I am clouded and bruised with the print of minds and faces and things so subtle that they have smell, colour, texture, substance but no name.
"Art is always and everywhere the secret confession, and at the same time the immortal movement of its time.”
The Land That Is Not
I long for the land that is not,
For all that is, I am weary of wanting.
The moon speaks to me in silvern runes
About the land that is not.
The land where all our wishes become wondrously fulfilled,
The land where all our fetters fall,
The land where we cool our bleeding forehead
In the dew of the moon.
My life was a burning illusion,
But one thing I have found and one thing I have really won -
The road to the land that is not.
In the land that is not
My beloved walks with a glittering crown.
Who is my beloved? The night is dark
And the stars quiver in reply.
Who is my beloved? What is his name?
The heavens arch higher and higher
And a human child is drowned in the endless fogs
And knows no reply.
But a human child is nothing but certainty.
And it stretches its arms higher than all heavens.
And there comes a reply:
I am the one you love and always shall love.
- Edith Södergran
gli incastri, la falce
If women’s liberation is unthinkable without communism, then communism is unthinkable without women’s liberation.
Inessa Armand (via socialismartnature)
The Temptation of Saint Anthony, Jacques Callot, 1634.
Joos van Craesbeeck - Temptation of Saint Anthony (1650)
I am astonished, as I draw the veil off things with words, how much, how infinitely more than I can say, I have observed.
Do not allow yourselves to be deluded by the abstract word ‘freedom’. Whose freedom? It is not the freedom of one individual in relation to another, but the freedom of capital to crush the worker.
Karl Marx on “free trade”, 1848 (via socialismartnature)
Language as the product of an individual is an impossibility… the same holds for property.
Marx, Karl, Grundrisse, trans. Martin Nicolaus (London: Penguin/NLR 1973) p. 490 (via fuckyeahdialectics)