Shaped by our Reasoning

compromise arising in my right mind

“ He allowed himself to be swayed by his conviction that human beings are not born once and for all on the day their mothers give birth to them, but that life obliges them over and over again to give birth to themselves. ”

—    Gabriel Garcí­a Márquez, Love in the Time of Cholera (via fuckyeahexistentialism)


"On the shelves were the books bound in a cardboard-like material, pale, like tanned human skin, and the manuscripts were intact. In spite of the room’s having been shut up for many years, the air seemed fresher than in the rest of the house. Everything was so recent that several weeks later, when Úrsula went into the room with a pail of water and a brush to wash the floor, there was nothing for her to do. Aureliano Segundo was deep in the reading of a book. Although it had no cover and the title did not appear anywhere, the boy enjoyed the story of a woman who sat at a table and ate nothing but kernels of rice, which she picked up with a pin, and the story of the fisherman who borrowed a weight for his net from a neighbor and when he gave him a fish in payment later it had a diamond in its stomach, and the one about the lamp that fulfilled wishes and about flying carpets. Surprised, he asked Úrsula if all that was true and she answered him that it was, that many years ago the gypsies had brought magic lamps and flying mats to Macondo.

“What’s happening,” she sighed, “is that the world is slowly coming to an end and those things don’t come here any more.””

Gabriel García Márquez

This. Book.

There is a secret bond between slowness and memory, between speed and forgetting. Consider this utterly commonplace situation: a man is walking down the street. At a certain moment, he tries to recall something, but the recollection escapes him. Automatically he slows down. Meanwhile, a person who wants to forget a disagreeable
incident he has just lived through starts unconsciously to speed up his pace, as if he were trying to distance himself from a thing still too close to him in time.

In existential mathematics, that experience takes the form of two basic equations: the degree of slowness is directly proportion to the intensity of memory; the degree of speed is directly proportional to the intensity of forgetting.

—    Milan Kundera, from Slowness (HarperCollins, 1996)

(via fuckyeahexistentialism)

“ There is a crack in everything.
That’s how the light gets in. ”

—    Leonard Cohen, Selected Poems, 1956-1968 

(via darksilenceinsuburbia)

Oscar NIEMEYER - The Auditorium

Memorie Mitoraj, in Ravello, Salerno (Italy)

(via yoursandmann)

“ He discouraged me from living in the “subjunctive mode,” which he explained as a disease of suburban kids worrying about what they should, would, or could have played, while never playing what they want to play. He got me to not be judgmental—that is the essence of improvisation. ”

—    joe satriani talking about lennie tristano (cool, interesting, always relevant, unremembered)

(via thecityofthings)


The Rothschild Surrealist Ball in 1972

OH WOW I wish I could have made it…