Monthly Archives: October 2010

The opposite of God

To begin a fiction seems to me an act of great daring. What temerity – to write, and a fiction! The temerity of inventiveness! Perhaps I am like those who distrust fiction writers who would usurp the place of God. But then I remember that certain fictional works are more like a destruction than a creation: the world is pared down, ‘reduced’ as is said in phenomenology, and now in such a way that the author is the opposite of God.

Spurious

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Each in his own way

And so they all, each in his own way, reflectingly or unreflectingly, go on with their daily lives; everything seems to take its accustomed course, for indeed, even in desperate situations where everything hangs in the balance, one goes on living as though nothing were wrong.

— Goethe, Elective Affinities (quoted in Handke’s The Left-Handed Woman)

Dream 10

My screen starts to squirm and all the words I’ve written on it form cones that reach out to me. I fight them off and now I’m engaged in a violent struggle with my screen, my desk, my body and my chair.

The sensation of the passing of time has always been vivid for me, and I have been attracted by it just as others are allured by dizzying heights or by water.

— Guy Debord (via here)

Deep inside me there’s a perpetual seething, like the bottom of a geyser, and I keep hoping that things will come to an eruption once and for all, so that I can turn into a different person.
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Perhaps you regard this thinking about myself as a waste of time – but how can I be a logician before I’m a human being? Far the most important thing is to settle accounts with myself!
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My thoughts are tired. I am not seeing things freshly, but rather in a pedestrian, lifeless way. It is as if a flame had gone out and I must wait until it starts to burn again by itself.

— Wittgenstein (via here)

Dream 9

I’m nothing but the exterior of my body: skin, hair, nails, eyes. I go to the shops with a weightless feeling, being hollow inside. I head for the city hall on some obscure mission, with shopping bags I find hard to carry, and when I reach the door I crumple and wake up.

Dream 7

I’m drinking wine from a cracked glass. The wine runs down my arm and my legs. I vomit, pour more wine in the glass, drink, vomit, etc.