End times babe. They now sell marx in stores.

Oh this sun and these Oranges, it's late June in my heart

In 'The ego and its Own' the best aphorism is where stirner prophesied that someday a hegelian chick with glasses n a coloured muffler is gonna visit and smoke a joint on my grave

Reposting a portrait of Simone Weil

I apologize to the foreigners in the audience who no doubt have just as many stupid formulations available in their own language.

I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed —T. S. Eliot

things morph on me into Stygian shame, they become what they're not meant to be, a form of atrocity suspends you from another, Bury me gently mother, for things grow on me.

reading Baudlaire's ‘Moon Favors’ from his later spleen prose, in a white sweater with an old friend feels holy

There's no Jungian Archetype that fits you, babe. ‘lies lies lies, lies in your eyes’

i regret watching wes Anderson too early ‘French Dispatch, Moonrise Kingdom, Budapest Hotel, Isle of Dogs etc' and some of Bresson's work like ‘Mouchette and Au Hasard Balthazar’ was so appropriate to watch in ramadhan...

Play ‘Sad eyed lady of the lowlands’ right after ‘Desolation row’ keep me from the God's world for another 11 mins

The endless yapping about the supposed loss of the real is one of the best dialectic weapons Baudrillard gifted to the regime.

back to simone tonight »

from an unfinished story ‘ section about my Grandma’

simone weil is the ‘sister of mercy’,

I love Debussy. I'd trade a reverie for Debussy.

reading homer feels heroic. what is a glorious fucking death afterall? oh glorious fucking tradition ground me, ground me