this week i

cycled william the conqueror's forest, noted in the great survey.  once a grizzly wolf shark, always a grizzly wolf shark.  zero verbatim results no more


ferried to cowes.  madeira manny made me bacon baguette.  i hugged left coast, ponged off needles, north at wight mouse, despacito like escargot


drew vitruvian with aerial screw. at other end of tmnt, a zoom, detail of creation of adam maybe god sprinting behind missed train? + punic war four


drew barcode unrecognized and rush hour traffic yielding to rapid response vehicle.  would john edwards be chasing them if not for rielle hunter?


read the myth of sisyphus and other essays by albert camusdelay suicide till it's regicide as well.  if i could bore you 4 6 or 7 minutes.  plus in paris

in 1940, amid the french and european disaster, this book declares that even within the limits of nihilism it is possible to find the means to proceed

the relationship between individual thought and suicide of the heart.  an act like this is prepared within the silence of the heart, as is a great work of art.  the man himself is ignorant of it

living, naturally, is never easy.  you continue making the gestures commanded by existence for many reasons, the first of which is habit.  dying voluntarily implies that you have recognized, even instinctually, the ridiculous character of that habit, the absence of any profound reason for living, the insane character of that daily agitation, and the uselessness of suffering

but one day the "why" arises and everything begins in that weariness tinged with amazement.  "begins" - this is important.  weariness comes at the end of the acts of a mechanical life, but at the same time it inaugurates the impulse of consciousness.  it awakens consciousness and provokes what follows.  what follows is the gradual return into the chain or it is the definitive awakening.  at the end of the awakening comes, in time, the consequence: suicide or recovery

during every day of an unillustrious life, time carries us.  but a moment always comes when we have to carry it

to understand is, above all, to unify

all thought is anthropomorphic

the unreasonable silence of the world

"it's absurd" means "it's impossible" but also "it's contradictory"

a total absence of hope (which has nothing to do with despair)

in this ideal world without hierarchy, the formal army is composed solely of generals

he rejects regret, that other form of hope

that other absurd individual, the traveler

a revolution is always accomplished against the gods, beginning with the revolution of prometheus

the absurd joy par excellence is creation

on a sheet of paper to be found after his death, he wants to draw a face sticking out his tongue

"man simply invented god in order not to kill himself.  that is the summary of universal history down to this moment"

nietzsche, the most famous of god's assassins

man exchanges his divinity for happiness

chiaroscuro more gripping than the light of day

sisyphus is the absurd hero

kafka's secret.  these perpetual oscillations between the natural and the extraordinary, the individual and the universal, the tragic and the everyday, the absurd and the logical

the crazy man who was fishing in a bathtub.  a doctor with ideas as to psychiatric treatments asked him "if they were biting," to which he received the harsh reply: "of course not, you fool, since this is a bathtub"

all the headlands of the coast look like a fleet about to set out.  those heavy galleons of rock and light are trembling on their keels as if they were preparing to steer for sunlit isles.  o mornings in the country of oran!  from the high plateaus the swallows plunge into huge troughs where the air is seething.  the whole coast is ready for departure

we turn our backs on nature; we are ashamed of beauty.  our wretched tragedies have a smell of the office clinging to them, and the blood that trickles from them is the color of printer's ink

we are progressing toward theocracy like those whom the greeks called barbarians..among our philosophers who is the true rival of plato.  "only the modern city," hegel dares write, "offers the mind a field in which it can become aware of itself."  we are thus living in the period of big cities.  deliberately, the world has been amputated of all that constitutes its permanence: nature, the sea, hilltops, evening meditation.  consciousness is to be found only in the streets, because history is to be found only in the streets - this is the edict.  and consequently our most significant works show the same bias.  landscapes are not to be found in great european literature since dostoevsky.  history explains neither the natural universe that existed before it nor the beauty that exists above it

nature is still there, however.  she contrasts her calm skies and her reasons with the madness of men.  until the atom too catches fire and history ends in the triumph of reason and the agony of the species

i read my age in the faces i recognized..they had been young with me and..were no longer so

when one has once had the good luck to love intensely, life is spent in trying to recapture that ardor and that illumination

sandy slopes covered with heliotropes

the era of chairbound artists is over