We Were Dead Before The Ship Even Sank

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Missed The Boat - Modest Mouse
Looking towards the future
We were begging for the past
Well we knew we had the good things
But those never seemed to last

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For, after all, you do grow up, you do outgrow your ideals, which turn to dust and ashes, which are shattered into fragments; and if you have no other life, you just have to build one up out of these fragments. And all the time your soul is craving and longing for something else. And in vain does the dreamer rummage about in his old dreams, raking them over as though they were a heap of cinders, looking in these cinders for some spark, however tiny, to fan it into a flame so as to warm his chilled blood by it and revive in it all that he held so dear before, all that touched his heart, that made his blood course through his veins, that drew tears from his eyes, and that so splendidly deceived him!

 Fyodor Dostoevsky, White Nights (via kurtlac)

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Portraits of Women with Vegetable Weapons by Tsuyoshi Ozawa

Portraits of Women with Vegetable Weapons by Tsuyoshi Ozawa

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Why remember a detail like that? No reason, no reason he can think of, except that reason and memory are nearly always at odds

Sunset Park by Paul Auster.

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We Have The Facts And We're Voting Yes

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Jean-Paul Sartre on style

dabacahin:

Many young people today do not concern themselves with style and think that what one says should be said simply and that is all. For me, style—which does not exclude simplicity, quite the opposite—is above all a way of saying three or four things in one. There is the simple sentence, with its immediate meaning, and then at the same time, below this immediate meaning, other meanings are organized. If one is not capable of giving language this plurality of meaning, then it is not worth the trouble to write.

What distinguishes literature from scientific communication, for example, is that it is not unambiguous; the artist of language arranges words in such a way that, depending on how he emphasizes or gives weight to them, they will have one meaning, and another, and yet another, each time at different levels.

— from “Sartre at Seventy: An Interview” by Michel Contat, translated by Paul Auster and Lydia Davis (The New York Review of Books)

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claeswar:

New Order - Taboo No. 7 (Orignal version of Temptation, Live in New York 1981) 

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Equinox Flower (Yasujiro Ozu, 1958)

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Destroy my desires, eradicate my ideals, show me something better, and I will follow you.

Fyodor Dostoevsky, Notes from the Underground (via fyodors)

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mexq:

from Je, tu, il, elle (Chantal Akerman, 1976)

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istartedoutonburgundy:

“Each time he took a walk, he felt as though he were leaving himself behind, and by giving himself up to the movement of the streets, by reducing himself to a seeing eye, he was able to escape the obligation to think, and this, more than anything else, brought him a measure of peace, a salutary emptiness within…By wandering aimlessly, all places became equal and it no longer mattered where he was. On his best walks he was able to feel that he was nowhere. And this, finally was all he ever asked of things: to be nowhere.”

~Paul Auster

The New York Trilogy: City of Glass

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