बनारसी और बम्बइया

April 24, 2014 at 8:46am
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Reblogged from litafficionado

At the beginning of my career, I had a lot of social anger. I just wanted to tell you how fucked up the society is. This was the beginning. Afterwards, I began to understand that the problems were not only social; they are deeper. I thought they were only ontological. It’s so, so complicated, and when I understood more and more, when I went closer to the people… afterward, I could understand that the problems were not only ontological. They were cosmic. The whole fucked up world is over. That’s what I had to understand, and that’s why the style has moved. Once I went down, I kept going down. The style became more and more downward, by the end, becoming more simple, very pure. That’s what was interesting for me, to discover something step by step.

— Béla Tarr, in an interview (via litafficionado)

April 23, 2014 at 6:20pm
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Reblogged from emissions

I despise stories, as they mislead people into believing that something has happened. In fact, nothing really happens as we flee from one condition to another. Because today there are only states of being – all stories have become obsolete and cliched, and have resolved themselves. All that remains is time. This is probably the only thing that’s still genuine – time itself: the years, days, hours, minutes and seconds. And film time has also ceased to exist, since the film itself has ceased to exist. Luckily there is no authentic form or current fashion. Some kind of massive introversion, a searching of our own souls can help ease the situation.

— Bela Tarr (via kiki)

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"A present defaults – unless the crowd declares itself": Alain Badiou on Ukraine, Egypt and finitude →

April 21, 2014 at 3:23pm
364 notes
Reblogged from literarymiscellany

Memory belongs to the imagination. Human memory is not like a computer that records things; it is part of the imaginative process, on the same terms as invention. In other words, inventing a character or recalling a memory is part of the same process. This is very clear in Proust: For him there is no difference between lived experience—his relationship with his mother, and so forth—and his characters. Exactly the same type of truth is involved.


Alain Robbe-Grillet, from The Art of Fiction No. 91

(via literarymiscellany)

(via becomingbricolage)

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Reblogged from clickthecover

April 19, 2014 at 6:33am
213 notes
Reblogged from mimilin

I love you not for whom you are,
but who i am when i’m by your side.

— Gabriel Garcia Marquez
(1927 - 2014)

(Source: mimilin, via eclektic)

April 18, 2014 at 6:50am
2 notes

…In reality [hers] were distracted letters, intended to keep the coals alive without putting her hand in the fire, while Florentino Ariza burned himself alive in every line.

— Gabriel Garcí­a Márquez, Love in the Time of Cholera

49 notes
Reblogged from this-blog-is-not-for-you

It’s enough for me to be sure that you and I exist at this moment.

— Gabriel Garcí­a Márquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude (via this-blog-is-not-for-you)

(via this-blog-is-not-for-you)

April 17, 2014 at 3:56pm
57 notes
Reblogged from chezniimura

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Reblogged from renaissancebiitch2

49 notes
Reblogged from lovingoldbollywood

(Source: lovingoldbollywood, via madhubalaa)

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The rustic, the reader of novels, the pure ascetic - these three are happy in life, for these types of men all renounce their personalities: one because he lives by instinct, which is impersonal, another because he lives by imagination, which is forgetting and third because he doesn’t live but merely (since he still hasn’t died) sleeps.
Nothing satisfies me, nothing consoles me; everything that has been and that hasn’t been jades me. I don’t want to have my soul and don’t want to renounce it. I want what I don’t want and renounce what I don’t have. I can’t be nothing nor be everything: I’m the bridge between what I don’t have and what I don’t want.

— Fernando Pessoa, The Book of Disquiet, 232.

April 15, 2014 at 7:56am
146 notes
Reblogged from heteroglossia

To become imperceptible oneself, to have dismantled love in order to become capable of loving. To have dismantled one’s self in order finally to be alone and meet the true double at the other end of the line. A clandestine passenger on a motionless voyage. To become like everybody else; but this, precisely, is a becoming only for one who knows how to be nobody, to no longer be anybody. To paint oneself gray on gray.

— Gilles Deleuze, A Thousand Plateaus: Capitalism and Schizophrenia (via heteroglossia)

99 notes
Reblogged from taolyr

Deleuze’s understanding of thought in the Cinema books is guided by Spinoza’s notion of a ‘spiritual automaton,’ a notion which, for cinema, was expressed quite perfectly by Georges Duhamel’s exclamation that ‘I can no longer think what I want to think. My thoughts have been replaced by moving images.’ For Deleuze, not being able to determine what I want to think is precisely where thinking begins from and one of the great tasks of cinema was to demonstrate to us that we are not masters of our own thoughts. Rather, thoughts have their own life, their own spirit - they are spiritual automata, machines of the spirit which are capable of generation and creation. Cinema is itself a machine of thought.

— Richard Rushton, Cinema After Deleuze (2012)

326 notes
Reblogged from beforethemagicblackbox

Cinematic affect is unique to cinema, so we should not treat film as a secondary form of literature. The person who complains that the film is ‘nothing like the book’ ought to read the book. (Similarly, the scientist who complained about a philosophy being ‘inaccurate’ or a philosopher who complained about a novel being ‘illogical’ would merely be imposing their own dogmatic image of thought on thought’s other possibilities.)

— Gilles Deleuze, Claire Colebrook (via beforethemagicblackbox)