- Georges Bataille. Inner Experience. (via criminal-delirium)
A black, E white, I red, U green, O blue—I’ll tell
One day, you vowels how you come to be and whence.
A, black, the glittering flies that form a dense
Velvety corset round some foul and cruel smell.
Gulf of dark shadow; E, the glacier’s insolence,
Steams, tents, white kings, the quiver of a flowery bell;
I, crimsons, blood expectorated, laughs, that well
From lovely lips in wrath or drunken penitence;
U, cycles, the divine vibrations of the [viridian] seas,
Peace of herd-dotted pastures or the wrinkled ease
That alchemy imprints upon the scholar’s brow;
O, the last trumpet, loud with strangely strident brass,
The silences through which the Worlds and Angels pass:
—O stands for Omega, His Eyes’ deep violet glow!
- Arthur Rimbaud, “Vowels,” trans. J. Norman Cameron, from Baudelaire, Rimbaud, Verlaine: Selected Verse and Prose Poems, ed. by Joseph M. Bernstein (Citadel Press,1993)
I think people are scared of shit too much.
I think there’s a lot in life that is interesting, even if at some intense level everything is totally fucking meaningless.
That should make things all the more inspiring — what the fuck do you have to lose?
Stop being such a fucking pussy.
Half the time, I honestly have no rhyme or reason for any of the shit that comes out of my mouth other than I’m just intrigued at the reaction it will get.
You win some, you lose some. Who gives a shit?