perfect chess

(image by sidney sime, via @HarrySKeeler)

"After Freud, it is no longer possible to be an Epicurean or a Spinozist because of the dimension of the unconscious, desire, and jouissance."

Lynette Roberts: “THESE WORDS I WRITE ON CRINKLED TIN

To the green wood where I found my love:
To the green wood where I held my love:
To the green wood now my love is gone.

I follow death that stands on my breath;
My heart cut out by the timeless scythe,
All grievous foliage stifling and still,
I carve two marks on the bark’s rough edge
To convince my grief he came here once,
Whose spirit shivers the polar tree.

To the green wood where the woodcock flies:
To the green wood where the nightjar hides:
To the green wood with red eyes of a dove.

The young jays spring and curious,
Who peck eyes from the lamb’s sweet face,
Resemble too well my heartless step;
For he loves me and I love another,
I love another, and yet he still loves me,
He loves me still, yet I love another.

To the green wood where the green air fades:
To the green wood fluid with icy shades:
To the green wood afraid I follow fast
Past Syrian Juniper and tall grass;
Hanging with dark secrets the Brewer’s Spruce:
The pond that drew the young child in:
Through darkening leaves, a nightingale
Sobbing in the sunniest season,
“My love, my love, do I love the other?”

To the green wood where I found my love:
To the green wood where I held my love:
To the green wood now my love is gone.”

--from Poetry magazine, December 1952

"Grief Vacation/ Brexit wounds."

(via bruce sterling on ello)

Number 50,000.

"Yes, we'll say. Satire. It was the closest thing we had to truth." --@NeinQuarterly

"Liberal Democracy tells a story about itself and the progress of humanity that, if we accept it, makes it nearly impossible to understand how Fascism could ever happen again."

"Let us treat men and women well; treat them as if they were real. Perhaps they are." --Ralph Waldo Emerson

"When a writer disappears, unless he’s J. D. Salinger, no one goes looking."