"et surtout mon corps aussi bien que mon âme, gardez-vous de vous croiser les bras en l’attitude stérile du spectateur, car la vie n’est pas un spectacle, car une mer de douleurs n’est pas un proscenium, car un homme qui crie n’est pas un ours qui danse."
Aimé Césaire, Cahier d’un retour au pays natal
and above all, my body and my soul too, keep yourself from crossing your arms in the sterile attitude of the spectator, because life is not a spectacle, because a sea of sorrows is not a proscenium, because a man who screams is not a dancing bear.
clouds on screen at a drive-in - Diane Arbus
otherwheres
"…dies with almost indecent dispatch within less than twenty lines."
Simon Gaunt on Narcissus in Le Roman de la rose
sometimes you just gotta make it for yourself
(Source: mashel)
part of something i wrote some time ago, for pearblossom hwy
…and all of this passes in such a technicolour blaze that I cannot believe that it is happening, because people do not die under the crushing watch of clear skies and desert, they die in sheets of driving rain; they die knock-kneed in stumbledown banks of mist or buried under feet of snow. By unhappy accident they pass, in unforgiving cities; in pastel muted mountain lodges or choruses of traffic, and radio static, and wonderously impotent onlookers; in ecstasies of storm or under turgid gravid seas. They do not die under such indifferent spotlights - the blue flickers of this emergency vehicle, vain echoes of a failing pallor in the impassive light of the sun.
(Source: virgenesuicidas)
(Source: welcometosunnydalehigh)
