We are Paper

Yet now
We feel that we are paper, choking on you nightly
They tell me “Son, we want you, be elusive, but don’t walk far”
For we’re breaking in the new boys, deceive your next of kin
For you’re dancing where the dogs decay, defecating ecstasy
You’re just an ally of the leecher
Locator for the virgin King, but I love you in your fuck-me pumps
And your nimble dress that trails
Oh, dress yourself, my urchin one, for I hear them on the rails
Because of all we’ve seen, because of all we’ve said
We are the dead

— from: David Bowie, We are the dead

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The Inferior Parents

The work of the painter and of all other representative artists [is] far removed from the truth and associated with elements in us equally far removed from reason, in a fond liaison without health or truth. […] Representative art is an inferior child born of inferior parents

— Plato

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The Old Movies

I recently found myself watching movies that I have already seen before. Not movies of any personal significance to me, rather ordinary movies with plots that were already predictable to begin with: Having seen them before takes any surprise out of the stories foreseeable turns and upheavals, that – most of the time – led to happy ending of which I already knew before. I take comfort out of this. The love won, the murder solved, the world saved – knowing the exact details in advance removes the sharade of us pretending not to know where all our stories end.

How then, is this different from looking at images we already know. A picture in an advertisement that is sold on romance, although we are coerced into buying a perfume or a car. This suspension of belief: Us pretending not to know. While were enjoying this pretendig while all the time we already know. There is nothing new in the world.

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Between the Clock and the Bed

Ravenal asked Johns about the clock and the bed, and the artist, famously reticent to reveal any psychological insight into his work, said he was interested in painting objects positioned between other objects.

— Jasper Johns on what he paints

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Bequxyxe Gurivox Koripin

Soxixe Kiwle Pecypiv Jutugi Gogywo Xonerewi Quswi Texxi Dyzci Sizenu
Zyde Teheli Jodewi Dofesu Kedzo Vuphe Vinho Foletogu Poho Xicco Rexi
Nikokuxu Xiponeb Rewydyfi Xusohip Nepu Boge Poloqu Lutepinu Xeqzi
Votosi Qytuvuw Zoxfi Rerehut Zozhe Tigre Turo Virybok Logeti Totecoso
Vyzyci Sonfo Tuqobo Vebizu Jiceqy Buno Lipolici Gufru Dyzdi Soju Qiti
Horge Rucipel Bequxyxe Gurivox Koripin Jongy Xeculuf Nulce Xucowydo

— from Spam



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Waiting For A Host

An Autonomous chemical weapon belonging to earth as both a sentient entity and an event. Petroleum poisons Capital with absolute madness, a planetary plague bleeding into economies mobilized by the technological singularities of advanced civilizations. In the wake of oil as an autonomous terrestrial conspirator, capitalism is not a human symptom but rather a planetary inevitability. In other words, Capitalism was here even before human existence, waiting for a host. 

— Reza Negarestani, Cyclonopedia

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