It took a special kind of guts to be a fuckup as a woman, I thought. To say to hell with being the nice girl, the responsible one, the one who makes sure the man takes care of himself and eats properly and doesn’t take too many drugs. To be just as nihilistic and self-destructive as a man, knowing all along that you’ll get crucified for it, because somehow, the world will make everything your fault. He’ll be a martyr, and you’ll be a succubus. He’ll be a genius and you’ll be a groupie, He’ll be a hero, and you’ll be an ugly fat crack whore who deserves to die.
Deep community is what will keep us from extinction.
3/6 Don’t get goats, they say. Goats are always getting into trouble and eating the orchard, they say. But do they warn you not to leave your goat alone with a synthesizer unless you want her working on her distant but emotionally charged coldwave masterpiece? No. They do not warn you about that at all.
natalie dormer | GQ magazine, april 2014
Jesus in the temple, turning over tables!!
scenes from my dog’s mysterious past
The Shining | 1981, Dir. Stanley Kubrick
The man of the world lives in nuance and by degrees, he lives in a mixture of light and shadow, in confused enchantment or irresolute mediocrity: in the middle. Tragic man lives in the extreme tension between contraries, going from a yes and no confusedly merged back to a yes and a no that are clear and clearly preserved in their opposition. He does not see man as a passable mixture of middling qualities and honest failings, but as an unendurable meeting of extreme grandeur and extreme destitution, an incongruous nothingness in which the two infinites collide.
But how does man become tragic man? And what does he gain by it? What he loses is evident: ease, forgetfulness, tranquil malaise, dull pleasures, a tender inconstancy, and an almost agreeable nausea, neither truth nor lies, but the illusion of both—a mystified life that some might charge is not a life, but that is a life of appearances one will do anything not to lose. But tragic man is one whose existence has suddenly become transformed: from a play of light and shadow it has become both an exigency of absolute clarity and an encounter with heavy darkness, the summons to a true speech and the trial of an infinitely silent space. Finally, it has become the presence of a world incapable of justice and offering only derisory compromise when it is the absolute, and the absolute alone, that is required: hence an uninhabitable world in which one is obliged to dwell. For tragic man, everything has instantly hardened, everything is the face to face of incompatibilities.