert Rauschenberg (via scrapbooth)
