I understand the temptation of rotting at home.
Narcissus and Echo – their story can be summed up in the two words of their name. Narcissus can do nothing but fold on himself, in a primacy which nevertheless attracts; Echo can do nothing but repeat this folding, inflected in the end of every utterance by Narcissus. A double folding. A double bind. It collapses them both, and so the story goes because they’re condemned to their name.
To the same extent, as much as “In the beginning the Word already existed. The Word was with God, and the Word was God” then God can only function sovereignly as Narcissus and Echo. In other words, this only shows His anthropocentrism.
Compromise is merely a word to disguise gross utilitarianism.
Rien, cette écume, vierge vers
A ne désigner que la coupe;
Telle loin se noie une troupe
De sirènes mainte à l’envers.
(Nothing, this foam, this virgin verse
designating the cup, no more;
so plunges far away a corps
of sirens, many in reverse.) [Mallarme.Salut]
Our quest for knowledge is curiously insatiable. Our quest for self-knowledge is insane.
In cities by the water, the humidity of strangeness glaze your skin. Beirut and New York share this affinity to strangeness. The difference lies in how the former city forbids you from shedding your skin and how the latter makes of it an obligation. Beirut is a city of stagnation and paralysis. New York allows for the willful return of the new. Beirut is an echo of its own strangeness. New York’s echo is only heard outside of it.
Longing and ambition promise nothing. Neither do beginnings. If any location is witness to that, it is Beirut, where beginnings are only a means to an end.
Longing and ambition promise nothing. Neither do beginnings. If any location is witness to that it is New York, yet in New York, beginnings are an end in themselves.
De-lirium is praiseworthy.