As black people we exist metaphorically and literally as the underside, the underclass. We are the unconscious of the entire Western world. If this is true, then where do we go? Where are our dreams? Where is our pain? Where do we heal?
Ntozake Shange, Moon-Marked and Touched by the Sun: Plays by African American Women
Rebeca eager for eternity aspires to live, libidinously and insatiably, in a face to face with pain. Form and substance, spirit and delirium are for her similar points, united to be one. Adjusting her pulsions to the shadow of her rage, walking along the path of the instant. The fleeting moments become eternal, and emotional pictures as ever flowing. In her abstraction she opens the book of her life, her childhood, her orgasms, hoping to meet them again during the painting gesture.
‘Use me’: a statement of vertiginous simplicity, it is not mystical, but materialist. Let me be your surface and your tissues, you may be my orifices and my palms and my membranes, we could lose ourselves, leave the power and the squalid justification of the dialectic of redemption, we will be dead.
Lui ha una vita da raccontare. E a chi, se non a lei?
Lui pensa che quando si incontreranno sarà bello posarle sul grembo una scatola di mogano piena di lettere e dire “Ti aspettavano”.
Lei aprirà la scatola e lentamente, quando vorrà, leggerà le lettere una ad una e risalendo un chilometrico filo di inchiostro blu si prenderà gli anni, i giorni, gli istanti, che quell'uomo, prima ancora di conoscerla, già le aveva regalato.
O forse, più semplicemente, capovolgerà la scatola e attonita davanti a quella buffa nevicata di lettere sorriderà dicendo a quell'uomo “Tu sei matto”.
E per sempre lo amerà.
Fin de las esposas, las madres, las amas de casa y las compañeras; fin de los esposos, los padres, los amantes y los cónyuges: sólo existen hombres y mujeres en la desnudez y en la autonomía de su pura subjetividad corporal y libidinal. Ya no hay máquinas sociales o morales, sino máquinas deseantes. Ya no hay representaciones familiares y sociológicas, sino presencias solitarias y solteras. Que sobrevengan las noches blancas, las auroras fatigadas, el agotamiento muscular y los cuerpos extenuados.
Michel Onfray, Teoría del cuerpo enamorado: por una erótica solar, trad. Ximo Brotons (Valencia: Pre-textos, 2002), 152.
It is one of the unexpected disasters of the modern age that our new unparalleled access to information has come at the price of our capacity to concentrate on anything much. The deep, immersive thinking which produced many of civilization’s most important achievements has come under unprecedented assault. We are almost never far from a machine that guarantees us a mesmerizing and libidinous escape from reality. The feelings and thoughts which we have omitted to experience while looking at our screens are left to find their revenge in involuntary twitches and our ever-decreasing ability to fall asleep when we should.
I can’t draw today…so I’m posting things instead. A minor A:AG character. Her name is Mina and she’s a Libidine class demon. She’s a singer who does a lot of dark pop songs. She has the same….teacher….as A.P.O.L.L.O. She likes Celestino’s singing and guitar playing and wants him to do a song with her but everytime she tries to convince him he’s like ‘nope I don’t sing with demons.’