from now on

CHECK HERE INSTEAD

thanks dudes

e
emerson

 

cortazar

 

miller

melville

nin

hemingway

vollmann

nijinsky

 

I tried to remember a time when I didn’t feel as I do now. If I take me today and compare myself with me from yesterday I feel the same. If I take myself from yesterday and think about myself from the day before that there is still no difference. To continue on back more and more for days and days I still don’t make any distinction. Reading over things from a year ago this month however I was different. My text, my language, my commas, my breaths and pauses, all different. Reading over old things from a bit more than a year ago maybe I do see some parallels in inner status, in self, in mind-workings, in withheld breaths.
I might go as far as to say that I am happy with where I am despite day to day thoughts that I think I’m not. I also know that I don’t need to restructure perception. There is an austere sort of hedonism to my life, a self-afflicted austerity that really just stems from a lack. Always coming back to the lack. But I don’t feel the lack in myself anymore more just with my surroundings. There are things to fill the space, the time, the breaths, but the guard is set and I’m too intimidated to break it down. I take it back actually, it’s not austerity but rather it’s withholding. I have to withhold or else gravity will take over and I will fall as he falls over and over again.

“Because gravity overpowers me.”

– Bas Jan Ader

In Search of the Miraculous (A Night in LA)

Bas Jan Ader, 1973. Series of 18 photographs incorporating lyrics from The Coasters’ Searchin’.

Seismic waves of no size at all, really just imagination’s waves that we created in dark’s spaces. Not nubile night, not breaths nor weight, not expected, so nothing but everything from nothing creates.
Backwoods of my mind comes barefoot forward to tell me no trouble’s brewin’. Walking thru those twinkld streets battered by desert dust, a fairy-land, perfect haze dusts over non-existent tropic heat, waves of dreams, green galaxies far away, walking, walking, walking content with nothing in my hands. To dive. I dove from where I was standing in dust-land, thinking I was diving into nothing, not thinking at all, greeted by pit of comfort, hands relax, mind doesn’t. Dummy night soothes factual day and how I love dummy night. Drive into night’s stomach where my eyes, my breath, my tongue, my hair rests easy. Became Rain Man a second time for another reason in another world. Simple and concise. Concise but not so simple.

Never-Seen: Hells Angels, 1965 LIFE Magazine

and the babes:

seeyuhhhhhh

reblogged from fantastic-dl