Memory is like a dog that lies down where it pleases.
our period is obsessed by the desire to forget, and
it is to fulfill that desire that it gives over to the
demon of speed; it picks up the pace to show us
that it no longer wishes to be remembered; that it
is tired of itself; sick of itself; that it wants to blow
out the tiny trembling flame of memory.
Then I knew
she was a dream: and questioned her
–Joan, what kind of knowledge have
the dead? can you still love
your mortal acquaintances?
What do you remember of us?
Les géants couverts d’algues passaient dans leurs villes
Sous-marines où les tours seules étaient des îles
Et cette mer avec les clartés de ses profondeurs
Coulait sang de mes veines et fait battre mon cœur
Puis les marmitons apportèrent les viandes
Des rôtis de pensées mortes dans mon cerveau
Mes beaux rêves mort-nés en tranches bien saignantes
Et mes souvenirs faisandés en godiveaux
As I mentioned previously the Refined Quotes blog got to a place of a stagnation. Of course there are new meterial, new visits and new followers. Yet it all became too routine. It was meant to be a hunt for new ideas , however the creativity deminished slowly but steadily. In the end I’m only happy with the content and form of the ‘about’ page, which is also a manifesto that I try to follow.
The beginning of this year was great, people started comming in, I’ve added the paintings, movie frames and later the songs. Eventually I got to a point where there was a standard alogrithm for me to use, with better or worse results in attention catching, nevertheless it became an effort, a fixed procedure. The very thing hated so much by people like Burroughs or Wallace, who I openly admire from post to post.
See? Mr. Burroughs is dismayed.
<read on for all the cool stuff!->
Perhaps the immobility of the things that surround us is forced upon them by our conviction that they are themselves, and not anything else, and by the immobility of our conceptions of them. For it always happened that when I awoke like this, and my mind struggled in an unsuccessful attempt to discover where I was, everything would be moving round me through the darkness: things, places, years.