oed' und leer das meer

5.6 The limits of my language mean the limits of my world

so please do not write to tell me about any more beautiful blue things. to be fair, this book will not tell you about any, either. it will not say 'isn't x beautiful?' such demands are murderous to beauty. the most i want to do is show you the end of my index finger. its muteness.
- bluets, maggie nelson

this is where i show the end of my index finger

the stuff:

highlights from my commonplace wall (last update: 13/12)
influences, resources, things i love(d)

my friend diego's blog !!! fire !!
so cool and so aesthetically pleasing; inspires me a lot
the waste land, t.s. eliot
‘you gave me hyacinths first a year ago; / ‘they called me the hyacinth girl.’ / — yet when we came back, late, from the hyacinth garden, / your arms full, and your hair wet, i could not / speak, and my eyes failed, i was neither / living nor dead, and i knew nothing, / looking into the heart of light, the silence. / oed’ und leer das meer.
àgua viva, clarice lispector
'what shall i tell you? i shall tell you the instants. i go too far and only then do i exist in a feverish way'
wong kar-wai's filmography
if memories could be canned, would they also have expiration dates?

> whoami

Margaret Atwood, in Power Politics:

“Because you are never here
but always there, I forget
not you but what you look like

You drift down the street
in the rain, your face
dissolving, changing shape, the colours
running together

My walls absorb
you, breathe you forth
again, you resume
yourself, I do not recognize you

You rest on the bed
watching me watching
you, we will never know
each other any better
than we do now”

my song of the month (nov):

a city being your home.... not belonging somewhere...

(wip)(past songs, collected)