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paperqueens ([personal profile] paperqueens) wrote2012-12-16 10:43 am
Entry tags:



+ right ventricle, deoxygenated
+ paper faces on parade | phantom
+ dream dust for my pirate
+ a starman waiting in the sky | bowie

+ "I am a child of the poisonous wind that copulated with the East River on an oil-slick, garbage infested midnight. I turn about on my own parentage. I inoculate against those very biles that brought me to light. I am a serum born of venoms. I am the antibody of all Time. I am the Cure. You do know of the City, do you not? Manhattan is your punisher, let me be your shield." ray bradbury | long after midnight

+ "And the semi-erased chalkboard, in particular — its darkness swirled with the detritus of unknown decisions and revisions — compounds the nostalgia. Its spectral insights mingle in the bright dust of calcium carbonate." megan garber | the beautiful blackboards at quantum physics labs

+ "I'm in love with you, and I'm not in the business of denying myself the simple pleasure of saying true things. I'm in love with you, and I know that love is just a shout into the void, and that oblivion is inevitable, and that we're all doomed and that there will come a day when all our labor has been returned to dust, and I know the sun will swallow the only earth we'll ever have, and I am in love with you.” john greene | the fault in our stars

+ "A people in northern India is dying out because their ancient tongue has no words for endearment..... Perhaps the spiral Minoan script is not laguage but a map. What we feel most has no name but amber, archers, cinnamon, horses, and birds." jack gilbert | the forgotten dialect of the heart

+ dream fever (n.) a radioactive byproduct of an idle mind
+ furosha (n.) like a wind-weary drifter stepping into your entryway to warm up for a minute, ruffling the ice from his beard before he nods his gratitude, closes his ragged coat and youthful eyes and turns back into the air.

+ ICARUS there are no limits
+ ORPHEUS there is always a way back

+ "Tears on the mausoleum floor Blood stains the Colosseum doors" | no church in the wild

+ mona lisa you're guaranteed to run this town i'd pay to see you frown | p!atd

+ testosterone boys and harlequin girls will you dance to this beat and hold your lover close | p!atd

+ "who was that masked man anyway" THE LONE RANGER.

+ "In the world of Crush, panic is a synonym for being: in its delays, in its swerving and rushing syntax, its frantic lists and questions, it fends off time and loss....he is the animal trapped in headlights, paralyzed; he is also the speeding vehicle, the car that doesn't stop, the mechanism of flight. The book is all high beams: reeling, savage, headlong, insatiable." | louis glück on siken's crush

+ Rembrandt's phrase in describing his painting: "Die meeste ende di naetureelste beweechgelickhijt", can be translated as greatest, most natural movement (emotion or motive).

+ The ethos of the titan Prometheus is one of willing and necessary sacrifice for life's sake. Promethus: the giver of life, with his abdomen torn open. Ridley Scott says "'That could be a planet anywhere. All he’s doing is acting as a gardener in space. And the plant life, in fact, is the disintegration of himself. If you parallel that idea with other sacrificial elements in history – which are clearly illustrated with the Mayans and the Incas – he would live for one year as a prince, and at the end of that year, he would be taken and donated to the gods in hopes of improving what might happen next year, be it with crops or weather, etcetera.'"

+ It’s just flight; just a dream of flying, a constellation of fires dotting the streets below, the wind whistling through the film of dusk. There’s nowhere for him to go and no one for him to visit, and he steps off the edge of the lighthouse for no reason other than to fly. Isn’t that something? That in his tangle of a life spent running and chasing and hiding and hunting, the one thing he keeps finding solace in is the sensation of flight. The first impulse in lucid dreaming is to launch yourself into the air and soar. The thought that a hopeless ache for human flight lies in all of us, no matter who we are in life, no matter what other dreams we harbor— That this one primal thirst lingers at the bottom of all our hearts, when in all other ways we might forever talk past one another, our gestures indecipherable, our thoughts impenetrable. That the best and worst among us silently hold the same thing dear. That we all dream of human flight. Something about it makes mankind seem so vulnerable, like touching a heart of flesh sealed inside an edifice made of metal. Like finding your own features in the faces of your parents on their honeymoon. It’s really too bad we aren’t all strangers to one another, you think. It’s really too bad that the blood we share makes us mortal. | On evo-devo in Assassin's Creed

+ "Distinctly we see the difference of the colors, but where exactly does the one first blendingly enter into the other? So with sanity and insanity.” | Herman Mellville