Text

endless-unfolding

One must almost die in order to take pleasure in being made of flesh, we’ve always known this. What time is it? Time to be eaten. Passion. 

Ah if we could go over to die, taste, be tasted, and then return to this side. Ah if we could go all the way to the instant when what disgusts us intoxicates us, 

The dream would be to be there, at that hour, this is the poet’s dream—and getting there has always been the poem’s hope. And the poem or poet is the hope for this meeting with ourselves at the hour of our most intimate foreignness, at our last minute.

Hélène Cixous, from “What is it o’clock? Or the door (we never enter),” trans. Catherine A.F. MacGillivray in Stigmata

words  q 

Notes
  1. be-i-ng reblogged this from endless-unfolding
  2. manicpixietheythemby reblogged this from endless-unfolding
  3. delabimedestenebres reblogged this from endless-unfolding
  4. captainmyjor reblogged this from endless-unfolding
  5. yrcrush reblogged this from lovinginmercury
  6. kortspivot reblogged this from guulabii
  7. throatfullofheart reblogged this from lovinginmercury
  8. hailegurl97 reblogged this from hiding--places
  9. hiding--places reblogged this from guulabii
  10. guulabii reblogged this from zapatillado
  11. zapatillado reblogged this from lovinginmercury
  12. beingabitchsureisahardwork reblogged this from lovinginmercury
  13. paranoid-fuck reblogged this from endless-unfolding
  14. schizo-eye reblogged this from endless-unfolding
  15. soakinmydiamonds reblogged this from endless-unfolding
  16. endless-unfolding posted this
271 notes