“Language can only begin with the void; no fullness, no certainty can ever speak; something essential is lacking in anyone who expresses himself. Negation is tied to language. When I first begin, I do not speak in order to say something, rather a nothing demands to speak, nothing speaks, nothing finds its being in speech and the being of speech is nothing.”
— Literature and the Right to Death, Maurice Blanchot,
The Gaze of Orpheus. Trans. Lydia Davis, 1981; p 381
March 2012
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“Birds scream at the top of their lungs in horrified hellish rage every morning at daybreak to warn us all of the truth, but sadly we don’t speak bird.”
—Kurt Cobain, Journals
But what if today there was no object to lose? What if there was no shadow but a void? What space for sadness in a world where the presence of the other is barely acknowledged? The achievement of sadness (the acceptance of loss and a regathering of the self) is forged through the exquisite pain of mourning. But if the terror of our age is dependence, then how can the modern depressive know what loss he mourns? In this new world of depleted selves, sadness melts away as a phenomenon, substituted with an empty, nameless longing.
— The Demise of Sadness: Melancholia, Depression and Narcissism in Late Modernity, Robert Reynolds. Australian Humanities Review, 41, February 2007
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“Every one interprets everything in terms of his own experience. If you say anything which does not touch a precisely similar spot in another man’s brain, he either misunderstands you, or doesn’t understand you at all.”
—Aleister Crowley, Diary of a Drug Fiend
A gdy nic nie wiem o tobie
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