I wonder what to think about these lines

"I imagine the gift of an infinite suffering, of blood and open bodies...I imagine the earth projected into space, like a woman screaming, her head in flames. I can only perceive a succession of cruel splendors whose very movement require that I die: this death is only the exploding consumption of all that was, the joy of existence of all that comes into the world; even my own life demands that everything that exists ceaselessly give itself to be annihilated."
-George Bataille


It reminds me of something terrible.

Comments

  1. the word calls for a langauge to come, towards-death oriented we are; ghosts of future haunting. spectres of an end calling for an unearthening of body. Bataille spells the surrendering. bliss. why is it so horrifying? one can address (it is unaskable) oneself;

    "the joy of existence of all that comes into the world; even my own life demands that everything that exists ceaselessly give itself to be annihilated."

    love [not love 'for', or 'of' but 'the'] is a place there can exist no others, Parmenides is right. something touchs.

    this "joy" (for me) is unbearable because it is unlovable. it foudn its alphabet in me after reading 'notes from underground'. how uncanny it "is"

    let's turn into oblivion, it is the only righteous measure on earth, for the langauge that breaths and "frame"s 'a' world; everytime "truth is untruth", breaking the circle driving into the 'out' of history, a joy should be blossoming

    yet:
    "stark violence

    Lays all walls waste; private estates are torn,/
    Ransacked in the public eye. We forsake /
    Our lone luck now, compelled by bond, by blood,/
    To keep some unsaid pact; perhaps concern /
    Is helpless here, quite extra, yet we must make /
    The gesture, bend and hold the prone man's head."
    Sylvia Plath, from Channel Crossing

    trembling with the soberness

    (where did you read this piece?)

    ReplyDelete

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