Cantastoriedimorte - Cantastoriedimortie

'There is not narcissism and non-narcissism. There are narcissisms that are more or less comprehensive, generous, open, extended. What is called non-narcissism is in general but the economy of a much more welcoming and hospitable narcissism. One that is much more open to the experience of the Other as Other. I believe that without a movement of narcissistic reappropriation, the relation to the Other would be absolutely destroyed, it would be destroyed in advance. The relation to the Other, even if it remains asymmetrical, open, without possible reappropriation, must trace a movement of reappropriation in the image of one's self for love to be possible. Love is narcissistic.' JACQUES DERRIDA POINTS STANFORD UNIVERSITY PRESS, 1995

The Cold Mountain Poems

Always it’s cold on this mountain!

Every year, and not just this.

Dense peaks, thick with snow.

Black pine-trees breathing mist.

It’s summer before the grass grows,

Not yet autumn when the leaves fall.

Full of illusions, I roam here,

Gaze and gaze, but can’t see the sky. Hanshan

I ought to have a special hell for my anger, a hell for my pride, - and a hell for sex; a whole symphony of hells!

I am weary, I die. This is the grave and I'm turning into worms, horror of horrors! Satan, you clown, you want to dissolve me with your charms. Well, I want it. I want it! Stab me with a pitchfork, sprinkle me with fire. Arthur Rimbaud’s Night in Hell from “A season in hell”

who can ever dare a 'we' without trembling

who can ever dare a ‘we’ without trembling? who can ever sign a 'we'– in english, 'we subject’ in the nominative, or an 'us’, in the accusative or the dative? […] we met (each other), we spoke, wrote (to one-another), we loved (one another), we agreed (with each other) – or not. to sign a 'we’, an 'us’ may already seem impossible, far too weighty or light, always illegitimate amongst the living.

—Parallax 6(4) (2000): 28

every time a supposed communist decides that whatever political upheaval they're currently in is finally the one historical event entirely inexplicable from material interests and due to the crazy idiocy of the people in charge, a cia agent gets a promotion

"When I call you my love, is that I am calling you, yourself, or is it that I am telling my love? And when I tell you my love is it that I am declaring my love to you or indeed that I am telling you, yourself, my love, and that you are my love / I want so much to tell you and you, tell me I love all my appellations for you and then we would have but one lip, one alone to say everything. From the Hebrew he translates “tongue” if you can call it translating, as lip. They wanted to elevate themselves sublimely, in order to impose their lip, the unique lip, on the universe. Babel, the father, giving his name of confusion, multiplied the lips, and this why we are separated and that right now I am dying, dying to kiss you with our lip the only one I want to hear."

Jacques Derrida: The Post Card: From Socrates to Freud and Beyond

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Secrecy

Secrecy flows through you, a different kind of blood. It’s as if you’ve eaten it like a bad candy, taken it into your mouth, let it melt sweetly on your tongue, then allowed it to slide down your throat like the reverse of uttering, a word dissolved into its glottals and sibilants, a slow intake of breath—

And now it’s in you, secrecy. Ancient and vicious, luscious as dark velvet. It blooms in you, a poppy made of ink.

You can think of nothing else. Once you have it, you want more. What power it gives you! Power of knowing without being known, power of the stone door, power of the iron veil, power of the crushed fingers, power of the drowned bones crying out from the bottom of the well. Margaret atwood

O Lord, the stars of Your sky have set, the eyes of Your creation have closed to rest, and kings have locked their gates, Yet, Your gate is always open to those who ask.

— Imam al-Sajjad (ع)