#existential reflections
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a-sentient-cup · 8 months ago
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What is self anyway
I fail to have a decent image of myself beyond a silhouette and the clothes i frequent or are currently wearing
The mirror test is usually a way to tell if something has an inherent ability to understand the concept of self, but there's tines where my reflection or shadow can be startling, whether it's because it takes a second for recognition or that it just intrinsically feels like it shouldn't be
I've spent years working on things that reflect and play with light, it's not the hardest to avoid having myself in a reflection on a workpiece, in some cases i deemed it "unprofessional" although the act of even some fraction being captured is a part of what makes some pictures human, not fully detaching from the person that viewed and framed the photo
And yet, thinking back, one of, if not the only time i felt whole was looking out into the void of the ocean, seperated by the blank white of the sky. A lulling emptiness before what would ultimately unravel me. How time hasn't fully woven back together
There are times where rounding to 0 is easier than to 1
Far past when i was no longer able to see the stars unassisted, although the stars hardly reflect how i can be, the stars being something grand despite the distances being inconceivable
How do you craft a new way of being without being known. How careful must you be for the chrysalis not to break prematurely
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aoaoaoaoaoaob · 7 months ago
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LIMINALE is a collection of ten photographs that unfold as a deep exploration of human intimacy and vulnerability. The images aim to transform the banality of everyday environments into scenarios of introspection and unease, where the body reveals itself as an entity in transition, suspended between the desire for belonging and a sense of abandonment. The individual is portrayed in spaces that, though familiar, become overwhelming, where light and shadow mark the boundary between the external and internal, the visible and invisible. It is a reflection on identity as a constant becoming, persistently influenced by context and relationships with the environment.
All rights reserved to me: Angelo Bruno
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epicstoriestime · 4 months ago
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The Eternal Thread
Daily writing promptYou’re writing your autobiography. What’s your opening sentence?View all responses “My life began long before I was born, woven into the hands of those who came before me.” An infinite tapestry of existence—Earth cradled within the boundless embrace of time and space, wrapped in patterns of celestial geometry and cosmic beauty. The sun hung low over the sacred river, its…
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theblindmachine · 5 months ago
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Listen: https://open.spotify.com/episode/51NlH2kOJkwIneAPAHdykW # The Art of Repetition: Revisiting Our Understanding of Life and Creativity In the world of art and philosophy, few concepts hold as much weight as repetition. It’s a theme that resonates not just through the brush strokes of a painting or the frames of a film but also in the very framework of human experience. As we embark on a season of enlightening discussions and cinematic reflections, we find ourselves at the intersection of art, politics, and the profound human condition. Matthew Sweet's engaging dialogue with art critic TJ Clark illuminates the need for repeated viewing in appreciating a work of art. Clark’s new collection, *Those Passions: On Art and Politics*, delves into the depths of this necessity. He bravely asserts that true understanding cannot be achieved on a superficial glance. Much like life itself, art demands our attention and time, urging us to peel away layers until we emerge with insights previously obscured. In parallel, the BFI is hosting a two-month celebration of Chantal Akerman’s pioneering works, featuring the newly restored *Jeanne Dielman, 23, Quai du Commerce, 1080 Bruxelles*. Akerman’s masterpiece captures the mundane and often crushing routine of a Belgian housewife, inviting audiences to sit in the discomfort of stillness and routine. The film isn’t merely a performance; it’s a meditation on the complexities of domestic life, a relentless cycle underscoring that the extraordinary often lies within the repetitive and the mundane. Philosophy steps into this conversation via Lucy Bolton, a thinker whose insights into film navigate the intricate tapestry of life and art. The re-issue of Akerman's film is not just a revival; it is an invitation to reconsider how we engage with the visual arts and, by extension, our own lives. We are called to witness the routines and rituals that define us, to sit in the stillness, and to witness how repetition can breed a deeper understanding and appreciation of existence. Clare Carlisle, an academic and philosopher, furthers this dialogue with her examination of Søren Kierkegaard's musings on repetition as a defining characteristic of human life. In *Philosopher of the Heart: The Restless Life of Soren Kierkegaard*, Carlisle sheds light on the existential importance of repeating actions and decisions. It’s through repetition that we shape our identity, construct meaning, and face the existential weights of our choices. Anthony Seldon enters the fray with his engaging narratives on British political life, notably through works like *Truss At 10: 49 Days That Changed Britain* and *Johnson at 10: The Inside Story*. Seldon's contributions highlight that the repetition of political cycles often mirrors our day-to-day existences. Each election, each policy shift, reflects the routines and crises we face as a society, urging us to engage more profoundly with our political landscapes. In this rich tapestry, Neil Brand's musical talents add a striking layer to this exploration. As a composer and silent film accompanist, Brand brings the power of music into the conversation, elevating Akerman’s cinema experience and deepening the reflections on the narratives unfolding onscreen. Music, much like art, also dances through the paths of repetition—creating resonances that echo long after the notes have faded. As we immerse ourselves in this season of cinematic treasures and philosophical discourses, let us not overlook the profound beauty of repetition. It is not merely a trend but a fundamental aspect of our artistic, political, and personal lives. This engagement invites us to dive deeper into what it means to be human, calling upon us to recognize the artistry in our daily routines and the lessons that lies within the repeated patterns of our existence. Join us in this exploration of art, politics, and life—a journey that enriches our capacity to see, feel, and understand the multifaceted world around us. Repetition, it turns out, is not just a device; it is the very rhythm of life.
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teeshiiitmood · 8 months ago
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Check out this awesome 'Out of Time Out of Mind' design on @TeePublic!
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saraichinwag · 9 months ago
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The Meaning of "Memento Mori"
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pebblegalaxy · 1 year ago
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Living and Dying with Purpose: A Review of Dr. Paul Kalanithi's Memoir 'When Breath Becomes Air' #bookchatter #TBRChallenge @Blogchatter
When Breath Becomes Air by Dr. Paul Kalanithi “When Breath Becomes Air” is an intensely moving and deeply introspective memoir penned by Dr. Paul Kalanithi. It narrates the journey of his life, marked by a profound love for literature, a relentless pursuit of a career in neurosurgery, and his valiant struggle with terminal lung cancer diagnosed at the young age of 36. Raised in a nurturing…
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laidbackmarco · 1 year ago
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Learning to Lead: The Most Unique Tour Leader Training
Learning to Lead Tour Leader Training Although I secured my job in the tourism industry I was feeling more insecure than ever. The orange hot mocha I sipped did little to calm my nerves. Thankfully this tour was a live training and observation journey, so I wouldn’t be in charge. When I arrived at the hotel I was relived to discover the first day of the tour was for greetings. We would make sure…
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butterfly-keeper · 2 years ago
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Lacrimosa
A short story about a dystopian and post-apocalyptic future, a red sea and devastated sky, saturated in solitude, a protagonist wondering why all this.
The reason for that creature that she baptized as "the final angel" was there, the reflection of human errors made flesh and bone.
tw: philosophical crises, post-apocalyptic world, the main character questions existence, religion.
Year [Unreadable... The number is corrupted...] Date [Corrupted] Time [Corrupted] Location [Imprecise]
The sky is red, and the water looks like pure wine.
There were no signs of life; it's been a long time since I last saw a dog, a fish, a bird, or even an insect. Everything seemed to have vanished.
The only things left were cities flooded with red water, destroyed and submerged cities, scarce patches of dry land that could be found.
And if there was still a part of the land that the water hadn't destroyed yet, those things would do it – those tornadoes coming straight from the sky that seemed to have a life of their own, knowing exactly when to appear. They would destroy whatever was left there, and the land that couldn't be submerged was dry, as dry as a desert.
Sheets of metal abandoned in those deserts, the catastrophe of Black Sunday, it could have been avoided, but they chose this, they chose to condemn us all. Those who were supposed to protect us used us as lab rats.
Only solitude and pain were left behind.
The strong wind from the whirlwinds, gently tugging at the tail of my scarf, the pull of my hair being drawn by the wind. I watch as once again, those whirlwinds sweep through.
All I could do was watch, what else can I do besides crying?
There was nothing else to do, all hope was gone. Was there even hope to begin with? Was there ever hope from the start?
God, are you there? Do we even matter to you? I can guess not, you don't even exist, you're not real.
Just an invention of humanity to give an origin to our existence.
And if you ever were real, God, then you hated us
Hatred, I feel hatred for that nonexistent being, hatred for those who condemned us, hatred for this civilization that sealed its own end. Words will never be enough to express all the hatred I feel right now, there are no words to explain the hatred I feel every attosecond.
When the whirlwind finally disappears, I can see the hole in the clouds, the red sky rumbling, strange cables slowly emerge from the cloud hole, slowly approaching the earth; or perhaps from my point of view, they move slowly. They slowly pierce through the dry earth, I don't know if they simply "connected" or if they are drilling into the interior of the earth. Perhaps it's responsible for the deserts?
A white light illuminates from above down to the cables until the light finally fades upon reaching the earth.
Perhaps hours passed or maybe minutes, I couldn't say, I haven't seen the sun for a long time, its brightness and warmth overshadowed by the reddish sky.
By the time the light disappeared, the cables slowly moved away and returned to the sky, the clouds closed, and the tornadoes disappeared.
Descending from the large stone tube, the sound of my worn-out boots against the dry ground, with each step, the sound of the earth crawling could be heard.
Now I knew what those cables were doing, they were drills, drilling into the earth for reasons unknown to me, but at this point, it was the last thing or perhaps absolutely nothing that mattered to me.
I still remember, I remember the day, Black Sunday.
I was at school when it happened, suddenly the sky lit up in pure white blinding us and then the sky turned red, the ground shook, and a strong dust cloud that wiped out houses was approaching us, and large pillars of light rose behind, we didn't have time to react when it hit, the screams, their bodies imploded and so did mine, cascades of blood and the remains of clothing and bone left behind.
When I opened my eyes again, I only saw a large sphere with different colors, I was part of that, and we were being sucked into a black hole that seemed to come out of something white.
I don't remember what happened in there or what happened outside for us to escape, sometimes, I see those lights again. It took me a while to realize that those spherical lights were the remains of what was once the physical form of a human being, that's how I used to be before, my body had been destroyed, and what was left became part of the red, and the rest was taken by that thing.
Those black holes belonged to that, they weren't black holes; they were more like mouths, we were being devoured. It spat us out after a certain event outside, our remains returned to our reddish waste, and we regained physical form.
I prefer to call that thing "The Final Angel", the Angel so immense, larger than the earth, maybe even two or three times larger, soaring through space with the sound of flapping in the muffled noise of space.
I look towards the horizon, the red sky turns white, and the reddish is engulfed in cobwebs that snake, changing shapes, the horrible white iris, black lines snaking through its eyes, the pallor of its skin, and its horrible smile. It smiles, smiles as it left us, it was a smile of victory and fun; she smiles at seeing our destruction. But there's something more in its eyes, there was pain, it wasn't an "Angel", not a "Demon" or a "God", it's a human.
With a final look at the gracious being, its gaze melts away, leaving the horrifying gaze, bony face, and sunken eyes that flicker with darkness.
The pillars of light that had lost their shine regained it forcefully as they ascended slowly into the sky. The dust rose in large clouds of dirt where the pillars once stood, the fresh air hit my face, my scarf dancing to the slow rhythm, and I could feel my hair gently swaying.
I half close my eyes; I can't see myself, but I know in this moment, my face must have a grimace; everything was going to happen again, right?
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zomb13s · 2 years ago
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"Randy Daha's Vision: Exploring the Undead Beauties at ikziezombies.com"
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luvinaeverdene · 4 months ago
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Persepolis (2007) Directed by Marjane Satrapi & Vincent Paronnaud
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mail-me-a-snail · 6 months ago
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IF BLU SNIPER CAN GO THROUGH ALL OF THAT AND COME OUT THE OTHER END MOSTLY ALIVE AND WELL THEN SO CAN I DAMNIT ‼️‼️‼️
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incognitopolls · 8 months ago
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We ask your questions so you don’t have to! Submit your questions to have them posted anonymously as polls.
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gilsart · 5 months ago
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oc content? what the hell, sure
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nightwonder7 · 7 months ago
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Norton would think being feared is the same thing as being respected. And it would take him a while to understand the difference between the two. So when he becomes Fool's Gold, he thinks he has finally gotten the respect he deserves, when in reality he is just being feared. It doesn't dawn on him until much later that this isn't what he wanted. This isn't the kind of "respect" he actually desired.
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fervi-g · 1 month ago
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On the Beach at Night Alone (2017) dir. Hong Sang-soo
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