Introduction The term ‘flâneuse’ can be attributed to females who engage in flânerie: the act of observing the city whilst walking. They know themselves to be one of the public, yet they are the binary opposite to the engaged pedestrian – they are a passive spectator. Until the latter half of the nineteenth century, flânerie […]
I don’t feel guilt at being unsociable, though I may sometimes regret it because my loneliness is painful. But when I move into the world, it feels like a moral fall–like seeking love in a whorehouse.
— Susan Sontag, As Consciousness Is Harnessed To Flesh: Journals & Notebooks, 1964 – 1980 (FSG, 2012)
…je vous écris de la Cité du Temps interrompu. La catastrophe lente ne s’achève pas. Notre vie s’écoule, notre vie s’amenuise et nous attendons encore « le moment qui repasse le mur ». Le vieux différend unit le frère au frère. Dans l’enceinte du froid tout le monde enfermé. Ceux qui possédaient possèdent sans plus […]
I feel, almost physically, the current of time slowing down in the gravitational field of oblivion. It seems to me then as if all the moments of our life occupy the same space, as if future events already existed and were only waiting for us to find our way to them at last, just as […]
In deep sadness there is no place for sentimentality. It is as final as the mountains: a fact. There it is. When you realize it you cannot complain.
― William S. Burroughs, Queer. (Viking Press November 1985)
” Sometimes people ask me what it takes to be a writer. The only things you have to do, I tell them, are read constantly; write for thousands of hours; and have the masochistic ability to absorb a great deal of rejection and isolation. As it turns out, these qualities have prepared me well to deal […]
I don’t do anything with my life except romanticize and decay with indecision.
— Allen Ginsberg, The Book of Martyrdom and Artifice: First Journals and Poems: 1937-1952. (Da Capo Press; 1st Da Capo Press Ed edition November 1, 2006)
“I am not sure that I exist, actually. I am all the writers that I have read, all the people that I have met, all the women that I have loved; all the cities I have visited”
– Jorge Luis Borges, writer
All my dark thoughts laid out in a straight line. An abstract street on which an equally abstract intelligence forever advances, doubting the sound of its own footsteps.
— Charles Simic, “Euclid Avenue,” Unending Blues: Poems (Mariner Books, 1986)
Qui a dit que je ne reverrais plus jamais l’os d’or du soleil rouler dans nos têtes qu’entre mes mains ne pendrait plus la caresse jaune que ta langue ne serait plus jamais ma rame ? le chat soyeux du soir pose ses trois pattes sur l’œil de l’horizon et derrière les croupes et les […]