the godforsaken …
– Gal Costa, ‘Tuareg,’ 1969 [lyrics Jorge Ben]
Simon Taylor
Y I heart Manea … life, …sentences
I saw her again in the week before my return to Romania. We were walking together in the streets of Bucharest. She was talking to me about Mihai Eminescu, the national poet, and tell me how dearly he would have liked to be with me again. She was animated, focusing
Leaving the Book of Disquiet … still, …
Love, sleep, drugs and intoxicants are elementary forms of art or rather elementary forms of producing the same effect as art. But love, sleep and drugs all bring with them their own disappointments. One grows sated or disillusioned with love. We wake from sleep and whilst we slept, we did
destiny = the terrible certainty that the thing we have gone to such efforts to avoid will come back but at another level, perhaps the greater, perhaps the lesser for having been denied
Consider what we call repetition within a life – more precisely, within a spiritual life. Presents succeed, encroaching upon one another. Nevertheless, however strong the incoherence or possible opposition between successive presents, we have the impression that each of them plays out “the same life” at different levels. This is what