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666_flags
Sabrina Tarasoff
🎢🎠🎡
In this week's PROVENCE newsletter, Sabrina Tarasoff centers Jason Rhoades, arguing that his art operated as a chaotic “perpetual motion machine,” using cars, motors, and assemblages to keep meaning in constant motion. His works resisted fixed interpretation, instead generating ideas through movement, breakdown, bricolage, and associative drift, where failure and excess were essential.
Rhoades turned art into a system driven by chance, intuition, and symbolic connections, so that meaning remained unstable, continually circulating, evolving, and unfinished. The aim was not resolution, but the ongoing sustainment of the drive itself.
Link in bio.
Installation view: Jason Rhoades, Caprice Auto Project (1996), “Whitney Biennial 2022: Quiet as It’s Kept.” Whitney Museum of American Art, New York, 6 April – 16 October 2022. Photo: Ron Amstutz. ® The Estate of Jason Rhoades. Courtesy the Estate of Jason Rhoades and Hauser & Wirth
#jasonrhoades @666_flags #sabrinatarasoff
Tunnel of Love—[The Speech Bubble Metalapse; a.k.a. Thought Bursts Out of the Being-Bubble:] “The second form [of metalepsis] involves an ontological transgression between the real world of the reader and the storyworld of the narrator or characters (Ryan, 2004). Such ontological transgressions can be accomplished by breaking the fourth wall, where characters realize they are in a fictional storyworld and acknowledge the reader through direct address, usually in the form of speech bubbles, or by visually acknowledging their existence by looking directly at the reader through a form of visual demand (Kress and van Leeuwen, 1996).”
Tunnel of Love—[The Speech Bubble Metalapse; a.k.a. Thought Bursts Out of the Being-Bubble:] “The second form [of metalepsis] involves an ontological transgression between the real world of the reader and the storyworld of the narrator or characters (Ryan, 2004). Such ontological transgressions can be accomplished by breaking the fourth wall, where characters realize they are in a fictional storyworld and acknowledge the reader through direct address, usually in the form of speech bubbles, or by visually acknowledging their existence by looking directly at the reader through a form of visual demand (Kress and van Leeuwen, 1996).”
Tunnel of Love—[The Speech Bubble Metalapse; a.k.a. Thought Bursts Out of the Being-Bubble:] “The second form [of metalepsis] involves an ontological transgression between the real world of the reader and the storyworld of the narrator or characters (Ryan, 2004). Such ontological transgressions can be accomplished by breaking the fourth wall, where characters realize they are in a fictional storyworld and acknowledge the reader through direct address, usually in the form of speech bubbles, or by visually acknowledging their existence by looking directly at the reader through a form of visual demand (Kress and van Leeuwen, 1996).”
Tunnel of Love—[The Speech Bubble Metalapse; a.k.a. Thought Bursts Out of the Being-Bubble:] “The second form [of metalepsis] involves an ontological transgression between the real world of the reader and the storyworld of the narrator or characters (Ryan, 2004). Such ontological transgressions can be accomplished by breaking the fourth wall, where characters realize they are in a fictional storyworld and acknowledge the reader through direct address, usually in the form of speech bubbles, or by visually acknowledging their existence by looking directly at the reader through a form of visual demand (Kress and van Leeuwen, 1996).”
Tunnel of Love—[The Speech Bubble Metalapse; a.k.a. Thought Bursts Out of the Being-Bubble:] “The second form [of metalepsis] involves an ontological transgression between the real world of the reader and the storyworld of the narrator or characters (Ryan, 2004). Such ontological transgressions can be accomplished by breaking the fourth wall, where characters realize they are in a fictional storyworld and acknowledge the reader through direct address, usually in the form of speech bubbles, or by visually acknowledging their existence by looking directly at the reader through a form of visual demand (Kress and van Leeuwen, 1996).”
Tunnel of Love—[The Speech Bubble Metalapse; a.k.a. Thought Bursts Out of the Being-Bubble:] “The second form [of metalepsis] involves an ontological transgression between the real world of the reader and the storyworld of the narrator or characters (Ryan, 2004). Such ontological transgressions can be accomplished by breaking the fourth wall, where characters realize they are in a fictional storyworld and acknowledge the reader through direct address, usually in the form of speech bubbles, or by visually acknowledging their existence by looking directly at the reader through a form of visual demand (Kress and van Leeuwen, 1996).”
Tunnel of Love—[The Speech Bubble Metalapse; a.k.a. Thought Bursts Out of the Being-Bubble:] “The second form [of metalepsis] involves an ontological transgression between the real world of the reader and the storyworld of the narrator or characters (Ryan, 2004). Such ontological transgressions can be accomplished by breaking the fourth wall, where characters realize they are in a fictional storyworld and acknowledge the reader through direct address, usually in the form of speech bubbles, or by visually acknowledging their existence by looking directly at the reader through a form of visual demand (Kress and van Leeuwen, 1996).”
Tunnel of Love—[The Speech Bubble Metalapse; a.k.a. Thought Bursts Out of the Being-Bubble:] “The second form [of metalepsis] involves an ontological transgression between the real world of the reader and the storyworld of the narrator or characters (Ryan, 2004). Such ontological transgressions can be accomplished by breaking the fourth wall, where characters realize they are in a fictional storyworld and acknowledge the reader through direct address, usually in the form of speech bubbles, or by visually acknowledging their existence by looking directly at the reader through a form of visual demand (Kress and van Leeuwen, 1996).”
Here I am in Boston, on Marlborough 239—the house that Elizabeth Hardwick lived in during the 1950s—now rereading those opening pages of Sleepless Nights, again, from my very own Cambridge address. Hardwick hated Boston, with a passion, and one sees why quite easily. And still, here we are, as if in just another line of Apollinaire’s poem: ‘Here you are in’ so-and-so city, place or time, waiting for all those simple struggles to end.
Here I am in Boston, on Marlborough 239—the house that Elizabeth Hardwick lived in during the 1950s—now rereading those opening pages of Sleepless Nights, again, from my very own Cambridge address. Hardwick hated Boston, with a passion, and one sees why quite easily. And still, here we are, as if in just another line of Apollinaire’s poem: ‘Here you are in’ so-and-so city, place or time, waiting for all those simple struggles to end.
Here I am in Boston, on Marlborough 239—the house that Elizabeth Hardwick lived in during the 1950s—now rereading those opening pages of Sleepless Nights, again, from my very own Cambridge address. Hardwick hated Boston, with a passion, and one sees why quite easily. And still, here we are, as if in just another line of Apollinaire’s poem: ‘Here you are in’ so-and-so city, place or time, waiting for all those simple struggles to end.
Tunnel of Love #[I lost count?]: “Blake’s Left Foot Land” [Left of RomanticsLand Main Street]: “The Place where every foot has its / Own Vortex! Come travel through divine Footfinity, pass that Vortex, ride the roll back, meander the tarsal path to see the sole infolding as total fun! / Here at Left Foot Land every wanderer keeps one foot on the path / while other keeps onwards in his wondrous journey to the / Nether Regions of the Imagination!” 🦶 🚶POV: the Essential Extension—Walk into the Vortex! With @helterskelley
Tunnel of Love #[I lost count?]: “Blake’s Left Foot Land” [Left of RomanticsLand Main Street]: “The Place where every foot has its / Own Vortex! Come travel through divine Footfinity, pass that Vortex, ride the roll back, meander the tarsal path to see the sole infolding as total fun! / Here at Left Foot Land every wanderer keeps one foot on the path / while other keeps onwards in his wondrous journey to the / Nether Regions of the Imagination!” 🦶 🚶POV: the Essential Extension—Walk into the Vortex! With @helterskelley
Tunnel of Love #[I lost count?]: “Blake’s Left Foot Land” [Left of RomanticsLand Main Street]: “The Place where every foot has its / Own Vortex! Come travel through divine Footfinity, pass that Vortex, ride the roll back, meander the tarsal path to see the sole infolding as total fun! / Here at Left Foot Land every wanderer keeps one foot on the path / while other keeps onwards in his wondrous journey to the / Nether Regions of the Imagination!” 🦶 🚶POV: the Essential Extension—Walk into the Vortex! With @helterskelley
Tunnel of Love #[I lost count?]: “Blake’s Left Foot Land” [Left of RomanticsLand Main Street]: “The Place where every foot has its / Own Vortex! Come travel through divine Footfinity, pass that Vortex, ride the roll back, meander the tarsal path to see the sole infolding as total fun! / Here at Left Foot Land every wanderer keeps one foot on the path / while other keeps onwards in his wondrous journey to the / Nether Regions of the Imagination!” 🦶 🚶POV: the Essential Extension—Walk into the Vortex! With @helterskelley
Tunnel of Love #[I lost count?]: “Blake’s Left Foot Land” [Left of RomanticsLand Main Street]: “The Place where every foot has its / Own Vortex! Come travel through divine Footfinity, pass that Vortex, ride the roll back, meander the tarsal path to see the sole infolding as total fun! / Here at Left Foot Land every wanderer keeps one foot on the path / while other keeps onwards in his wondrous journey to the / Nether Regions of the Imagination!” 🦶 🚶POV: the Essential Extension—Walk into the Vortex! With @helterskelley
Tunnel of Love #[I lost count?]: “Blake’s Left Foot Land” [Left of RomanticsLand Main Street]: “The Place where every foot has its / Own Vortex! Come travel through divine Footfinity, pass that Vortex, ride the roll back, meander the tarsal path to see the sole infolding as total fun! / Here at Left Foot Land every wanderer keeps one foot on the path / while other keeps onwards in his wondrous journey to the / Nether Regions of the Imagination!” 🦶 🚶POV: the Essential Extension—Walk into the Vortex! With @helterskelley
Tunnel of Love #[I lost count?]: “Blake’s Left Foot Land” [Left of RomanticsLand Main Street]: “The Place where every foot has its / Own Vortex! Come travel through divine Footfinity, pass that Vortex, ride the roll back, meander the tarsal path to see the sole infolding as total fun! / Here at Left Foot Land every wanderer keeps one foot on the path / while other keeps onwards in his wondrous journey to the / Nether Regions of the Imagination!” 🦶 🚶POV: the Essential Extension—Walk into the Vortex! With @helterskelley
Tunnel of Love #[I lost count?]: “Blake’s Left Foot Land” [Left of RomanticsLand Main Street]: “The Place where every foot has its / Own Vortex! Come travel through divine Footfinity, pass that Vortex, ride the roll back, meander the tarsal path to see the sole infolding as total fun! / Here at Left Foot Land every wanderer keeps one foot on the path / while other keeps onwards in his wondrous journey to the / Nether Regions of the Imagination!” 🦶 🚶POV: the Essential Extension—Walk into the Vortex! With @helterskelley
Tunnel of Love #[I lost count?]: “Blake’s Left Foot Land” [Left of RomanticsLand Main Street]: “The Place where every foot has its / Own Vortex! Come travel through divine Footfinity, pass that Vortex, ride the roll back, meander the tarsal path to see the sole infolding as total fun! / Here at Left Foot Land every wanderer keeps one foot on the path / while other keeps onwards in his wondrous journey to the / Nether Regions of the Imagination!” 🦶 🚶POV: the Essential Extension—Walk into the Vortex! With @helterskelley
“Vintage Krampus drawings from Studies for the film “Kranky Klaus”” by Cameron Jamie and other holiday greetings. Gruss vom Krampus, all ye kiddies, naughty and nice!
“Vintage Krampus drawings from Studies for the film “Kranky Klaus”” by Cameron Jamie and other holiday greetings. Gruss vom Krampus, all ye kiddies, naughty and nice!
“Vintage Krampus drawings from Studies for the film “Kranky Klaus”” by Cameron Jamie and other holiday greetings. Gruss vom Krampus, all ye kiddies, naughty and nice!
“Vintage Krampus drawings from Studies for the film “Kranky Klaus”” by Cameron Jamie and other holiday greetings. Gruss vom Krampus, all ye kiddies, naughty and nice!
“Vintage Krampus drawings from Studies for the film “Kranky Klaus”” by Cameron Jamie and other holiday greetings. Gruss vom Krampus, all ye kiddies, naughty and nice!
“Vintage Krampus drawings from Studies for the film “Kranky Klaus”” by Cameron Jamie and other holiday greetings. Gruss vom Krampus, all ye kiddies, naughty and nice!
“Vintage Krampus drawings from Studies for the film “Kranky Klaus”” by Cameron Jamie and other holiday greetings. Gruss vom Krampus, all ye kiddies, naughty and nice!
“If disaster means being separated from the star (if it means the decline which characterizes disorientation when the link with fortune from on high is cut), then it indicates a fall beneath disastrous necessity. […] We have freed the Star [of the Matterhorn?]—henceforth without radiance: dark he wheels, the star of disaster, vanished as he wished it, in the anonymous tomb of his renown.” -Blanchot, On the Dis-Astering of the Ride [cf. Santa Claus’ involvement in the separation of the star?]
“If disaster means being separated from the star (if it means the decline which characterizes disorientation when the link with fortune from on high is cut), then it indicates a fall beneath disastrous necessity. […] We have freed the Star [of the Matterhorn?]—henceforth without radiance: dark he wheels, the star of disaster, vanished as he wished it, in the anonymous tomb of his renown.” -Blanchot, On the Dis-Astering of the Ride [cf. Santa Claus’ involvement in the separation of the star?]
“If disaster means being separated from the star (if it means the decline which characterizes disorientation when the link with fortune from on high is cut), then it indicates a fall beneath disastrous necessity. […] We have freed the Star [of the Matterhorn?]—henceforth without radiance: dark he wheels, the star of disaster, vanished as he wished it, in the anonymous tomb of his renown.” -Blanchot, On the Dis-Astering of the Ride [cf. Santa Claus’ involvement in the separation of the star?]
“If disaster means being separated from the star (if it means the decline which characterizes disorientation when the link with fortune from on high is cut), then it indicates a fall beneath disastrous necessity. […] We have freed the Star [of the Matterhorn?]—henceforth without radiance: dark he wheels, the star of disaster, vanished as he wished it, in the anonymous tomb of his renown.” -Blanchot, On the Dis-Astering of the Ride [cf. Santa Claus’ involvement in the separation of the star?]
From the debris of notes: “Still those “secret springs”? “The source of human thought”? Nay, Shelley—or, not exactly. Rather, the space that opens between poetic acts reveals “this pattern, the energy of repetition—in other words, rhythm.” If movements are signs, actions, transports, passages, and mechanisms, rhythm is what expresses the measure of change. It paces thought, stressing the minutiae,... the sovereignty of the accidental, per Blanchot… pointing to where the stress falls within our cadent daily passing, our comings and goings. From this dimly-lit place within the work, within the chaos of the ‘many-voiced ravine,’ language flows, currents and recurs, essaying to form refrains: thoughts loop-de-loop, desiring minds idée fixate, words fold back into la langue. Moncrieff’s idiosyncratic translation of Proust’s first line comes to mind: “For a long time, I used to go to bed early.”” Another spiral season, tunnel of love, spinny ride. 🌀🌫️ 💨
From the debris of notes: “Still those “secret springs”? “The source of human thought”? Nay, Shelley—or, not exactly. Rather, the space that opens between poetic acts reveals “this pattern, the energy of repetition—in other words, rhythm.” If movements are signs, actions, transports, passages, and mechanisms, rhythm is what expresses the measure of change. It paces thought, stressing the minutiae,... the sovereignty of the accidental, per Blanchot… pointing to where the stress falls within our cadent daily passing, our comings and goings. From this dimly-lit place within the work, within the chaos of the ‘many-voiced ravine,’ language flows, currents and recurs, essaying to form refrains: thoughts loop-de-loop, desiring minds idée fixate, words fold back into la langue. Moncrieff’s idiosyncratic translation of Proust’s first line comes to mind: “For a long time, I used to go to bed early.”” Another spiral season, tunnel of love, spinny ride. 🌀🌫️ 💨
From the debris of notes: “Still those “secret springs”? “The source of human thought”? Nay, Shelley—or, not exactly. Rather, the space that opens between poetic acts reveals “this pattern, the energy of repetition—in other words, rhythm.” If movements are signs, actions, transports, passages, and mechanisms, rhythm is what expresses the measure of change. It paces thought, stressing the minutiae,... the sovereignty of the accidental, per Blanchot… pointing to where the stress falls within our cadent daily passing, our comings and goings. From this dimly-lit place within the work, within the chaos of the ‘many-voiced ravine,’ language flows, currents and recurs, essaying to form refrains: thoughts loop-de-loop, desiring minds idée fixate, words fold back into la langue. Moncrieff’s idiosyncratic translation of Proust’s first line comes to mind: “For a long time, I used to go to bed early.”” Another spiral season, tunnel of love, spinny ride. 🌀🌫️ 💨
From the debris of notes: “Still those “secret springs”? “The source of human thought”? Nay, Shelley—or, not exactly. Rather, the space that opens between poetic acts reveals “this pattern, the energy of repetition—in other words, rhythm.” If movements are signs, actions, transports, passages, and mechanisms, rhythm is what expresses the measure of change. It paces thought, stressing the minutiae,... the sovereignty of the accidental, per Blanchot… pointing to where the stress falls within our cadent daily passing, our comings and goings. From this dimly-lit place within the work, within the chaos of the ‘many-voiced ravine,’ language flows, currents and recurs, essaying to form refrains: thoughts loop-de-loop, desiring minds idée fixate, words fold back into la langue. Moncrieff’s idiosyncratic translation of Proust’s first line comes to mind: “For a long time, I used to go to bed early.”” Another spiral season, tunnel of love, spinny ride. 🌀🌫️ 💨
From the debris of notes: “Still those “secret springs”? “The source of human thought”? Nay, Shelley—or, not exactly. Rather, the space that opens between poetic acts reveals “this pattern, the energy of repetition—in other words, rhythm.” If movements are signs, actions, transports, passages, and mechanisms, rhythm is what expresses the measure of change. It paces thought, stressing the minutiae,... the sovereignty of the accidental, per Blanchot… pointing to where the stress falls within our cadent daily passing, our comings and goings. From this dimly-lit place within the work, within the chaos of the ‘many-voiced ravine,’ language flows, currents and recurs, essaying to form refrains: thoughts loop-de-loop, desiring minds idée fixate, words fold back into la langue. Moncrieff’s idiosyncratic translation of Proust’s first line comes to mind: “For a long time, I used to go to bed early.”” Another spiral season, tunnel of love, spinny ride. 🌀🌫️ 💨
From the debris of notes: “Still those “secret springs”? “The source of human thought”? Nay, Shelley—or, not exactly. Rather, the space that opens between poetic acts reveals “this pattern, the energy of repetition—in other words, rhythm.” If movements are signs, actions, transports, passages, and mechanisms, rhythm is what expresses the measure of change. It paces thought, stressing the minutiae,... the sovereignty of the accidental, per Blanchot… pointing to where the stress falls within our cadent daily passing, our comings and goings. From this dimly-lit place within the work, within the chaos of the ‘many-voiced ravine,’ language flows, currents and recurs, essaying to form refrains: thoughts loop-de-loop, desiring minds idée fixate, words fold back into la langue. Moncrieff’s idiosyncratic translation of Proust’s first line comes to mind: “For a long time, I used to go to bed early.”” Another spiral season, tunnel of love, spinny ride. 🌀🌫️ 💨
From the debris of notes: “Still those “secret springs”? “The source of human thought”? Nay, Shelley—or, not exactly. Rather, the space that opens between poetic acts reveals “this pattern, the energy of repetition—in other words, rhythm.” If movements are signs, actions, transports, passages, and mechanisms, rhythm is what expresses the measure of change. It paces thought, stressing the minutiae,... the sovereignty of the accidental, per Blanchot… pointing to where the stress falls within our cadent daily passing, our comings and goings. From this dimly-lit place within the work, within the chaos of the ‘many-voiced ravine,’ language flows, currents and recurs, essaying to form refrains: thoughts loop-de-loop, desiring minds idée fixate, words fold back into la langue. Moncrieff’s idiosyncratic translation of Proust’s first line comes to mind: “For a long time, I used to go to bed early.”” Another spiral season, tunnel of love, spinny ride. 🌀🌫️ 💨
From the debris of notes: “Still those “secret springs”? “The source of human thought”? Nay, Shelley—or, not exactly. Rather, the space that opens between poetic acts reveals “this pattern, the energy of repetition—in other words, rhythm.” If movements are signs, actions, transports, passages, and mechanisms, rhythm is what expresses the measure of change. It paces thought, stressing the minutiae,... the sovereignty of the accidental, per Blanchot… pointing to where the stress falls within our cadent daily passing, our comings and goings. From this dimly-lit place within the work, within the chaos of the ‘many-voiced ravine,’ language flows, currents and recurs, essaying to form refrains: thoughts loop-de-loop, desiring minds idée fixate, words fold back into la langue. Moncrieff’s idiosyncratic translation of Proust’s first line comes to mind: “For a long time, I used to go to bed early.”” Another spiral season, tunnel of love, spinny ride. 🌀🌫️ 💨
From the debris of notes: “Still those “secret springs”? “The source of human thought”? Nay, Shelley—or, not exactly. Rather, the space that opens between poetic acts reveals “this pattern, the energy of repetition—in other words, rhythm.” If movements are signs, actions, transports, passages, and mechanisms, rhythm is what expresses the measure of change. It paces thought, stressing the minutiae,... the sovereignty of the accidental, per Blanchot… pointing to where the stress falls within our cadent daily passing, our comings and goings. From this dimly-lit place within the work, within the chaos of the ‘many-voiced ravine,’ language flows, currents and recurs, essaying to form refrains: thoughts loop-de-loop, desiring minds idée fixate, words fold back into la langue. Moncrieff’s idiosyncratic translation of Proust’s first line comes to mind: “For a long time, I used to go to bed early.”” Another spiral season, tunnel of love, spinny ride. 🌀🌫️ 💨
From the debris of notes: “Still those “secret springs”? “The source of human thought”? Nay, Shelley—or, not exactly. Rather, the space that opens between poetic acts reveals “this pattern, the energy of repetition—in other words, rhythm.” If movements are signs, actions, transports, passages, and mechanisms, rhythm is what expresses the measure of change. It paces thought, stressing the minutiae,... the sovereignty of the accidental, per Blanchot… pointing to where the stress falls within our cadent daily passing, our comings and goings. From this dimly-lit place within the work, within the chaos of the ‘many-voiced ravine,’ language flows, currents and recurs, essaying to form refrains: thoughts loop-de-loop, desiring minds idée fixate, words fold back into la langue. Moncrieff’s idiosyncratic translation of Proust’s first line comes to mind: “For a long time, I used to go to bed early.”” Another spiral season, tunnel of love, spinny ride. 🌀🌫️ 💨
From the debris of notes: “Still those “secret springs”? “The source of human thought”? Nay, Shelley—or, not exactly. Rather, the space that opens between poetic acts reveals “this pattern, the energy of repetition—in other words, rhythm.” If movements are signs, actions, transports, passages, and mechanisms, rhythm is what expresses the measure of change. It paces thought, stressing the minutiae,... the sovereignty of the accidental, per Blanchot… pointing to where the stress falls within our cadent daily passing, our comings and goings. From this dimly-lit place within the work, within the chaos of the ‘many-voiced ravine,’ language flows, currents and recurs, essaying to form refrains: thoughts loop-de-loop, desiring minds idée fixate, words fold back into la langue. Moncrieff’s idiosyncratic translation of Proust’s first line comes to mind: “For a long time, I used to go to bed early.”” Another spiral season, tunnel of love, spinny ride. 🌀🌫️ 💨
From the debris of notes: “Still those “secret springs”? “The source of human thought”? Nay, Shelley—or, not exactly. Rather, the space that opens between poetic acts reveals “this pattern, the energy of repetition—in other words, rhythm.” If movements are signs, actions, transports, passages, and mechanisms, rhythm is what expresses the measure of change. It paces thought, stressing the minutiae,... the sovereignty of the accidental, per Blanchot… pointing to where the stress falls within our cadent daily passing, our comings and goings. From this dimly-lit place within the work, within the chaos of the ‘many-voiced ravine,’ language flows, currents and recurs, essaying to form refrains: thoughts loop-de-loop, desiring minds idée fixate, words fold back into la langue. Moncrieff’s idiosyncratic translation of Proust’s first line comes to mind: “For a long time, I used to go to bed early.”” Another spiral season, tunnel of love, spinny ride. 🌀🌫️ 💨
From the debris of notes: “Still those “secret springs”? “The source of human thought”? Nay, Shelley—or, not exactly. Rather, the space that opens between poetic acts reveals “this pattern, the energy of repetition—in other words, rhythm.” If movements are signs, actions, transports, passages, and mechanisms, rhythm is what expresses the measure of change. It paces thought, stressing the minutiae,... the sovereignty of the accidental, per Blanchot… pointing to where the stress falls within our cadent daily passing, our comings and goings. From this dimly-lit place within the work, within the chaos of the ‘many-voiced ravine,’ language flows, currents and recurs, essaying to form refrains: thoughts loop-de-loop, desiring minds idée fixate, words fold back into la langue. Moncrieff’s idiosyncratic translation of Proust’s first line comes to mind: “For a long time, I used to go to bed early.”” Another spiral season, tunnel of love, spinny ride. 🌀🌫️ 💨
From the debris of notes: “Still those “secret springs”? “The source of human thought”? Nay, Shelley—or, not exactly. Rather, the space that opens between poetic acts reveals “this pattern, the energy of repetition—in other words, rhythm.” If movements are signs, actions, transports, passages, and mechanisms, rhythm is what expresses the measure of change. It paces thought, stressing the minutiae,... the sovereignty of the accidental, per Blanchot… pointing to where the stress falls within our cadent daily passing, our comings and goings. From this dimly-lit place within the work, within the chaos of the ‘many-voiced ravine,’ language flows, currents and recurs, essaying to form refrains: thoughts loop-de-loop, desiring minds idée fixate, words fold back into la langue. Moncrieff’s idiosyncratic translation of Proust’s first line comes to mind: “For a long time, I used to go to bed early.”” Another spiral season, tunnel of love, spinny ride. 🌀🌫️ 💨
From the debris of notes: “Still those “secret springs”? “The source of human thought”? Nay, Shelley—or, not exactly. Rather, the space that opens between poetic acts reveals “this pattern, the energy of repetition—in other words, rhythm.” If movements are signs, actions, transports, passages, and mechanisms, rhythm is what expresses the measure of change. It paces thought, stressing the minutiae,... the sovereignty of the accidental, per Blanchot… pointing to where the stress falls within our cadent daily passing, our comings and goings. From this dimly-lit place within the work, within the chaos of the ‘many-voiced ravine,’ language flows, currents and recurs, essaying to form refrains: thoughts loop-de-loop, desiring minds idée fixate, words fold back into la langue. Moncrieff’s idiosyncratic translation of Proust’s first line comes to mind: “For a long time, I used to go to bed early.”” Another spiral season, tunnel of love, spinny ride. 🌀🌫️ 💨
From the debris of notes: “Still those “secret springs”? “The source of human thought”? Nay, Shelley—or, not exactly. Rather, the space that opens between poetic acts reveals “this pattern, the energy of repetition—in other words, rhythm.” If movements are signs, actions, transports, passages, and mechanisms, rhythm is what expresses the measure of change. It paces thought, stressing the minutiae,... the sovereignty of the accidental, per Blanchot… pointing to where the stress falls within our cadent daily passing, our comings and goings. From this dimly-lit place within the work, within the chaos of the ‘many-voiced ravine,’ language flows, currents and recurs, essaying to form refrains: thoughts loop-de-loop, desiring minds idée fixate, words fold back into la langue. Moncrieff’s idiosyncratic translation of Proust’s first line comes to mind: “For a long time, I used to go to bed early.”” Another spiral season, tunnel of love, spinny ride. 🌀🌫️ 💨
From the debris of notes: “Still those “secret springs”? “The source of human thought”? Nay, Shelley—or, not exactly. Rather, the space that opens between poetic acts reveals “this pattern, the energy of repetition—in other words, rhythm.” If movements are signs, actions, transports, passages, and mechanisms, rhythm is what expresses the measure of change. It paces thought, stressing the minutiae,... the sovereignty of the accidental, per Blanchot… pointing to where the stress falls within our cadent daily passing, our comings and goings. From this dimly-lit place within the work, within the chaos of the ‘many-voiced ravine,’ language flows, currents and recurs, essaying to form refrains: thoughts loop-de-loop, desiring minds idée fixate, words fold back into la langue. Moncrieff’s idiosyncratic translation of Proust’s first line comes to mind: “For a long time, I used to go to bed early.”” Another spiral season, tunnel of love, spinny ride. 🌀🌫️ 💨
From the debris of notes: “Still those “secret springs”? “The source of human thought”? Nay, Shelley—or, not exactly. Rather, the space that opens between poetic acts reveals “this pattern, the energy of repetition—in other words, rhythm.” If movements are signs, actions, transports, passages, and mechanisms, rhythm is what expresses the measure of change. It paces thought, stressing the minutiae,... the sovereignty of the accidental, per Blanchot… pointing to where the stress falls within our cadent daily passing, our comings and goings. From this dimly-lit place within the work, within the chaos of the ‘many-voiced ravine,’ language flows, currents and recurs, essaying to form refrains: thoughts loop-de-loop, desiring minds idée fixate, words fold back into la langue. Moncrieff’s idiosyncratic translation of Proust’s first line comes to mind: “For a long time, I used to go to bed early.”” Another spiral season, tunnel of love, spinny ride. 🌀🌫️ 💨
From the debris of notes: “Still those “secret springs”? “The source of human thought”? Nay, Shelley—or, not exactly. Rather, the space that opens between poetic acts reveals “this pattern, the energy of repetition—in other words, rhythm.” If movements are signs, actions, transports, passages, and mechanisms, rhythm is what expresses the measure of change. It paces thought, stressing the minutiae,... the sovereignty of the accidental, per Blanchot… pointing to where the stress falls within our cadent daily passing, our comings and goings. From this dimly-lit place within the work, within the chaos of the ‘many-voiced ravine,’ language flows, currents and recurs, essaying to form refrains: thoughts loop-de-loop, desiring minds idée fixate, words fold back into la langue. Moncrieff’s idiosyncratic translation of Proust’s first line comes to mind: “For a long time, I used to go to bed early.”” Another spiral season, tunnel of love, spinny ride. 🌀🌫️ 💨
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