Méditation automnale

All That Heaven Allows (Douglas Sirk, 1955)

Roma (Federico Fellini, 1972)

“In those days, many men and some women ventured here, hoping to awaken the dancing sleeper with whatever it took,” writes Robert Coover in the pocket-sized The Grand Hotels (of Joseph Cornell), “and others came to watch this happen, but all left chastened by the awareness that not only was she a princess who did not await a prince, she was, even in her doll-like nakedness, the very image of eternal innocence, eliciting not carnal desire but profound awe and affection and something, mysteriously, like hope."

What’s the fun of a phonograph if a phonograph can’t have friends? I suppose it depends on the phonograph itself in the end.

Sometimes I found myself lying down in bed in the middle of the day as a preventative measure against the possibility of accidentally finding myself drunk. The part of the mind that balks at everything that is going on or has ever gone on always flashes on those same three perennial options: 1) kill yourself; 2) get wasted; 3) fuck this, I’m going to bed. It should go without saying that the third option is almost always soundest. Sleep turns every waking into the afterlife.

The Songlines of Australian Aborigines, mental maps which attach replicable song and dance modalities onto and over navigable topographies in order to remember and to know them, are ecological, historical, and navigational systems of an inherently neurological nature. The mind diagrams topographies and remembers more than it ever customarily lets on. The mind is connected by pure chance to the toes. Let’s go that way. That route is my favourite song.

“Men of the I-Ching did not see indigo-violet,” asserts Antonin Artaud in “Notes on Oriental, Greek, and Indian Cultures,” adding of the I-Ching that it “deals with energetics, divination, cosmology down to the atom.” 

I-Ching = 64 sacred symbols

formed by permutations 8 Symbols of 3 lines

My homeboy Felisberto Hernández
who is as you can see
wispy and acerbic

#dollin' 

Goethe’s Faust:

I shall not cease to feel in all attires,

The pains of our narrow earthly day.

I am too old to be content to play,

Too young to be without desire.

🙏

Jim O'Rourke, "Fast Car"