جوری که دنیا رو میبینم. Contact : @Dimitte
"Love is soul work. Love can be met and joined with attraction and infatuation and all of that, but love will not fade when those things do. You can choose to close your heart to love, and run away, and avoid it for as long as you can in every way you can think of but if it was really, truly, the other-worldly, almost supernatural kind of love that we can only hope to be graced with at least once in this life experience, it will not leave you. You can love many people, but at the end of the day, the love you need to choose is the love that, even if you close your heart to, still moves you. The love you still write about. The love you can't face.Читать полностью…
The love you're still not okay with losing, that you're angry about; the love that uprooted your life and contorted your being. The love you ran away from because it showed you who you are without the guise of worth given from someone else. This is love because these are all signs that you are closing your heart and to be doing so, there has to be something going through you for you to be able to close off. Real love will be the love you realize that remains even after you close your heart to it, because it sustains itself. It drives you forward. It brings up all the unhealed parts of you that you have to reconcile."
__Brianna Wiest.
"The Space of Literature" written by Maurice Blanchot, 1955.
Читать полностью…In the land of my dreams
You love me so much more
I even hear the words that you never say
If they could only be real
Instead of just in my head.
Writing for the Japan Times, Iain Maloney notes that: "In many ways Confessions is the key text to understanding Mishima's later novels. In it, he explores the poles of his psyche, his homosexuality and his romantic/erotic attraction to warfare and combat. It is a scathing, unflinching examination of the darkness at the far corners of the human mind."Читать полностью…
Confessions of a Mask (Kamen no Kokuhaku) is the second novel by Yukio Mishima. Published in 1949.
Читать полностью…By Vicente Romero Redondo.
[https://vicenteromeroredondo.com/paintings/]
Farewell, (1892) - Alfred Guillou , musée des Beaux-Arts De Quimper.
Читать полностью…I miss myself. Seems like something is lost here. I am always searching for it desperately, touching the walls, wandering in empty corridors and passages. I need to keep my silence, but at the same time during the daylight l talk on and on and on .. like a curse. The curse of language. As soon as something is out there bounded with words, the thing is dead. It's simply like a fish out of her home; water. The outside kills everything. Kills my little pathetic words, ideas ..language when written or spoken, should be fragmented, minimal and give the sensation of walking in unconscious. As what Marguerite Duras does in her works. She is intuitively drowned in her unconscious without being truly drowned; being dead! She is connected to the unspoken language. To that vital vast non-verbal aspect of being human. And to put this unspoken thing into words? That's my fascination for her. That's where she miraculously emerges. She steps onto the scene of the play strolling slowly without any extra movement ready to pin you down on your chair as the spectator or maybe more of a sideliner.
I have this dream to be drowned in my own unconscious. Or maybe anyone else’s. This would be my glorious final regression to where l belong. This is the eternal tranquillity which l was thrown out with, from the very moment l was born; the triumph of evolution, yet the cosmic failure of self, my-self.
By Roberto Ferri.
[https://www.robertoferri.net/gallery/]
Elle a passé tant d'heures sous les sunlights (She Spent So Many Hours Under the Sun Lamps) 1985, dir. Philippe Garrel.
Читать полностью…To exist is to linger between what was and what could be, never fully here, never fully there.
Читать полностью…“When Rilke writes to the countess of Solms-Laubach (August 3, 1907), “For weeks, except for two short interruptions, I haven’t pronounced a single word; my solitude has finally encircled me and I am inside my efforts just as the core is in the fruit.”Читать полностью…
Excerpt From "The Space of Literature" written by Maurice Blanchot.
"Madness is rare in individuals—but in groups, parties, nations, and epochs, it is the rule." (Aphorism 156).
__"Beyond Good and Evil: Prelude to a Philosophy of the Future" by Friedrich Nietzsche.
The book's epigraph is a lengthy quote from The Brothers Karamazov by Dostoevsky ("The Penance of a Fervent Heart—Poem" in Part 3, Book 3);Читать полностью…
[Beauty is a terrible and awful thing! It is terrible because it never has and never can be fathomed, for God sets us nothing but riddles. Within beauty both shores meet and all contradictions exist side by side. I'm not a cultivated man, brother, but I've thought a lot about this. Truly there are mysteries without end! Too many riddles weigh man down on earth. We guess them as we can, and come out of the water dry. Beauty! I cannot bear the thought that a man of noble heart and lofty mind sets out with the ideal of the Madonna and ends with the ideal of Sodom. What's still more awful is that the man with the ideal of Sodom in his soul does not renounce the ideal of the Madonna, and in the bottom of his heart he may still be on fire, sincerely on fire, with longing for the beautiful ideal, just as in the days of his youthful innocence. Yes, man's heart is wide, too wide indeed. I'd have it narrower. The devil only knows what to make of it! but what the intellect regards as shameful often appears splendidly beautiful to the heart. Is there beauty in Sodom? Believe me, most men find their beauty in Sodom. Did you know this secret? The dreadful thing is that beauty is not only terrifying but also mysterious. God and the Devil are fighting there, and their battlefield is the heart of man. But a man's heart wants to speak only of its own ache. Listen, now I'll tell you what it says ..]
Confessions of a Mask by Yukio Mishima, 1949.
Читать полностью…از روی سیم نازکی میدویدم، دیگر درهای نبود که بترسم. زیر پایم چمن بود. باد میآمد و موهایم را میآشفت. باد بوی دریا را میآورد و من به زحمت میتوانستم تعادلم را حفظ کنم. دریا از همهچیز بهتر است!
Читать полностью…امروز به این قطعهی زیبا بارها و بارها گوش دادم .. و تصاویری از گذشته، زیبایی آسمونِ تمیز و سرد اسفند، و امید به زندگیای که پس از سالها تازه برای من شروع شده منو با خودشون به اون دورهای زیبا بردن.
Читать полностью…The first mourning (1888) by William-Adolphe Bouguereau, Pieta.
This work depicts the moment after Adam and Eve just found the body of their son Abel, who was murdered by Cain. This is the first human death recorded in the Bible. The grief is only magnified by the fact that their son did not just die, but was murdered by their other son Cain, making this also the first act of murder.
Arcangelo Corelli
Violin Sonata (Opus 5)
No.1 in D Major: lV. Adagio
Andrew Manze٫ Richard Egarr
"Extracting the Stone of Madness"
[PATHS OF THE MIRROR]
Aljendra Pizarnik
(1962)
XIX.
Dazzle of the new day, the yellow birds in the morning. A hand releases the dark; another drags the hair of a drowned woman who is crossing endlessly through the mirror. To return to the body's memory is to return to my mourning bones, and to grasp what it is my voice says.
Franz Peter Schubert
Nacht und Träume٫ D.827
A lied for Voice and Piano
by Kathleen Deanna Battle
My blueberry nights (2007), dir. Wong Kar-Wai.
Читать полностью…Glory of the Dance (1918), by Warren B. Davis.
Читать полностью…تنهایی باستانی، کیهانی، موروثی روی شونههامه مامان. بعد از تو جهان وارد یک فروپاشیدگی ِبیانتها شد. فروپاشیدگی ِابدی. و من، به دنیای جداشدهای از واقعیت، سلام کردم و پا در خوابی گنگ و عمیق گذاشتم.
حالا که حتی یه فرفرهی کوچیکم ندارم تا با چرخوندنش، واقعیت رو از رویا تشخیص بدم، حالا که تو این مارپیچ ِعقبگرد سقوط میکنم و دستهایی نیست که منُ از افتادن نگه داره، حالا که تو با ذوب شدن در عدم، به نفس توی ریههام و آسمون بالای سرم تبدیل شدی، حالا که خیلی سیاه و سنگینم، حالا که خودمم دیگه نمیتونم خودمو نجات بدم مامان، تو کجایی تا با نشون دادن لبخندت به تمام ِسیاهیم سیلی بزنی تا مگر از این خواب ِکرخت بیدار شم؟ تو کجایی؟
__ تابستان ۱۴۰۲.