"The point is to make a difference in the world, to cast our lot for some ways of life and not others. To do that, one must be in the action, be finite and dirty, not transcendent and clean"
From Modest_Witness@Second_Millenium. FemaleMan©_Meets_OncoMouse™: Feminism and Technoscience, 1997
Wednesday, 23 December 2009
Monday, 21 December 2009
"Framing provides a means of 'constructing a world' [...]", (Bruner 2000 [1990]: 56)
"Framing provides a means of 'constructing a world', of characterizing its flow, of segmenting events within that world, and so on. If we were not able to do such framing, we would be lost in a murk of chaotic experience and probably would not have survived as a species in any case",
From Acts of Meaning by Jerome Bruner, (Bruner 2000 [1990]: 56)
From Acts of Meaning by Jerome Bruner, (Bruner 2000 [1990]: 56)
Monday, 14 December 2009
"I think where I am not, therefore I am where I do not think ...", (Lacan 1977: 166)
"I think where I am not, therefore I am where I do not think... I am not wherever I am the plaything of my thought; I think of what I am where I do not think to think", (Lacan 1977: 166)
Tuesday, 24 November 2009
"we do not know how we live", (Lefebvre 2008 [1947]: 195)
"'Consciousness of life' - can those words be right? Are we conscious of our own lives? The words which spring to our lips, the ideas and images at our disposal, are they kind to allow us a true consciousness of our lives? ... No! Our lives are still unrealized, and our consciousness is false. It is not only our consciousness which is false: it is only false because our lives are still alienated. False representations bring with them a false consciousness of what an unrealized life is; in other words they do not bring an awareness of the non-realization (of the degree of non-realization) of human life: they present it as either realized (which leads to vulgar or moral satisfaction) or unrealizable (which leads to anguish or the desire for a different life).
More precisely, nowadays, we do not know how we live. And at the end of our lives, we scarcely know how we have lived them. And how bitter this unhappy consciousness is..."
More precisely, nowadays, we do not know how we live. And at the end of our lives, we scarcely know how we have lived them. And how bitter this unhappy consciousness is..."
Monday, 2 November 2009
Wednesday, 28 October 2009
Monday, 26 October 2009
Friday, 2 October 2009
Thursday, 17 September 2009
Tuesday, 15 September 2009
Thursday, 3 September 2009
Tuesday, 25 August 2009
Friday, 21 August 2009
Monday, 3 August 2009
Friday, 5 June 2009
Saturday, 16 May 2009
Tuesday, 12 May 2009
"Ideas are great to the degree that they are feasible", (Gramsci 2007 [1975])
"They let what is not yet present arrive into presencing [...] the bursting of the blossom in the bloom wherever man opens his eyes and ears, unlocks his heart, and gives himself over to meditating and striving, shaping and working, entreating and thanking, he finds himself everywhere already brought into the unconceald.", (Heidegger 1977)
Friday, 8 May 2009
Wednesday, 6 May 2009
Thursday, 30 April 2009
Saturday, 18 April 2009
Sunday, 12 April 2009
Monday, 6 April 2009
Friday, 3 April 2009
"Thirty miles The world unfolds, Thirty miles a pot of gold", (P.J. Harvey)
30
Over my body the shadows played
It wasn't night and it wasn't day
Counting something what have I found
Thirty diamonds in my hand
Thirty miles
The world unfolds
Thirty miles
A pot of gold
I often think of America
I often dream of shooting a gun
Thirty years I'm still a child
Looking for something in a smile
Thirty miles
The world unfolds
Thirty miles
A pot of gold
Listen here in my song
Thirty miles won't be long
Thirty diamonds
Birds of fire
Sparkle like the summer sky
Thirty diamonds
Thirty miles
Looking for something in your smile
I'm looking for something in your smile
I'm looking for something
P.J. HARVEY
Sretan rodjendan buraz! Dobro dos'o u starohane.
Over my body the shadows played
It wasn't night and it wasn't day
Counting something what have I found
Thirty diamonds in my hand
Thirty miles
The world unfolds
Thirty miles
A pot of gold
I often think of America
I often dream of shooting a gun
Thirty years I'm still a child
Looking for something in a smile
Thirty miles
The world unfolds
Thirty miles
A pot of gold
Listen here in my song
Thirty miles won't be long
Thirty diamonds
Birds of fire
Sparkle like the summer sky
Thirty diamonds
Thirty miles
Looking for something in your smile
I'm looking for something in your smile
I'm looking for something
P.J. HARVEY
Sretan rodjendan buraz! Dobro dos'o u starohane.
Monday, 23 March 2009
Friday, 20 March 2009
Monday, 16 March 2009
Friday, 13 March 2009
Wednesday, 11 March 2009
Thursday, 5 March 2009
Tuesday, 3 March 2009
Sunday, 22 February 2009
Thursday, 19 February 2009
Monday, 16 February 2009
Monday, 9 February 2009
Wednesday, 28 January 2009
Saturday, 24 January 2009
Friday, 16 January 2009
Wednesday, 14 January 2009
"[...] tillbaka bland gruset och lindträden på sin barndoms skolgård [...]", (Öijer 2001 [1995]: 100)
*
mager nästan
förtärd av sjukdom och värk
lutar hon sig fram i stolen
med en kropp som tätnat till skymning
svept i ett overkligt töcken
är hon tillbaka bland gruset och lindträden
på sin barndoms skolgård
den borgliknande byggnaden ringer in
fasaderna av sotigt tegel
drar till sig dom bortgångna
sätter klorna i skaror av avlidna
förvandlade till gråtande spökbarn tvingas dom
tillbaka uppför trapporna
in till sina gamla bänkrader igen
damm blåser omkring
med en doft av krita och suddgummi
över katedern hänger planschen kvar
med blåklockor blekta och vitnade
som om skaften genom alla år
och med jämna mellanrum
kramats av skellettet inlåst i sitt hörnskåp
med glasdörren på glänt
och utanför i korridorerna ryser mörkret till
ett ilande kallt sken
slår upp från stengolvens ortoceratiter
Bruno K. Öijer ur diktsamlingen Det förlorade Ordet 1995
mager nästan
förtärd av sjukdom och värk
lutar hon sig fram i stolen
med en kropp som tätnat till skymning
svept i ett overkligt töcken
är hon tillbaka bland gruset och lindträden
på sin barndoms skolgård
den borgliknande byggnaden ringer in
fasaderna av sotigt tegel
drar till sig dom bortgångna
sätter klorna i skaror av avlidna
förvandlade till gråtande spökbarn tvingas dom
tillbaka uppför trapporna
in till sina gamla bänkrader igen
damm blåser omkring
med en doft av krita och suddgummi
över katedern hänger planschen kvar
med blåklockor blekta och vitnade
som om skaften genom alla år
och med jämna mellanrum
kramats av skellettet inlåst i sitt hörnskåp
med glasdörren på glänt
och utanför i korridorerna ryser mörkret till
ett ilande kallt sken
slår upp från stengolvens ortoceratiter
Bruno K. Öijer ur diktsamlingen Det förlorade Ordet 1995
Monday, 12 January 2009
"[...] vi bekänner inget gratis [...]", (Baudelaire 2005 [1857]: 20)
(Isjechak iz "Till läsaren")
"Vår synd är envis, vår ånger är feg,
vi bekänner inget gratis, och är aldrig sena
att åter glatt slå in på vår smutsiga väg
i tron att eländig gråt gör oss rena"
"Vår synd är envis, vår ånger är feg,
vi bekänner inget gratis, och är aldrig sena
att åter glatt slå in på vår smutsiga väg
i tron att eländig gråt gör oss rena"
Tuesday, 6 January 2009
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