To desire the conditions of one's own subordination is required to persist as oneself.Similar to: Dorothy Carter, Neutral Milk Hotel
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To desire the conditions of one's own subordination is required to persist as oneself.
There are, of course, various ways of refusing to love, not all of which qualify as foreclosure. But what happens when a certain foreclosure of love becomes the condition of possibility for social existence? Does this not produce a sociality afflicted by melancholia, a sociality in which loss cannot be grieved because it cannot be recognized as loss, because what is lost never had any entitlement to existence?Similar to: Excepter, Raccoo-oo-oon
But already we may speak of the body as an ever advancing boundary between the future and the past, as a pointed end, which our past is continually driving forward into our future. Whereas my body, taken at a single moment, is but a conductor interposed between the objects which influence it and those on which it acts, it is, on the other hand, when replaced in the flux of time, always situated at the very point where my past expires in a deed.
With the immediate and present data of our senses we mingle a thousand details out of our past experience. In most cases these memories supplant our actual perceptions, of which we then retain only a few hints, thus using them merely as 'signs' that recall to us former images.
Hence it is that melancholics love solitude and shun company; this makes them more attached to the object of their delirium or to their dominant passion, whatever it may be, while they seem indifferent to anything else.
If folly leads each man into a blindness where he is lost, the madman, on the contrary, reminds each man of his truth; in a comedy where each man deceives the other and dupes himself, the madman is comedy to the second degree: the deception of deception; he utters, in his simpleton's language which makes no show of reason, the words of reason that release, in the comic, the comedy: he speaks love to lovers, the truth of life to the young, the middling reality of things to the proud, to the insolent, and to liars.
Neighbour torture. Absolute torture, I tell you.
A person has never invented something, that is, a thing. In short, no one has ever invented anything. Nor has anyone invented an essence of things in this new universe of discourse, but only truth as a proposition.
When did that child who perhaps had not yet been born no longer want to leave his birth, nor his birth certificate in the hands of his parents, his witnesses, or his judges? For as I read my birth certificate, as I am born, I feel like literature, like a page, a book, something destined for reading - or burning - that will live as long as it is readable, read.
Let's push things forward.
Time comes, and then it's gone...
It is 'imagined' because the members of even the smallest nation will never know most of their fellow-members, meet them, or even hear of them, yet in the minds of each lives the image of their communion.
Lift it gently to the steeple,
Gözlerinden bilemem, neden solgunsun sen
In particular, speakers of Leet are fond of verbing nouns, turning verbs into nouns (and back again) as forms of emphasis, e.g. "Austin rocks" is weaker than "Austin roxxorz" (note spelling), which is weaker than "Au5t1N is t3h r0xx0rz" (note grammar), which is weaker than something like "0MFG D00D /\Ü571N 15 T3H l_l83Я 1337 Я0XX0ЯZ".
And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.