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Senseless hopes excite me.
Before me I see a sort of flame, a flame that is me, that kindles me.
George Bataille, On Nietzsche
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What follows when imagination’s not inspired by waiting,
body and spirit rendered sick and tired by waiting?

Wrinkles, stock market losses, abscessed teeth, rejection slips:
some if the benefits acquired by waiting.

Taught from childhood that patience is a virtue,
she thought that she could get what she desired by waiting.

History, a child at the chapter’s cusp
will only find out what transpired by waiting.

Does anyone escape alienated labor’s
cycle of being hired, exploited, made redundant, fired, by waiting?

He rolls a pen like a chess-piece between thumb and forefinger:
he won’t emerge from the morass in which he’s mired by waiting.

If poetry’s imagination’s daughter,
didn’t someone say she was sired by waiting?

She raised her children, wrote at dawn, ignored the factions,
arrived at being read, remembered and admired by waiting.

Once a pair of lovers downed shots in a Chelsea bar,
their nerves and fantasies hot-wired by waiting.

Sweating, shackled and blindfolded in a basement,
will I get out, the hostage (of whom) inquired, by waiting?

Marilyn Hacker, Ghazal: Waiting
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Yves Klein, Fire Paintings

Yves Klein, Fire Paintings

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Brod acted wrongly: he should have burnt Kaftka’s work. The latter understood the nature of time; the former did not.
John Roffe, Muttering for the Sake of Stars
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Zeljko Jerman, Fuck the Past, 1974.

Zeljko Jerman, Fuck the Past, 1974.

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Marco Fusinato, This is not my World, 2012

Marco Fusinato, This is not my World, 2012

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Zeljko Jerman, This is not my world, 1975

Zeljko Jerman, This is not my world, 1975

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ŽELJKO JERMAN, June 22, 1975. 

ŽELJKO JERMAN, June 22, 1975. 

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What you are relates to an activity that links the uncounted elements that compose you to an intense communication of these elements among themselves. These elements are contagions of energy, movement, and heat, or transfers of elements, and they constitute the inner life of all organic beings. Life is never situated at some specific point, but quickly moves from one point to another (or from multiple points to other points) like a current or sort of electrical stream… Your life is not limited to that incomprehensible inner stream; it also streams out from itself, incessantly opening to whatever flows out or rushes up to it. The ongoing whirling that composes you collides with similar whirlings, which form a vast figure driven by rhythmic restlessness. Now, for you to live life signifies not just the flows and momentary dispositions of light that unite in you but the movements of heat or light moving from one person to another, or from you to another person, or from another to you (even as you now read me, the contagion of my fever reaches you): words, books, monuments, symbols, laughter - all these represent just so many paths to that contagiousness, to those impulses…
Georges Bataille, From Inner Experience as quoted in On Nietzsche
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