I have no memory for things I have learned, nor things I have read, nor things experienced or heard, neither for people nor events; I feel that I have experienced nothing, learned nothing, that I actually know less than the average schoolboy, and that what I do know is superficial, and that every second question is beyond me. I am incapable of thinking deliberately; my thoughts run into a wall. I can grasp the essence of things in isolation, but I am quite incapable of coherent, unbroken thinking. I can’t even tell a story properly; in fact, I can scarcely talk…
Franz Kafka (via poeticsofdeath)

(Source: katemess, via poeticsofdeath)


Velvet Water, Chris Burden, 1974

Velvet Water, Chris Burden, 1974

(Source: raveneuse)


"Our irony may be more naïve than their sincerity"

Lettre de Sibérie, Chris Marker, 1957


Livro de Carne, Artur Barrio, 1978

Livro de Carne, Artur Barrio, 1978

(via cyborges)


In my cell, little by little, I shall have to give my thrills to the granite. I shall remain alone with it for a long time, and I shall make it live with my breath and the smell of my farts, both the solemn and the mild ones.
Jean Genet, Our Lady of the Flowers

Aktion 2, Rudolf Schwarzkogler, 1965

Aktion 2, Rudolf Schwarzkogler, 1965

(via mrsramseysshawl-deactivated2014)


When you have learned my crime, my fate, my shame,
I’ll die no less but with a guiltier name.
Racine, Phaedra

Bed Piece, Chris Burden, 1972

Bed Piece, Chris Burden, 1972

(Source: likeafieldmouse, via bizarredisco)


life … judges itself, tastes itself
Z. Baross, “Letter to a Young Author”

Kizhi Pogost, 1971

Kizhi Pogost, 1971

(Source: sovietpostcards)



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