Soprano - Kristina Bacharach, Music by etc., etc.

Come, Death

Soprano - Kristina Bachrach, Music by etc., etc.

The Boat

Tender Only to One

Not Waving but Drowning

Do Take Muriel Out

Never Again

"No Worldly Waves My Mind Can Toss"

I loathe not life, nor dread mine end

If we were internally or intrinsically valuable, we should have complete consciousness of our value without needing external acknowledgment. ~ Julio Cabrera
And who says some of us don't, Señor? :-)

Souvenir from the stratosphere

I am not against happiness. But it is more interesting for me to focus on sadness, which everyone is trying to escape, although this cannot be done. Happiness is inevitable, but it is not forever. Sadness is forever. ~ Julie Reshe

"Fair is foul," said the forest owl

If the constitutive lack is what most profoundly defines us, then to
touch the core of the other is to touch the lack at her core. This also
implies that lack is what we most profoundly share. What we actually hold
in common is nothing. ~ Julie Reshe

The tired agnostic longs for prayer

The fact that sociality is death-driven means that it is negative without
any hope for positivity. It is constituted around the lack without any pos-
sibility for this lack to be filled. What we exchange with each other, what
structurally holds us together, is nothingness, lack, emptiness, the unfill-
able rupture. Once we come to fully coincide with a structural rupture at
our basis, we forever vanish. ~ Julie Reshe

Restlessness and Rue

The dance macabre of love that exposes our subjectivity as merely a
semblance and exposes itself as forever missing—is the place where love
dwells. Here the subjectivity wounded by love, that is, the subjectivity that
actualises herself as non-existent and as willing to disappear, coincides the
most with her primordial nature—with the lack of herself. When we love
someone, we love them as already missing. We long for them like they are
not there. Being in love means becoming susceptible to the missing of the
other. Paradoxically, when loved ones are away, they are the most present
since they are present the most in their missingness. We feel them most
deeply when they reject us and disappear from our lives. They are there the
most when they are not there. ~ Julie Reshe

The longing to be known

Psychiatry, and the world at large, operate on the assumption that the “healthy” and viable is at one with the highest in personal terms. Depression, “fear of life,” refusal of nourishment, and so on are invariably taken as signs of a pathological state and treated thereafter. Often, however, such phenomena are messages from a deeper, more immediate sense of life, bitter fruits of a geniality of thought or feeling at the root of antibiological tendencies. It is not the soul being sick, but its protection failing. ~ Peter Wessel Zappfe

Album leaf from a nocturnal journal

For an incredibly special person, a unicorn, really, lol - whom I am deeply privileged to call my friend. 

Evie

A man can be himself only so long as he is alone; and if he does not love solitude, he will not love freedom; for it is only when he is alone that he is really free.

~ Arthur Schopenhauer, Essays and Aphorisms

That's a lonely road you're trav'lin'

The thing that looks out through my eyes will carry on forever -
My body’s just its visual depiction.
Neither different, nor the same - in this there is no contradiction -
And yet there is one’s death, which seems to sever

The connection one observes between the “body and the soul”,
Which seems like an intuitive conclusion,
But eventually reveals itself as only an illusion, 
Which one is hardly able to control,

Since the inner and the outer seem as if they’re really two,
A notion we’ve all had since we were born -
Babies are all dualists, who believe the body’s worn
Like clothing, which surrounds the real you.

But what if brains and bodies are just simple illustrations, 
Just images, which fin’lly are unreal?
Pictures which convey the things which spirits think and feel,
That in the end are just hallucinations

Of what’s more fundamental - the awareness that’s behind
This ghostly dance of fleeting apparitions -
Which seem as if they’re “physical”, but are just suppositions,
Resulting from their being so well-aligned - 

Like reflections seen in mirrors which will suddenly disperse,
And seem to disappear into the air -
Like the way in which the moon when not observed’s not really there -
Like the fate of all my insubstantial verse.

If the body’s just a picture, well then, what becomes of me?
Where will I be when I up and die?
Exactly where my atoms are, in sea and earth and sky! 
Where finally of my ego I’ll be free.

And when that time arrives, this troubled, sad, and lonely wave
Will once again return into the ocean -
That vastness all-encompassing, of which we’ve little notion,
Which says to me that everything that they’ve


Been telling us since infancy were bromides falsely spoken -
That all the things that felt like me will find
They’d been a petty nightmare in a universal mind,
From which I will have finally awoken.

And when that strange, unearthly calm descends...

Last request

Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow,
Pit stops on the weary road to death -
Sorrow after sorrow after sorrow,
Engulfing me until my final breath -

Violence, and more violence, still more violence,
With which my early childhood was rife -
Silence, perfect silence, celestial silence…
The music which will usher me from life -

I never should have been, that much is clear -
So as my longed for, sweet release draws near,
Shed no tears, nor of me memories keep,
Which might disrupt or disconcert my deep, eternal sleep.


Anonymous 67

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