Lou Andreas-Salomé, from Looking Back: Memoirs; translated by Breon Mitchell
Text ID: Human life—indeed all life—is poetry. It is we who live it, unconsciously, day by day, like scenes in a play, yet in its inviolable wholeness it lives us, it composes us. There is something far different from the old cliche "Turn your life into a work of art"; we are works of art-but we are not the artist.
a prayer
Les Félins (René Clément), Days of Being Wild (Wong Kar Wai), Malcolm T. Liepke, Gustav Vigeland (Eros and Psyche), Stephan Sinding (Adoration), Soul Eom (kiss, hug and die)
Alice Notley, The Art of Poetry No.116
Jung
Margaret Atwood, from a poem titled "Eurydice," featured in Paper Boat: Selected Poems
Simone Weil, Gravity and Grace
December 16, 1930 The early diary of Anaïs Nin, 1903-1977
I must also have a dark side if I am to be whole
- Carl Jung
Yohji Yamamoto: Leather Hand Bags Hand-Painted by Junji Ito, Only 2 In Existence
Freud said that we endlessly repeat past hurts, forever re-enacting the same patterns in a futile attempt to patch the un-healable wound. This, more than anything, is the terror of the personal, digital archive: not that it reveals some awful act from the past, some old self that no longer stands for us, but that it reminds us that who we are is in fact a repetition, a cycle, a circular relation of multiple selves to multiple injuries. It’s the self as a bundle of trauma, forever acting out the same tropes in the hopes that we might one day change.
Navneet Alang, "Terror of the Archive"