Good morning with this stunning translation of Paul Eluard by Samuel Beckett Lady Love She is standing on my lids And her hair is in my hair She has the colour of my eye She has the body of my hand

My latest review for Uncut!

Who knew? Rimbaud spent February to March / April 1875 in Stuttgart, which is where he passed the manuscript of "Illuminations" to Verlaine

Insomnia. Night 6. Will I acquire a third eye by night 7...

2 by Shinkichi Takahashi (tr. Lucien Stryk)

Didn't know Beckett had translated Rimbaud's Drunken Boat. It's a very good translation.

Longing like the stubborn perseverance of the Terracota army, like the jade wound of a summer dawn; Longing like indecipherable pictograms, like the calligraphy of my errors you wrote with quill and the ink of betrayal; longing like shipwrecked embraces and our half-buoyant dreams...

Another gorgini Samuel Beckett for an existential snow Sunday. What would I do what would I do without this world faceless incurious where to be lasts but an instant where every instant spills in the void the ignorance of having been

The French original of this astonishing Samuel Beckett (I much prefer the French original) Je Suis et vivrai le temps d'une porte qui s'ouvre et se referme

Luis Seoane. Trenzas rojas, 1961

A gorgini existential Samuel Beckett, written in French and translated by Beckett himself. My way my way is in the sand flowing between the shingle and the dune

Just like that...

Brazilian poet Manoel de Barros. Year of the photo unknown, but taken by his neighbor and photographer Marcelo Buainain.

A Manoel de Barros that reads like a Jorge Luis Borges word-play Self-portrait In thought and letters, I loved ninety girls but could be nine. I produced un-objects, thirty-five

Good evening to you, lost Pessoa heteronym

Benveniste translates "rhythm" by "trace" and "concatenation" [enchaînement]. Prometheus is "rhythmical," and we call him "bound" [enchaîné]. An attachment on the near and far side of language. Julia Kristeva, Powers of Horror: An Essay on Abjection

The French original of this astonishing Samuel Beckett (I much prefer the French original) Je Suis et vivrai le temps d'une porte qui s'ouvre et se referme

Josep de Togores i Llach. Tors de dona 1923

A Manoel de Barros that reads like a Jorge Luis Borges word-play Self-portrait In thought and letters, I loved ninety girls but could be nine. I produced un-objects, thirty-five

Who wants more poems by Beckett

A Sunday full of existential poetry. The unlikely incident of bumping into Beckett.

Another gorgini Samuel Beckett for an existential snow Sunday. What would I do what would I do without this world faceless incurious where to be lasts but an instant where every instant spills in the void the ignorance of having been

no amount of state propaganda will ever convince me this man is my enemy

A gorgini existential Samuel Beckett, written in French and translated by Beckett himself. My way my way is in the sand flowing between the shingle and the dune

Snow Sunday morning with French poets

Mary Shelley when she sees that Lord Byron quote.

I feel so unliterary when I bum-vape socially. It feels like Camus and all the great cigarette holding lit ancestors are judging me from above

Wondering if my 2.4 readers are enjoying the posts on my odyssey through dating apps as a first time user. More anecdotes on this? Yes or yes

How many people these days in dating apps into fitness, wellness and self-care... Where are my profligates, my vice lovers, my Jezebels, my poete maudite..

Charles Wright, with a word of warning

3 Dorothea Tanning. Tableau vivant (Living Picture), 1954

what kind of country is this, where dangerous radicals can throw sandwiches at our brave secret masked torture police with impunity

Autumn is a second spring when every leaf is a flower. Camus

Putting on a filter on my main photo in the dating apps where I look like forlorn Rilke

Good morning to the Prousteans in bed

Often when I imagine you, your wholeness cascades into many shapes. You run like a herd of luminous deer, and I am dark; I am forest. Rilke

Let’s make this Bauhaus a Bauhome.

she plants rice seedlings in the direction of her crying baby on the paddy bund -after Issa . the arrow's shaft points straight at the heart of a doe suckling a fawn -after Risshi . helpless in the autumn wind a firefly still crawls away from me -after Issa

Some brave souls choose to face the feare of failure and the terror of a blanke page. Thrugh harde worke and luck thei come back wyth storyes that bringe us mirthe, or horror, or thrilles, or beautye, or wisdom, or delighteful surreal confusioun. Gen A.I. ys nothinge lyke that. Long live artists.

How we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our life. —Annie Dillard Well, every day is all there is. —Joan Didion

i just cleared my throat and it made the netflix sound

OpenAI is well aware of how its products stoke manic, suicidal, psychotic, and other forms of unhealthy behavior, but company leadership insists publicly that the problem with the tech is that it isn’t reaching *enough* people. Bulldozing the vulnerable is corporate strategy

Bruh is a ten, but gives up on pushing the gigantic ball up the hill right at the cusp

things that arent the future of civilization - chatbots - crypto - robot butlers - cars that sorta drive autonomously as long as youre paying attention for when they fail and almost kill a bunch of people things that actually are the future of civilization - free clean energy

• Mary Oliver •

According to the poet and writer Guillaume Apollinaire, this portrait by Jean Metzinger (1910) is not only the first cubist portrait, but it was also the first cubist portrait he sat for before the famous ones by Marcoussis, Modigliani, Picasso and Larionov.