ΤΟ ΤΕΛΙΚΟ ΞΕΓΥΜΝΩΜΑ
Το παραμύθιασμα του έρωτα μας οπλίζει με μια ψευδαίσθηση αρτιμέλειας ή οποία, αν και χρήσιμη στους εγκόσμιους ελιγμούς, δεν παύει είτε να μας πνίγει σαν στενό ρούχο είτε να μας λοιδορεί έτσι όπως μέσα της πλέουμε. Απ’ την άλλη, η αποκαθήλωση του έρωτα μας αφήνει να τουρτουρίζουμε, αποξενωμένους μεν, λυτρωμένους δε στη φυσική κατάσταση της αναπηρίας μας. Μέσα στον έρωτα κερδίζουμε τον κόσμο χάνοντας τον εαυτό μας˙ αντίθετα, έξω απ’ αυτόν ανακτούμε την ακεραιότητα της νοσηρότητάς μας, με αποτέλεσμα να τρεκλίζουμε σε αφιλόξενους δρόμους.
ΑΣΚΗΣΕΙΣ ΙΔΕΑΤΗΣ ΑΝΑΤΟΜΙΑΣ
Words
Sound
"Without Bach, God would be a complete second rate figure"
Emil Cioran
Video
Pictures
A human being possessed by a belief and not eager to pass it on to others is a phenomenon alien to the earth, where our mania for salvation makes life unbreathable. Look around you: everywhere, specters preaching; each institution translates a mission; city halls have their absolute, even as the temples—officialdom, with its rules—a metaphysics designed for monkeys… Everyone trying to remedy everyone’s life: even beggars, even the incurable aspire to it: the sidewalks and hospitals of the world overflow with reformers. The longing to become a source of events affects each man like a mental disorder or a desired malediction. Society—an inferno of saviors! What Diogenes was looking for with his lantern was an indifferent man. …
It is enough for me to hear someone talk sincerely about ideals, about the future, about philosophy, to hear him say ‘we' with a certain inflection of assurance, to hear him invoke 'others' and regard himself as their interpreter—for me to consider him my enemy.
Emil Cioran
Genealogy of Fanaticism
Louis-Ferdinand Céline Journey to the end of the night
The biggest defeat in every department of life is to forget, especially the things that have done you in, and to die without realizing how far people can go in the way of crumminess. When the grave lies open before us, let's not try to be witty, but on the other hand, let's not forget, but make it our business to record the worst of the human viciousness we've seen without changing one word. When that's done, we can curl up our toes and sink into the pit. That's work enough for a lifetime.
Yes, the newspapers were right: snow was general all over Ireland. It was falling softly upon the Bog of Allen and, further westwards, softly falling into the dark mutinous Shannon waves. It was falling too upon every part of the lonely churchyard where Michael Furey lay buried. It lay thickly drifted on the crooked crosses and headstones, on the spears of the little gate, on the barren thorns. His soul swooned slowly as he heard the snow falling faintly through the universe and faintly falling, like the descent of their last end, upon all the living and the dead.