Anonymous said: tell me about the light.
“I would leave everything here: the valleys, the hills, the paths, and the jaybirds from the gardens, I would leave here the petcocks and the padres, heaven and earth, spring and fall, I would leave here the exit routes, the evenings in the kitchen, the last amorous gaze, and all of the city-bound directions that make you shudder, I would leave here the thick twilight falling upon the land, gravity, hope, enchantment, and tranquility, I would leave here those beloved and those close to me, everything that touched me, everything that shocked me, fascinated and uplifted me, I would leave here the noble, the benevolent, the pleasant, and the demonically beautiful, I would leave here the budding sprout, every birth and existence, I would leave here incantation, enigma, distances, inexhaustibility, and the intoxication of eternity; for here I would leave this earth and these stars, because I would take nothing with me from here, because I’ve looked into what’s coming, and I don’t need anything from here.”
A vignette by László Krasznahorkai from Asymptote’s summer issue, translated from the Hungarian by Ottilie Mulzet. Illustration by Guillaume Gilbert.
How then can we hope to survive the next Pearl Harbor, if there should be one, with not only all peoples who are not white, but all peoples with political ideologies different from ours arrayed against us—after we have taught them (as we are doing) that when we talk of freedom and liberty, we not only mean neither, we don’t even mean security and justice and even the preservation of life for people whose pigmentation is not the same as ours.
And not just the black people in Boer Africa, but the black people in America too.
Because if we Americans are to survive, it will have to be because we choose and elect and defend to be first of all Americans to present to the world one homogeneous and unbroken front, whether of white Americans of black ones of purple or blue or green.
Perhaps we will find out now whether we are to survive or not. Perhaps the purpose of this sorry and tragic error committed in my native Mississippi by two white adults on an afflicted Negro child is to prove to us whether or not we deserve to survive.
Because if we in America have reached that point in our desperate culture when we must murder children, no matter for what reason or what color, we don’t deserve to survive, and probably won’t. — from “Press Dispatch Written in Rome, Italy, for the United Press, on the Emmet Till Case” by William Faulkner, published in the New York Herald Tribune September 9th, 1955.
What gift is more mysterious than being able to do what we will with ourselves and to refuse to do it? — E.M. Cioran, A Short History of Decay (via humphreyking)
not using tumblr much lately.but am trying out instagram: @salacalla
President of the United States in Exile
Donna Summer roller disco party presents alternative vision of 1970s Boston - The Boston Globe -
City Hall Plaza’s most infamous moment came in 1976, when an anti-busing protester swung a pole bearing an American flag at a black lawyer. But an alternative vision of the ’70s, and of much-maligned City Hall Plaza, came to life Friday evening — at the free Donna Summer Memorial Roller Disco Tribute Party sponsored by the Walsh administration’s Office of Arts and Culture and the annual dance music festival Together Boston. The famous disco singer, who died in 2012, grew up in Dorchester; the accident of her stage surname was enough to justify a tribute party on a crystal-clear night in July.
Looking west from 7th and Union. Bike lane.
Probably Dona Placida did not speak when she was born, but if she did, she might have said to the authors of her days, ‘Here I am. Why did you summon me?’ And the sacristan and his lady naturally would have replied, ‘We summoned you so that you would burn your fingers on pots and your eyes in sewing; so that you would eat little or nothing, rush around, become sick and then get well so that you might become sick again; sad today, desperate tomorrow, finally resigned, but always with your hands on the pot and your eyes on the sewing, until you wind up in the gutter or in a hospital. That is why we summoned you, in a moment of love.’ — The Posthumous Memoirs of Bras Cubas by Machado de Assis
Beliefs can’t be shaken short of a major shock, in which case, a fairly complete mental disruption results. Mild cases - hysteria, morbid sense of insecurity. Advanced cases – madness and suicide. — Isaac Asimov, Foundation and Empire (via agaywalksintoabar)
In the late sun, the rivers and the mountains are beautiful,
The spring breeze carries the smell of flowers and grass.
Above the melting mud, small swallows fly,
Mandarin ducks sleep on the warm sand.
After the battle, many new ghosts cry,
The solitary old man murmurs in his grief.
Ragged low cloud thins the light of dusk,
Thick snow dances back and forth in the wind.
The wine ladle’s cast aside, the cup not green,
The stove still looks as if a fiery red.
To many places, communications are broken,
I sit, but cannot read my books for sorrow. — Tu Fu (712–770)
I wish I had the abilities of the most refined scholars, so that I might tell you in the noblest verse, or else in learned prose, that you will always be, in spite of everything that may be done, the very same you have been all your life; that is to say, a scatter-brain, a man of distempered reason, always perplexed, wanting common sense, a man of left-handed judgment, a meddler, an ass, a blundering, hare-brained, giddy fellow,— what can I think of? A… a hundred times worse than anything I can say. This is only an abridgement of your panegyric. — The Blunderer by Moliere
I have triumphed over both life and death because I no longer desire to live, nor do I any longer fear to die. I want nothing. I hope for nothing. I fear nothing. Therefore I am free. — Woman at Point Zero by Nawal el Saadawi