Photo
rozenama:

27أغسطس
2014
أحد عشر كلبا
photo :كوكب اللوتس-وائل عشري

rozenama:

27أغسطس

2014

أحد عشر كلبا

photo :كوكب اللوتس-وائل عشري

Quote
"My eyes are tired,” James Joyce wrote in a letter to Giorgio, in 1935. “For over half a century, they have gazed into nullity where they have found a lovely nothing."

— عيون جويس

(Source: boardnroom, via joyceansreadjoyce)

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Charles Simic, Relaxing in a Madhouse from Walking the Black Cat

Charles Simic, Relaxing in a Madhouse from Walking the Black Cat

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"Please no graffiti up here"

"Please no graffiti up here"

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"In memory of unarmed protestors and students shot dead by general El Sissy. Cairo 2013" — in Brooklyn

"In memory of unarmed protestors and students shot dead by general El Sissy. Cairo 2013" — in Brooklyn

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Gabriel García Márquez with Julio Cortázar

Gabriel García Márquez with Julio Cortázar

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Wislawa Szymborska, from Here 

Wislawa Szymborska, from Here 

Quote
"I am like the king of a rainy kingdom,
rich but weak, young yet very old,
who, with perceptions piqued by marigolds,
bores myself with dogs and craps.
Nothing makes me gladder, gentler, more prone to falconry
than my dying people, their faces full on balconies.
“My Favorite Baboon,” the grotesque ballad,
does not distress me any longer with cruel sickness;
my bed flowers and transforms as it falls:
the tourist women, for whom every prince is handsome,
no longer know how to sit for their impudent toilette,
but pull a face instead and squeal.
The knowledge which made gold never tried
with such luck to inform the corrupt element,
catalyst for the bloodbaths of the Romans.
Like the king, I do not remember the days of old,
I do not relight my habitual cigar,
and my blood cools from too much rain."

Charles Baudelaire, Spleen (III) —Translated from French by Jeffrey Croteau

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Quote
"He had got, finally,
to the forest
of motives. There were no
owls, or hunters. No Connie Chatterleys
resting beautifully
on their backs, having casually
brought socialism
to England.
Only ideas,
and their opposites
Like,
he was really
nowhere."

Amiri Baraka, A Poem for Speculative Hipsters