“Our memories are encumbered with facts.
Beyond the recollections we continually hark back to,
we should like to relive our suppressed impressions
and the dreams that made us believe in happiness.”
Beyond the recollections we continually hark back to,
we should like to relive our suppressed impressions
and the dreams that made us believe in happiness.”
- Gaston Bachelard, The Poetics of Space
I make coffee
and contemplate
the absurdity of sleep:
what hours would be lost
if not for the Dreaming, when
imagination rebels against body and
spirit combats the monotony of slumber.
How does one
express the underlying
subtleties of karma without
resorting to the gross ineptitude of
language? Words always fall short of
the page's empty promise, and so we bathe
in the tepid waters of symptom and pathology.
express the underlying
subtleties of karma without
resorting to the gross ineptitude of
language? Words always fall short of
the page's empty promise, and so we bathe
in the tepid waters of symptom and pathology.
A high wire
stretches across
the River Lethe from
sophism to naiveté and
a timepiece walks between: fetal
at one end, cadaverous on the other.
stretches across
the River Lethe from
sophism to naiveté and
a timepiece walks between: fetal
at one end, cadaverous on the other.
Does the second hand ever truly slow? Or
does one merely watch more closely,
finding peace in the suspension
of disbelief and jouissance
in the impatience
of longing?
does one merely watch more closely,
finding peace in the suspension
of disbelief and jouissance
in the impatience
of longing?
Gaston Bachelard, sometimes you can judge a man by his beard
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