surrogate corpse

@consume.red

1343 Followers 535 Following

Able to state whimsies.

From what then has been said, the reader will have gathered that in the spot itself there is nothing; no charm of sea and landscape as in the case of subsequent reputed Pagan sanctuaries—such as the haunts of the Cumean and Tiburtine Sybils; no magic beauty as at the Grecian Delphi, with its romantic rocky fissure and tumbling stream of Pleistus—its Parian Temple and limpid Castalian fountain. And as in the memorable night of the Dreamer's dream, there was no dwelling with its open door and welcome couch, no hospitable caravansarie, no sheltering cave or curtained tent, no canopy but the heavens, no sentinel save the bright stars keeping silent vigil over the wanderer:—so it is still.
Heraclitus It’s morning now: earth is awake, At least this sliver that the sun, New-made, enlightens. You watch its fire Banish the dreamworld for more stable Fantasies: for instance, this mountain It’s crowning: solid, long-standing, public. But though the sunrise is a public Possession, you watch it as if asleep, As if it summits the dream of a mountain, As if even the sun worships the moon And its stolen light, taking as stable Its monthly misgiving, the wavering water. Let us linger over this water, Encountered, as it is, only in private: Always vanishing, never stable. Every morning we awake To the last remnants of the moon, Too dim to show in that day’s river.
people like it equally when an it/she//she/her//she/they//they/she uses its mind powers for good as when it uses its powers for evil
people prefer (slightly) when my he/him boyfriend uses his mind powers for evil vs. for good
i used my mind powers for good and for evil and using them for evil got more comments, more reposts (bsky should add a repost feature btw), and more likes
What is a man. What is a woman. What is a bird.
We now come more particularly to the affairs of France. Mr. Burke's book has the appearance of being written as instruction to the French nation; but if I may permit myself the use of an extravagant metaphor, suited to the extravagance of the case, It is darkness attempting to illuminate light.
But Mr. Burke's clauses have not even this qualification in their favour. They become null, by attempting to become immortal. The nature of them precludes consent. They destroy the right which they might have, by grounding it on a right which they cannot have.
discord message reading "clod help me i'm thinking about dicks again"
Aerial view of the Uffington White Horse — a prehistoric hill figure carved into the chalk of a green Oxfordshire hillside. The horse is rendered in flowing, disarticulated white lines: a long slender body, one visible flowing tail, a beaked head with a small round eye, and detached stroke-like legs. The turf around it shows faint contour lines and a track along the bottom edge.
i had a good time (derogatory (positive)) reading my then-girlfriend's copy of "adult children of emotionally immature parents; i only read the lines she had underlined; it was fun (derogatory (positive)) getting headshot over and over again
novahead wrote: A self-loathing hipster, guilt ridden scienstician and paranoid gypsy skulk around throwing a nut or bolt or whatever into a lush overgrown urban ruin declaring their cryptic ethics to no one in particular while they retrieve it. The cameraman wanders away from them whenever possible. 5 stars.
metal figurine of Dharmakīrti with speech bubble coming down
Alfred "Butch" Beard Jr. (born May 5, 1947) is an American former professional basketball player and coach. He was the starting point guard with the 1975 NBA champion Golden State Warriors. He played college basketball for the Louisville Cardinals, where he was a three-time All-Missouri Valley Conference selection. In high school, he was Kentucky Mr. Basketball. He coached for over 20 seasons at the collegiate and professional levels.
two photos side by side. on the left you see the base of a tree with fale money scattered around it. on the right, you see a thin tree branch with a doll in a checkered shirt straddling the branch. he is wearing black pants and his arms are out to the side at 30 degree angles. his brown hair is starting to bald, revealing his large forehead. the two photos don't show the same tree, but the two images side by side do kinda give the impression that the man is looking down on the money
Susie Asado Sweet sweet sweet sweet sweet tea. Susie Asado. Sweet sweet sweet sweet sweet tea. Susie Asado. Susie Asado which is a told tray sure. A lean on the shoe this means slips slips hers. When the ancient light grey is clean it is yellow, it is a silver seller. This is a please this is a please there are the saids to jelly. These are the wets these say the sets to leave a crown to Incy. Incy is short for incubus. A pot. A pot is a beginning of a rare bit of trees. Trees tremble, the old vats are in bobbles, bobbles which shade and shove and render clean, render clean must. Drink pups. Drink pups drink pups lease a sash hold, see it shine and a bobolink has pins. It shows a nail. What is a nail. A nail is unison. Sweet sweet sweet sweet sweet tea.
A large, white fungus growing on rough, moss-covered tree bark. Its underside shows a dense, porous surface with brownish staining, and a dried yellow leaf is caught near its top edge. Green leaves and a patch of blue sky are visible in the upper right. ```
inside of a goblet-shaped gravestone. lowest layer is dirt and pine needles, with monkey puzzle leaves strewn about. running across the diameter is a row of three stones. in back there is an upside down portion of a monkey puzzle branch half-buried
two white women's legs, just above the knee, each bearing a spot bandage (where i shot us)
Would You Wear My Eyes? My body is a torn mattress, Disheveled throbbing place For the comings and goings Of loveless transients. The whole of me Is an unfurnished room Filled with dank breath Escaping in gasps to nowhere. Before completely objective mirrors I have shot myself with my eyes, But death refused my advances. I have walked on my walls each night Through strange landscapes in my head. I have brushed my teeth with orange peel, Iced with cold blood from the dripping faucets. My face is covered with maps of dead nations; My hair is littered with drying ragweed. Bitter raisins drip haphazardly from my nostrils While schools of glowing minnows swim from my mouth. The nipples of my breasts are sun-browned cockleburrs; Long-forgotten Indian tribes fight battles on my chest Unaware of the sunken ships rotting in my stomach. My legs are charred remains of burned cypress trees; My feet are covered with moss from bayous, flowing across my floor. I can't go out anymore. I shall sit on my ceiling. Would you wear my eyes?
saltines
baruch spinoza. the portrait where he has tboy swag
five posts: 1. OH MY GOD 2. LETS FUCKING GO 3. HOLY FUCKING SHIT 4. lmao 5. OH MY FUCKING GOD?!?!!?!!?
Bin Laden has won, in airports of the world every day. I had a little jar of honey, now thrown away by rule-bound dundridges. STUPID waste.
tub of “I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter!” with the slogan swapped to “I Can’t Believe It’s Not That Deep!”
魍 wǎng (bn.) 魍魎 wǎngliǎng (mjangX-ljangX), malignant spirit of mountain or river, spectral succubus; also, penumbra, faint outer shadow; also, when regarded as 2 parts of same whole, penumbra and shadow (< Zhuangzi 1).
Gaptooth questioned King Baby— four questions, four don’t knows. Gaptooth leapt up, delighted, and went to tell Master Sweetflag Robe. Master Sweetflag Robe said: Do you only now know it? Mr. Has Concerns does not compare to Mr. Composed. Mr. Has Concerns— he still hoards humaneness to dominate the human, and indeed has gotten the human, and yet— he has not yet begun to exit the inhuman. Mr. Composed— he lies down at ease and awakens wide-eyed; sometimes making himself a horse, sometimes making himself an ox; his knowing is really trustworthy, his virtue truly genuine, and yet— he has not yet begun to enter the inhuman.
A 1,000kg mammal is wreaking havoc in Tasmania - and Neil the seal is loved for it The elephant seal has been crushing fences, blocking traffic and bashing into parked cars, in what experts say is play-fighti...
Concrete poem. Title Spyrytual. Quotation marks scattered across the page as falling rain, with the fragment “Oh didn’t it rain / Oh didn’t it rain” broken up and interspersed among the drops.
pride hearse
Zhongni said: You unify the mind, Not listening to it with your ears, yet listening to it with your heart; Not listening to it with your heart, yet listening to it with your breath. Listening stops at the ears; the heart stops at the tally. The breath empties and waits on things. Only Dao gathers in the empty. Emptying—that is heart-fasting. Yan Hui said: Hui’s not yet beginning to manage to use it— really Hui himself; Managing to use it— not yet beginning to be Hui. Can this be called « emptying »? The Master said: You’ve exhausted it. I’ll tell you. You can enter, wandering his cage without being moved by his name. Entering, crow; not entering, stop. Without gateways, without walls, unifying dwellings and lodging in what you cannot avoid—you’re close.
Farewell No more the feel of your hand On my breast Like the silver path Of the moon On dark heaving ocean.
Mitsuru Tsuwabuki. he looks surprised, like he has just had a great insight
ARNA BONTEMPS The Return Once more, listening to the wind and rain, once more, you and I, and above the hurting sound of these comes back the throbbing of remembered rain, treasured rain falling on dark ground. Once more, huddling birds upon the leaves and summer trembling on a withered vine. And once more, returning out of pain, the friendly ghost that was your love and mine. Darkness brings the jungle to our room: the throb of rain is the throb of muffled drums. Darkness hangs our room with pendulums of vine and in the gathering gloom our walls recede into a denseness of surrounding trees. This is a night of love retained from those lost nights our fathers slept in huts; this is a night that must not die. Let us keep the dance of rain our fathers kept and tread our dreams beneath the jungle sky
twin peaks restaurant, a hooters knockoff
swallowtail butterfly
The morning mushroom does not know the interlune; The short-lived cicada does not know spring and autumn— these are short lifespans. In southern Chu there is Dark Spirit, who takes five hundred years as spring, five hundred years as autumn. In antiquity there was Big Toon, who took eight thousand years as spring, eight thousand years as autumn. Today Grandpa Peng is famously long-lived: Multitudes try to match him— isn’t it sad!
post text: Add these 4 words to your vocabulary right now, experts say: They can make you more influential at work headline: Add these 4 words to your vocabulary right now, experts say: They can make you more influential at work subheading: Incorporating a handful of simple words into your vocabulary can make you more persuasive, according to a Wharton profe... btw op translates to "white horse not horse"
one leg apiece from two white women, each bearing a spot bandage (where i shot us)
Trumbull was admitted to Yale when he was seven years old, but he did not matriculate until he turned thirteen. He graduated in 1767 and took his M.A. in 1770. He remained at Yale as a tutor until 1773, when he went to Boston to read law with John Adams. As a tutor, Trumbull was inspired to compose The Progress of Dulness (1772-1773), a satirical poem written in Hudibrastics, that humorous form of iambic tetrameter couplets that Ebenezer Cook (some-times spelled Cooke) and Robert Bolling had used so effectively earlier in the century. "On the Adventures of Tom Brainless," the first part of The Progress of Dulness, satirizes the New England college student, portraying Tom Brainless as a dunce and a dullard and attacking Yale's stagnant curriculum and stale pedagogy. The next two parts characterize a fop named Dick Hairbrain and Harriet Simper, a flighty young woman whose beautiful clothing masks her moral and mental vacuity. The first part is the strongest. While Dick and Harriet are character types derived from eighteenth-century English satire, the character of Tom Brainless is original. He is the type of insensitive and unthinking student that had been part of the American scene at least since Benjamin Franklin lampooned Harvard students in his Silence Dogood essays a half century earlier.
baudrillard smoking a cig and looking smug. he knows
Street Musicians One died, and the soul was wrenched out Of the other in life, who, walking the streets Wrapped in an identity like a coat, sees on and on The same corners, volumetrics, shadows Under trees. Farther than anyone was ever Called, through increasingly suburban airs And ways, with autumn falling over everything: The plush leaves the chattels in barrels Of an obscure family being evicted Into the way it was, and is. The other beached Glimpses of what the other was up to: Revelations at last. So they grew to hate and forget each other. So I cradle this average violin that knows Only forgotten showtunes, but argues The possibility of free declamation anchored To a dull refrain, the year turning over on itself In November, with the spaces among the days More literal, the meat more visible on the bone. Our question of a place of origin hangs Like smoke: how we picnicked in pine forests, In coves with the water always seeping up, and left Our trash, sperm and excrement everywhere, smeared On the landscape, to make of us what we could.
Kongzi arrived at Chu, where mad Jieyu Wandered past his gate, saying: Phoenix, oh Phoenix! What does it mean, that virtue is waning? The era to come you cannot rely on; the era that's past you cannot recapture. The world has Dao- so sages mature there; The world lacks Dao- so sages survive there. Now, one can scarcely evade mutilation. Fortune is light as a feather, yet no one knows how to bear it; disaster is heavy as earth, and yet no one knows how to shake it. Stop! stop!-approaching people with virtue! Danger! danger!- scoring the earth and scuttling forward! Yang is bewildered, Yang is bewildered— unwounded I walk, withdrawing and winding, not wounding my feet.
Gate-Commander Hairweed saw Season-Pervading, saying: Lu’s lord spoke, saying, Please confer your teachings. I declined, but was denied; fully proclaimed them, But do not know if they hit the mark or were obstructive— Might I attempt to offer them? I spoke to Lu’s lord, saying, You must work at respect and restraint, promote subordinates loyal to the public, and have no partiality to the private— of the commoners, who will dare not accord! Season-Pervading narrowly smirked, saying: Your words, compared to emperors’ and kings’ virtue, Resemble a mantis furying its arms to stop a chariot In its tracks—they’re surely not up to the task. Moreover, if so, then he will place himself in peril, his watchtowers will accrue things— a throng will be headed his way!
surrogate corpse 11:08am too far? [screenshot of note explaining the translation choice] bitdizzy 11:09 AM no, it's poetry whose winter is 2,000 years, summer is 2,000 years surrogate corpse 11:10AM rhetorical question [lotus emoji] bitdizzy 11:10 AM ask goblet questions get goblet answers surrogate corpse 11:11AM that's rite
Born in Metz to a petit-bourgeois family, Verlaine bore a lifelong interest in the arts, whether literary, musical or visual. His début collection, Poèmes saturniens (1866), were released at the age of twenty-two; they were published by Alphonse Lemerre. Verlaine's tempestuous sexual relationship with young poet Arthur Rimbaud (ten years his junior and under eighteen years, and while he himself had a wife and infant son), a fellow member of the Zutistes, aroused great controversy.
arthur rimbaud with speech bubble toward the quoted post
medieval depiction of the green knight holding his bloody severed head
The southern ocean's god is called Flicker; The northern ocean's god is called Flutter; The very center's god is called Seething Chaos. Flicker and Flutter sometimes happened to meet in Seething Chaos' land. Seething Chaos received them with considerable skill. Flicker consulted with Flutter about rewarding Seething Chaos virtue, saying: People all have seven apertures to look, to listen, to eat, to breathe— this alone is without any. Let us try to gouge some. Daily gouging one aperture— seven days, and Seething Chaos died.
rambo screaming
marjorie perloff - the poetics of indeterminacy: rimbaud to cage
trunk of a tree all gnarled with galls
Sphinx If he could solve the riddle, she would not leap from those gaunt rocks to her death, but devour him instead. It pleasures her to hold him captive there- to keep him in the reach of her blood-matted paws. It is your fate, she has often said, to endure my riddling. Your fate to live at the mercy of my conundrum, which, in truth, is only a kind of psychic joke. No, you shall not leave this place. (Consider anyway the view from here.) In time, you will come to regard my questioning with a certain pained amusement; in time, get so you would hardly find it possible to live without my joke and me.