Reminder that something happened to well-off western White dudes these past 60 years that makes them all want to kill themselves, and this book really tries to explain why (I still have not finished it)

in 2016, a film student exploring a rural moldovan village found over 4,000 soviet-era photographs in the attic of an abandoned house. they were all taken by zaharia cusnir in the 1950s-60s, an unknown alcoholic who died forgotten. he captured the life of an entire community:

Shou Xin (手訫) is an artist from Henan, China, celebrated for his minimalist pencil drawings of cats. His artwork emphasizes capturing the essence and subtle emotions of his subjects. [✏️ shouxin13141]

“Eu não viajo para chegar,”, escreveu Galeano. “Viajo para ir”.

broke: pede um morango do amor woke: pede uma maçã da discórdia (μῆλον τῆς Ἔριδος) bespoke: pede um fruto não especificado associado ao conhecimento do bem e do mal (הַדַּעַת טוֹב וָרָע) no jardim do Éden transcendência: sabe que o único fruto seguro é a mulher melancia

Woodcuts by Howard Norton Cook (1901–1981)

One of my favorite chapters so far in DeLillo’s Underworld. I read this passage as an expression of insidious marketing vis-à-vis American folklore and good lord does it fuck.

A espantosa entrada do Magnificat, de Bach, na condução de Karajan. Nota-se, já nessa abertura, a beleza triunfante do cântico da Virgem Maria ante a Anunciação do Anjo. A aurora dos tempos, mencionada por São Paulo. Os céus ressoam; o inferno treme; o mundo é recriado.

Sidebar: Don DeLillo was at an early screening of Cosmopolis, and with Pattinson’s Twilight stardom still fresh, apparently a bunch of younger girls were screaming like the Beatles at Shea Stadium and completely disarmed him. “Wow these kids love postmodernism.”