Being with you and not being with you is the only way I have to measure time. — Jorge Luis Borges (via likeafieldmouse)
Celeste Roberge. Rising Cairn. 4,000 Pounds of Rocks Fill a Human-Shaped Steel Frame.
It’s a farce, the great actors, the great poets, the great
statesmen, the great painters, the great composers, the
It’s a farce, a farce, a farce,
history and the recording of it,
forget it, forget it.
you must begin all over again.
throw all that out.
all of them out
you are alone with now.
look at your fingernails.
touch your nose.
the day flings itself upon
Edward Hopper, Nighthawks (detail), 1942
Poem, Jane Rohrer
(Source: textless, via mudwerks)
— Michel Foucault
Photos from Korea’s 1948 Yeosu-Suncheon rebellion
Caption from LIFE. “Other rebels in army uniform are hauled away tightly trussed in army trucks, after their capture by loyal army forces, for trial by Korean military tribunal.”
(Carl Mydans—Time & Life Pictures/Getty Images)
(Source: hanniefranniex, via arquitecturademilnoches)
I do things like get in a taxi and say, “The library, and step on it. —
David Foster Wallace
A young Marine was carried in, still unconscious and full of morphine, and his legs were gone. As he was being carried into the ward, he came out of it briefly and saw a Catholic chaplain standing over him.
“Father,” he said, “am I all right?”
The chaplain didn’t know what to say. “You’ll have to talk about that with the doctors, son.”
“Father, are my legs okay?”
“Yes,” the chaplain said. “Sure.”
By the next afternoon the shock had worn off and the boy knew all about it. He was lying on his cot when the chaplain came by.
“Father,” the Marine said, “I’d like to ask you for something.”
“I’d like to have that cross.” And he pointed to the tiny silver insignia on the chaplain’s lapel.
“Of course,” the chaplain said. “But why?”
“Well, it was the first thing I saw when I came to yesterday, and I’d like to have it.”
The chaplain removed the cross and handed it to him. The Marine held it tightly in his fist and looked at the chaplain.
“You lied to me, Father,” he said. “You cocksucker. You lied to me.”
-Michael Herr, Dispatches