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RAWDOGGING ANTI-OEDIPUS TOMORROW

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Risa de Babasónicos, del álbum Infame (2003)

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How did we get here when I used to know you so well? How did we get here?

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Yo!, what’s poppin’?

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Hay un principio filosófico que dice que los contrarios se originan de los contrarios. Así como tras la vigilia viene el sueño, pero luego despertamos, de la misma manera tras la vida vendrá la muerte, pero la vida renacerá otra vez.

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Goey, acabo de ver una foto tuya de secundaria & jfc puta! qué guapo! no jodas... me enamoré.

Mientras más feo más guapo, no?

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And speaking of Sophia Tolstoy, her diaries are just so depressing. 

“I am to gratify his pleasure and nurse his child, I am a piece of household furniture, I am a woman. I try to suppress all human feelings. When the machine is working properly it heats the milk, knits a blanket, makes little requests and bustles about trying not to think […].“

She wrote this when she was 19, one year into her marriage to Leo and as she was pregnant with the first of his 13 children.

A few years later, when she was 25 or so:

“I am so often alone with my thoughts that the need to write in my diary comes quite naturally … Now I am well again and not pregnant—it terrifies me how often I have been in that condition. He said that for him being young meant “I can achieve anything”. For me […] reason tells me that there is nothing I either want or can do beyond nursing, eating, drinking, sleeping, and loving and caring for my husband and babies, all of which I know is happiness of a kind, but why do I feel so woeful all the time, and weep as I did yesterday? I am writing this now with the pleasantly exciting sense that nobody will ever read it, so I can be quite frank with myself […].“

During her 12th pregnancy she wrote about taking scalding baths and jumping from high pieces of furniture to try and miscarry.  And at one point while reading her husband’s diary (which he told her to read) she found the sentence “There is no such thing as love, only the physical need for intercourse and the practical need for a life companion.” In her own diary she wrote “They ebb and flow like waves, these times when I realise how lonely I am and want only to cry…”

A few years before her husband’s death, she published a cycle of prose poems titled “Groans”, under the pseudonym “A Tired Woman”.

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Of Croatia wins you...

Let's meet up!

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23 de septiembre

«No puedo leer ni escribir ni hacer nada. Estoy tensa y hambrienta y deseosa de aniquilarme. Adiós a la poesía y a todo. Quiero morir. Que me pase algo. Que me acuchillen. Que me pongan ventanas y puertas y que las abran. Me asfixio dentro de mí.»

— Alejandra Pizarnik, Diarios

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From the series Youth by Chardchakaj Waikawee