The pedantic comic

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“The vanity of attributing to philosophy, and to the words of intellectuals, effects as immense as they are immediate seems to me to constitute the perfect example of what Schopenhauer called ‘the pedantic comic’, meaning by that the ridiculousness that we incur when we perform an action that is not included in its concept, such as horse in a theatre that would make dung. But if there are things that our philosophers, “modern” or “post-modern”, have in common beyond the conflicts between them, it is this overconfidence in the powers of discourse. A typical illusion of the reader, who can regard academic commentary as a political act or criticism of texts as a fact of resistance, and experience revolutions in the order of words like revolutions in the order of things. ” Pierre Bourdieu.

« La vanité d’attribuer à la philosophie, et aux propos des intellectuels, des effets aussi immenses qu’immédiats me paraît constituer l’exemple par excellence de ce que Schopenhauer appelait « le comique pédant », entendant par là le ridicule que l’on encourt lorsqu’on accomplit une action qui n’est pas comprise dans son concept, tel que le cheval de théâtre qui ferait du crottin. Or s’il y a des choses que nos philosophes, « modernes » ou « post-modernes », ont en commun par-delà les conflits qui les opposent, c’est cet excès de confiance dans les pouvoirs du discours. Illusion typique du lecteur, qui peut tenir le commentaire académique pour un acte politique ou la critique des textes pour un fait de résistance, et vivre les révolutions dans l’ordre des mots comme des révolutions dans l’ordre des choses. »
Pierre Bourdieu. Méditations Pascaliennes, Paris, Le Seuil, coll. Liber, 1997, p.10

Clear and sacred

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“I will tell you that I am a child of this century, a child of disbelief and doubt. I am that today and will remain so until the grave. How much terrible torture this thirst for faith has cost me and costs me even now, which is all the stronger in my soul the more arguments I can find against it. And yet, God sends me sometimes instants when I am completely calm; at those instants I love and feel loved by others, and it is at those instances that I have shaped for myself a Credo where everything is clear and sacred for me.” Fyodor Dostoyevsky

Before the Law

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Enlarge the tunnel

Until you lose sight of its walls

Support the density of the miniaturized world

Invent windows

Spend time looking for the sextant

Listen to the scripts inventing words

That touch the heart and humanize the program

Leave the invisible aside

Put the silence in

Scatter the time from the origin

To the hollows of the microscopic edges

Appearance catches the eye

The mirror eye reflects a thousand available appearances

And only one unnoticed occupies the mind

Appearance are more powerful than substance

Leave space for archives

Enter the infinite present

Time no longer belongs to anyone

Static

Time has eaten Kafka door

Now

Fill the factory of memories

Where disks rust

Stop looking inside

Repeat the program sentences

Build a new field of vision

Where barbarian hordes rushed in

Imposing on silence of desolation

Drowning the flame of the sacred in streams

Leave the birds, and let everything become uniform again

Catch a theory as a parachute

Debate at the bottom of a clay well

קזימיר מלביץ, קומפוזיציה סופרמטיסטית, לבן על לבן

Like a mighty river

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“When a wave comes, go deep.” = There’s three things you can do when life sends a wave at you. You can run from it, but then it’s going to catch up and knock you down. You can also fall back on your ego and try to stand your ground, but then it’s still going to clobber you. Or you can use it as an opportunity to go deep, and transform yourself to match the circumstances. And that’s how you get through the wave.

The only calibration that counts is how much heart people invest, how much they ignore their fears of being hurt or caught out or humiliated. And the only thing people regret is that they didn’t live boldly enough, that they didn’t invest enough heart, didn’t love enough. And that’s how we measure out our real respect for people—by the degree of feeling they can register, the voltage of life they can carry and tolerate—and enjoy. Live like a mighty river. And as the old Greeks said: live as though all your ancestors were living again through you.

Forever North (Just as it was by Yehuda Amichai)

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When we think, we know nothing, everything is open, according to Roithamer. The nature of things is always different, according to Roithamer. First, the cone has views in all directions, then the cone has views only to the south and north, then west and east, and finally only north. Thomas Bernhard.

My sanctuary

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My Sanctuary is born in my body

Stands in the hollow of my knots

Draw on the dead leaves

Where words do not resonate anymore.

My sanctuary path is sawdust,

Leaves no mark

The rain suspends its past, whispers the unreal.

My Sanctuary has no door,

No meetings

And burns all notices.

My sanctuary has no clocks

Is far from the roads

Isolated from all satellites

Its useless nights don’t indicate any future.

My sanctuary does not need ornament

It shuts all the voices

Carries a hundred of lost stones.

My sanctuary has deep shadows

drawn from empty labyrinths

Look straight in the face.

My sanctuary is indissoluble

Builds a glass wall against which ladders are set up,

Stops all persistent thresholds,

Turns faults back to the rigid line,

Frees itself from the horizon,

Makes the earth flat again.

My sanctuary hides the view

Says inaudible secrets

Rejects all lies.

My sanctuary does not like crossing

Pours a concrete that never harden

Turns to the lost heights

Brings my wildest hopes

Defeats all wars.

My sanctuary gradually makes me disappearing

Until total absence

Beyond the conceivable which carries me away.

Skin, rock

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Twenty-six years ago I maintained that the use of ornamentation on objects of practical use would disappear with the development of mankind, a constant and consistent development, which was as natural process as the atrophy of vowels in final syllables in popular speech. By that i did not mean what some purists have carried ad absurdum, namely that ornament should be systematically and consistently eliminated. What i did mean was that where it had disappeared as necessary consequences of human development, it could not be restored, just as people will never return to tattooing their face.

Adolf Loos

A mixed-blood

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Those like you, who have two different bloods in their veins, never find rest or contentment; and while they are there, they would like to be here, and as soon as they get back here, they immediately want to run away. You will go from place to place, as if you were escaping from prison, or running in search of someone; but in reality you will only pursue the different fates that mix in your blood, because your blood is like a double animal, it is like a griffin horse, like a mermaid. And you can also find some company, among so many people in the world; however, very often, you will be alone. A mixed-blood rarely finds himself happy in company: there is always something that shadows him, but in reality he shadows his own self, like the thief and the treasure, who shade one another. (“Arturo’s Island”) Elsa Morante.

100km with REIGN SX 29 HANDS Giant

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We play at getting lost as children. We play at getting lost for life. Man retains, in his deepest being, this pure anxiety of eternal bewilderment. Man plays because by playing he loses; or he may lose something, and he may lose something of himself by playing. Man plays because he loses; otherwise he would not play. When he wants to win it is to lose again: to lose even more, and always. Man tries to get lost, in the game as in everything. And he doesn’t always succeed. José Bergamin.