spine as history. humans contain all of history in their spinal column. big in the 19th c. ballard in drowned world took it on. look up thomas moynihan spinal catastrophism book
The Depths
- Thread starter pattycakes_
- Start date
luka
Well-known member
At evening, sitting on this terrace,
When the sun from the west, beyond Pisa, beyond the mountains of Carrara
Departs, and the world is taken by surprise ...
When the tired flower of Florence is in gloom beneath the glowing
Brown hills surrounding ...
When under the arches of the Ponte Vecchio
A green light enters against stream, flush from the west,
Against the current of obscure Arno ...
Look up, and you see things flying
Between the day and the night;
Swallows with spools of dark thread sewing the shadows together.
A circle swoop, and a quick parabola under the bridge arches
Where light pushes through;
A sudden turning upon itself of a thing in the air.
A dip to the water.
And you think:
"The swallows are flying so late!"
Swallows?
Dark air-life looping
Yet missing the pure loop ...
A twitch, a twitter, an elastic shudder in flight
And serrated wings against the sky,
Like a glove, a black glove thrown up at the light,
And falling back.
Never swallows!
Bats!
The swallows are gone.
At a wavering instant the swallows gave way to bats
By the Ponte Vecchio ...
Changing guard.
Bats, and an uneasy creeping in one's scalp
As the bats swoop overhead!
Flying madly.
Pipistrello!
Black piper on an infinitesimal pipe.
Little lumps that fly in air and have voices indefinite, wildly vindictive;
Wings like bits of umbrella.
Bats!
Creatures that hang themselves up like an old rag, to sleep;
And disgustingly upside down.
Hanging upside down like rows of disgusting old rags
And grinning in their sleep.
Bats!
In China the bat is symbol for happiness.
Not for me!
When the sun from the west, beyond Pisa, beyond the mountains of Carrara
Departs, and the world is taken by surprise ...
When the tired flower of Florence is in gloom beneath the glowing
Brown hills surrounding ...
When under the arches of the Ponte Vecchio
A green light enters against stream, flush from the west,
Against the current of obscure Arno ...
Look up, and you see things flying
Between the day and the night;
Swallows with spools of dark thread sewing the shadows together.
A circle swoop, and a quick parabola under the bridge arches
Where light pushes through;
A sudden turning upon itself of a thing in the air.
A dip to the water.
And you think:
"The swallows are flying so late!"
Swallows?
Dark air-life looping
Yet missing the pure loop ...
A twitch, a twitter, an elastic shudder in flight
And serrated wings against the sky,
Like a glove, a black glove thrown up at the light,
And falling back.
Never swallows!
Bats!
The swallows are gone.
At a wavering instant the swallows gave way to bats
By the Ponte Vecchio ...
Changing guard.
Bats, and an uneasy creeping in one's scalp
As the bats swoop overhead!
Flying madly.
Pipistrello!
Black piper on an infinitesimal pipe.
Little lumps that fly in air and have voices indefinite, wildly vindictive;
Wings like bits of umbrella.
Bats!
Creatures that hang themselves up like an old rag, to sleep;
And disgustingly upside down.
Hanging upside down like rows of disgusting old rags
And grinning in their sleep.
Bats!
In China the bat is symbol for happiness.
Not for me!
Yeah it's that aspect I ffind very dated. If I want to read something about blood I'd rather read Naguib Mahfouz writing about the disintegration of the feudal family.
luka
Well-known member
There are no gods, and you can please yourself
have a game of tennis, go out in the car, do some shopping, sit and talk, talk, talk
with a cigarette browning your fingers.
There are no gods, and you can please yourself —
go and please yourself —
But leave me alone, leave me alone, to myself!
and then in the room, whose is the presence
that makes the air so still and lovely to me?
Who is it that softly touches the sides of my breast
and touches me over the heart
so that my heart beats soothed, soothed, soothed and at peace?
Who is it smooths the bed-sheets like the cool
smooth ocean where the fishes rest on edge
in their own dream?
Who is it that clasps and kneads my naked feet, till they unfold,
till all is well, till all is utterly well? the lotus-lilies of the feet!
I tell you, it is no woman, it is no man, for I am alone.
And I fall asleep with the gods, the gods
that are not, or that are
according to the soul’s desire,
like a pool into which we plunge, or do not plunge.
have a game of tennis, go out in the car, do some shopping, sit and talk, talk, talk
with a cigarette browning your fingers.
There are no gods, and you can please yourself —
go and please yourself —
But leave me alone, leave me alone, to myself!
and then in the room, whose is the presence
that makes the air so still and lovely to me?
Who is it that softly touches the sides of my breast
and touches me over the heart
so that my heart beats soothed, soothed, soothed and at peace?
Who is it smooths the bed-sheets like the cool
smooth ocean where the fishes rest on edge
in their own dream?
Who is it that clasps and kneads my naked feet, till they unfold,
till all is well, till all is utterly well? the lotus-lilies of the feet!
I tell you, it is no woman, it is no man, for I am alone.
And I fall asleep with the gods, the gods
that are not, or that are
according to the soul’s desire,
like a pool into which we plunge, or do not plunge.
luka
Well-known member
54. Snap-Dragon - Collection at Bartleby.com
54. Snap-Dragon SHE bade me follow to her garden, whereThe mellow sunlight stood as in a cupBetween the old grey walls; I did not dareTo raise my face, I did not dare
www.bartleby.com
Sure, but i think it's necessary to differentiate between captivatingly dated - Frankenstein, and clunkily dated, Lady Chatterley's Lover. One is mythmaking and foundational (even if it is a worn out trope by now) the other is just of its time and little else.
Well he won't, because he's a national treasure. Doesn't mean I can't find him clunky though.
Yeah but you grew up in the 1990s. different times.
pattycakes_
Can turn naughty
A deep diss, on the Diss! Ouch!
not so much as a diss as a truism really, time moved a lot slower for your generation. Our generation isn't addicted to social media or whatever, it's just that the boomer bosses from your generation and the one before it have conditioned us to overstimulation.
It's why social media surveillance is nothing compared to modern warehouse jobs where small console chips are connected to your forearm which monitor productivity through a finger mounted scanner. Automation won't be getting rid of jobs, it'll be getting rid of bosses and managers, which the implications haven't been thought through.