Even by Ragnarok, everyone's a fucking Napoleon

Þøkk mun grā­­ta þurrum tārrum

Baldrs balfarar;

kyks n­­ē dauðs nau-k-a-k karls sonar;

haldi Hęl þvī es hęfir!

In the verbal medium, in each utterance, however trivial it might be, this living dialectical synthesis is constantly taking place again and again between the psyche and ideology, between the inner and the outer. In each speech act, subjective experience perishes in the objective fact of the enunciated word-utterance, and the enunciated word is subjectified in the act of responsive understanding in order to generate, sooner or later, a counter statement.

hugsum daginn minn

Dōhaku lived in Kurotsuchibaru. His son was named Gorobei. Once when Gorobei was carrying a load of rice, a rōnin of Master Kumashiro Sakyō’s by the name of Iwamura Kyūnai was coming from the other direction. There was a grudge between the two of them from some former incident, and now Gorobei struck Kyūnai with his load of rice, started an argument, beat him and pushed him into a ditch, and then returned home. Kyūnai yelled some threat at Gorobei and returned to his home where he related this event to his older brother Gen’emon. The two of them then went off to Gorobei’s to take revenge.

When they got there, the door was open just a bit, and Gorobei was standing behind it with a drawn sword. Not knowing this, Gen’emon entered and Gorobei struck at him with a sweep from the side. Having received a deep wound, Gen’emon used his sword as a staff and hobbled back outside. Then Kyūnai rushed in and struck at Dōhaku’s son-in-law Katsuemon, who was sitting by the hearth. His sword glanced off the pot hanger, and he cut of half of Katsuemon’s face. Dōhaku, together with his wife, grabbed the sword away from Kyūnai.

Kyūnai apologized and said, “I have already achieved my purpose. Please give me back my sword and I will accompany my brother home.” But when Dōhaku handed it back to him, Kyūnai cut him once in the back and severed his neck halfway through. He then crossed swords with Gorobei and both went outside and fought an even match until he cut off Gorobei’s arm.

At thus point, Kyūnai who also suffered many wounds, shouldered his elder brother Gen’emon and returned home. Gen’emon however, died on the way back.

Gorobei’s wounds were numerous. Although he stopped the bleeding, he died on account of drinking some water.

Oregon Trail!

“Buffalo! Buffalo!” It was but a grim old bull, roaming the prairie by himself in misanthropic seclusion; but there might be more behind the hills. Dreading the monotony and languor of the camp, Shaw and I saddled our horses, buckled our holsters in their places, and set out with Henry Chatillon in search of the game….We rode for some five or six miles and saw no living thing but wolves, snakes, and praire-dogs.

‘This won’t do at all,’ said Shaw.

‘What won’t do?’

‘There’s no wood about here to make a litter for a wounded man; I have an idea that one of us will need something of the sort before the day is over.’

For you, something from "The Accursed Share"

Servile use has made a thing (an object) of that which, in a deep sense, is of the same nature as the subject, is in a relation of intimate participation with the subject. It is not necessary that the sacrifice actually destroy the animal or plant of whcih man had to a make a thing for his use. They must at least be destroyed as things, that is, insofar as they have become things.

Bataille then offers something quite relevant to the imminent rain: "The same poverty then extends over human life as extends over the countryside if the weather is overcast. Overcast weather, when the sun is filtered by the clouds and the play of light grows dim, appear 'to reduce things to what they are.' The error is obvious: What is before me is never anything less than the universe; the universe is not a thing and I am not at all mistaken when I see its brilliance in the sun. But if the sun is hidden I more clearly see the barn, the field, the hedgerow. I no longer see the splendor of the light that played over the barn; rather I see this barn or this hedgegrow like a screen between the universe and me."


Seeing three corners, you should know the fourth. Horns over the fence, know the ox. Mountains.

Maundy Montale

La Solitudine

Se mi allontano due giorni
i piccioni che beccano
sul davanzale
entrano in agitazione
secondo i loro obblighi corporativi.
Al mio ritorni l’ordine si rifà
con supplemento di briciole
e disappunto del merlo che fa la spola
tra il venerato dirimpettaio e me.
A così poco è ridotta la mia famiglia.
E c’è chi n’ha una o due, che spreco ahimè!

Solitude

If a couple days pass without me there
the pigeons that beck
on my windowsill
grow distraught,
quite understandly, given their bodily needs.
With my return, order returns
with a renewal of breadcrumbs
and the crestfallen blackbird who shuttles
between the old man across the way and me.
To this tinyness has been reduced my family.
But I pity those that don’t have even one or two pigeons
– that’s a true waste.

I am sick as a fucking dog.

Fuck I'm sick. This fucking blows. What the fuck?