BORRADÉRRIMO

High-res Notes: 356 6/13/11 — 6:17pm Short URL: http://tmblr.co/Z_npfx62snWZ

beetleinabox:

Henri Matisse, The Window, 1916 (The Detroit Institute of Arts).
John Ashbery writes:

I of course don’t mean that you are a moonstruck dreamer, but that they do exist, outside of you, without your having to do anything about it. Even if you do something it won’t matter. And it is possible that you will always remain unaware of their existence; this won’t matter either, to them, that is. But you must try to seize the truth of this: whatever was, is, and must be. The darkness that surrounds you now does not exist, because it never had any independent existence: you created it out of the spleen and torment you felt. It looks real enough to hide you from the light of the sun, but its reality is as specious as that of a mirage. The clouds are dispersing. And nothing comes to take their place, to interpose itself between you and the reality which you dreamed and which is therefore real. This new arrangement is already guiding your steps and indicating the direction you should take without your realizing it, for it is invisible now; it still seems that it is lost for there is of course no tangible evidence of it: that happens only once, it is true. But now to have absorbed the lesson, to have recovered from the shock of not being able to remember it, to again be setting out from the beginning – is this not something good to you? You no longer have to remember the principles, they seem to come to you like fragments of a buried language you once knew. You are like the prince in the fairy tale before whom the impenetrable forest opened and then the gates of the castle, without his knowing why. The one thing you want is to pause so as to puzzle all this out, but that is impossible; you are moving much too quickly for your momentum to be halted. How will it all turn out? What will the end be? But these are questions of the ignorant novice which you have forgotten about already. You think now only in terms of the speed with which you advance, and which you drink in like oxygen; it has become the element in which you live and which is you. Nothing else matters.
Extract from “The System”, first published in Three Poems in 1973.

Henri Matisse, The Window, 1916 (The Detroit Institute of Arts).

John Ashbery writes:

I of course don’t mean that you are a moonstruck dreamer, but that they do exist, outside of you, without your having to do anything about it. Even if you do something it won’t matter. And it is possible that you will always remain unaware of their existence; this won’t matter either, to them, that is. But you must try to seize the truth of this: whatever was, is, and must be. The darkness that surrounds you now does not exist, because it never had any independent existence: you created it out of the spleen and torment you felt. It looks real enough to hide you from the light of the sun, but its reality is as specious as that of a mirage. The clouds are dispersing. And nothing comes to take their place, to interpose itself between you and the reality which you dreamed and which is therefore real. This new arrangement is already guiding your steps and indicating the direction you should take without your realizing it, for it is invisible now; it still seems that it is lost for there is of course no tangible evidence of it: that happens only once, it is true. But now to have absorbed the lesson, to have recovered from the shock of not being able to remember it, to again be setting out from the beginning – is this not something good to you? You no longer have to remember the principles, they seem to come to you like fragments of a buried language you once knew. You are like the prince in the fairy tale before whom the impenetrable forest opened and then the gates of the castle, without his knowing why. The one thing you want is to pause so as to puzzle all this out, but that is impossible; you are moving much too quickly for your momentum to be halted. How will it all turn out? What will the end be? But these are questions of the ignorant novice which you have forgotten about already. You think now only in terms of the speed with which you advance, and which you drink in like oxygen; it has become the element in which you live and which is you. Nothing else matters.

Extract from “The System”, first published in Three Poems in 1973.

Source: beetleinabox

High-res Notes: 102 4/24/11 — 12:48pm Short URL: http://tmblr.co/Z_npfx4Zerrt

…la expansión ha invadido mediante todas las formas de trabajo de equipo, vida y diversión comunitarias, el espacio interior de la vida privada y ha eliminado prácticamente la posibilidad de ese aislamiento en el que el individuo se vuelve sobre sí mismo solo y puede pensar, interrogarse y encontrar respuestas. Este tipo de vida privada –la única condición que, sobre la base de las necesidades vitales satisfechas, puede darle sentido a la libertad e independencia del pensamiento– ha llegado a ser desde hace mucho tiempo la mercancía más cara […]

El hombre unidimensional, Herbert Marcuse

4/22/11 — 6:30pm Short URL: http://tmblr.co/Z_npfx4WPy7Q

Sometimes when I’m brushing my teeth, I’ll look at the mirror and I swear my reflection seems kind of disappointed. I realized a couple of years ago that not only am I not super-skilled at anything, I’m not even particularly good at being myself.” — Charles Yu, How to Live Safely in a Science Fictional Universe

Source: slaughterhouse90210

Notes: 906 4/21/11 — 11:53pm Short URL: http://tmblr.co/Z_npfx4V5ueL

collect:

TV Garden (1974) by Nam June Paik

Source: paikstudios.com

Notes: 862 4/21/11 — 11:49pm Short URL: http://tmblr.co/Z_npfx4V5ZSR

Sex is a problem because it would seem that in that act there is complete absence of the self. In that moment you are happy, because there is the cessation of self-consciousness, of the ‘me’; and desiring more of it, more of the abnegation of the self in which there is complete happiness, without the past or the future, demanding that complete happiness through full fusion, integration, naturally it becomes all-important. Isn’t that so? Because it is something that gives me unadulterated joy, complete self-forgetfulness, I want more and more of it. Now, why do I want more of it? Because, everywhere else I am in conflict, everywhere else, at all the different levels of existence, there is the strengthening of the self. Economically, socially, religiously, there is the constant thickening of self-consciousness, which is conflict. After all, you are self-conscious only when there is conflict. Self-consciousness is in its very nature the result of conflict… .So, the problem is not sex, surely, but how to be free from the self. You have tasted that state of being in which the self is not, if only for a few seconds, if only for a day, or what you will; and where the self is, there is conflict, there is misery, there is strife. So, there is the constant longing for more of that self-free state.

Jiddu Krishnamurti, The Book of Life (via adsertoris)

Source: adsertoris

Notes: 616 4/10/11 — 1:42pm Short URL: http://tmblr.co/Z_npfx4Blnva

Rouge

High-res 4/1/11 — 2:49am Short URL: http://tmblr.co/Z_npfx3z6jhH

Fukushima mon amour

4/1/11 — 2:48am Short URL: http://tmblr.co/Z_npfx3z6ePB

El tumblr.

Deduzco.

High-res 3/28/11 — 1:36am Short URL: http://tmblr.co/Z_npfx3tAknS