Anna Akhmatova | Sketches by Amedeo Modigliani, 1911

Amedeo Modigliani, from the sketches of Anna Akhmatova, 1911
Amedeo Modigliani, Anna Akhmatova, 1911                                               Amedeo Modigliani, Standing Nude in Profile with Lighted Candle, 1911
Modigliani’s drawing in black crayon of Anna Akhmatova, Woman Reclining on a Bed, 1911
Amedeo Modigliani, Seated Female Nude, possibly Anna Akhmatova, 1911
Amedeo Modigliani, Kneeling Blue Caryatid, 1911                                    Amedeo Modigliani, Anna Akhmatova as Acrobat, 1911  
^ (thought to have been inspired by the visits the pair made to the Louvre’s Egyptian gallery)              
Amedeo Modigliani, Nude, 1911


 “Whenever it rained (it often rained in Paris) Modigliani took with him a huge old black umbrella.
 We would sit together under this umbrella on a bench in the Jardin du Luxembourg in the warm
 summer rain. We would jointly recite Verlaine, whom we knew by heart, and we were glad we
 shared the same interests.”

Anna Akhmatova

Anna Akhmatova (1889 – 1966)                          Amedeo Modigliani (1884-1920)


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Book//mark - The Transmigration of Timothy Archer | Philip K. Dick, 1982

The Transmigration of Timothy Archer, 1982                                                                                    Philip K. Dick  


“Barefoot conducts his seminars on his houseboat in Sausalito. It costs a hundred dollars to
find out why we are on this Earth. You also get a sandwich, but I wasn't hungry that day.
John Lennon had just been killed and I think I know why we are on this Earth; it's to find
out that what you love the most will be taken away from you, probably due to an error in
high places rather than by design."

“The fixed idea of madness is fascinating, if you are inclined toward viewing with
interest something that is palpably impossible yet nonetheless exists.” 

“So books are real to me, too; they link me not just with other minds but with the vision of
other minds, what those minds understand and see. I see their worlds as well as I see my own.” 

“There is a line somewhere in Wozzeck that translates out to, roughly, 'The world is awful.'
 Yes, I said to myself as I shot across the Bay Bridge not giving a fuck how fast I drove, that
sums it up. That is high art: 'The world is awful.' That says it all. This is what we pay composers
and painters and the great writers to do: tell us this; from figuring this out, they earn a living.
What a masterful, incisive insight. What penetrating intelligence. A rat in a drain ditch could
tell you the same thing, were it able to talk. If rats could talk, I'd do anything they said.” 

“Madness, like small fish, runs in hosts....” 

“That is not how you do it; you do not solve one problem with another, greater problem.” 

“Jesus Christ!" I said. "You can't sleep with a bishop!" "I already have," Kirsten said.” 

"My point," Tim said, "is that if the Logia predate Jesus by two hundred years, then the Gospels
are suspect, we have no evidence that Jesus was God, very God, God incarnate, and therefore
the basis of our religion is gone. Jesus simply becomes a teacher representing a particular Jewish
sect that ate and drank some kind of – well, whatever it was, the anokhi*, and it made them immortal."

“Sometimes, I guess, an over-valent idea enters the mind as a problem, or imaginary problem.
This is not so rare. You are getting ready for bed, late at night, and all of a sudden the idea comes
 into your mind that you did not shut off your car lights. You look out the window at your car-which
 is parked in your driveway in plain sight-and you can see that it shows no lights. But then you think:
 Maybe I left the lights on and they stayed on so long that they ran the battery down. So to be sure,
 I must go out and check. You put on your robe and go out, unlock the car door, get in and pull
on the headlight switch. The lights come on. You turn them off, get out, lock up the car and
return to the house. What has happened is that you have gone crazy; you have become psychotic.
Because you have discounted the testimony of your senses; you could see out the window that
 the car lights were not on, yet you went out to check anyhow. This is the cardinal factor: you
saw but you did not believe. Or, conversely, you did not see something but you believed it
 anyhow. Theoretically, you could travel between your bedroom and the car forever, trapped
 in an eternal closed loop of unlocking the car, trying the light switch, returning to the
house-in this regard you herewith are a machine. You are no longer human.” 

“No single thing abides; and all things are fucked up.” 

“Just because something bears the aspect of the inevitable one should not,
therefore, go along willingly with it.” 

“The trouble with being educated is that it takes a long time; it uses up the better part of
your life and when you are finished what you know is that you would have benefited
 more by going into banking.” 

“It is like information theory; it is noise driving out signal. But it is noise posing as signal so
 you do not even recognize it as noise. The intelligence agencies call it disinformation, something
 the Soviet Bloc relies on heavily. If you can float enough disinformation into circulation you will
 totally abolish everyone's contact with reality, probably your own included."

“I am the last living person who knew the Bishop Timothy Archer of the Diocese
of California, his mistress, his son my husband.”

"What I wanted was immediate, fixed, real, tangible…it had to do with my house and my job,
and it had to with banishing ideas finally from my mind, ideas about other ideas, an infinite
 regress of them, spiraling off forever.” 

“Simply recycles his own thoughts forever, enjoying them even though, like transmitted
information, they degenerate. They become, finally, noise. And the signal that is intellect
fades out." 


Philip K. Dick, The Transmigration of Timothy Archer, 1982


 * ''Anokhi is a psychedelic mushroom out of which 
the Zadokites made a broth and a bread.'' 

 Lord R.C., Pink Beam: A Philip K. Dick Companion,  2007


Fishnet | Robert Lowell, 1917-77

Artur Pastor, Nazaré, 1953-57


Any clear thing that blinds us with surprise,
your wandering silences and bright trouvailles,
dolphin let loose to catch the flashing fish...
saying too little, then too much.
Poets die adolescents, their beat embalms them,
the archetypal voices sing offkey;
the old actor cannot read his friends,
and nevertheless he reads himself aloud,
genuis hums the auditorium dead.
The line must terminate.
Yet my heart rises, I know I've gladdened a lifetime
knotting, undoing a fishnet of tarred rope;
the net will hang on the wall when the fish are eaten,
nailed like illegible bronze on the futureless future. 


Robert Lowell, 1917-77

The Five Senses | Jacob van der Heyden, 1593–1645

"Don't ignore the five senses in search of a sixth."
Bruce Lee
Jacob van der Heyden, Sight, plate one from The Five Senses, 1593–1645
Jacob van der Heyden, Sound, plate two from The Five Senses, 1593–1645
Jacob van der Heyden, Smell, plate three from The Five Senses, 1593–1645
Jacob van der Heyden, Taste, plate four from The Five Senses, 1593–1645
Jacob van der Heyden, Feeling, plate five from The Five Senses, 1593–1645



"Observe, record, tabulate, communicate. Use your five senses.
Learn to see, learn to hear, learn to feel, learn to smell,
and know that bypractice alone you can become expert."

William Osler (1849 – 1919)

Prudence | William Hazlitt, 1778-1830


Επαμεινώντας Γεραντώνης, Αλφαβητάριο Τα καλά παιδιά, 1950


“In some situations, if you say nothing, you are called dull;
if you talk, you are thought impertinent and arrogant. It is
hard to know what to do in this case. The question seems
to be, whether your vanity or your prudence predominates.” 

William Hazlitt, Selected Essays, 1778-1830

Κάποιος | Νάνος Βαλαωρίτης, 1963-65



Κάποιος κοιτάει μέσα μου και βλέπει ότι με βλέπει
κάποιος ακούει μέσα μου κι ακούει ότι μ’ ακούει
με συναντάει το απόγευμα σε μια γωνιά του δρόμου
μαντεύοντας ποιος θα `ναι κει κι όσα θα μου συμβούνε

Κάποιος που είναι μέσα μου μου χτίζει ένα σπιτάκι
και το γκρεμίζει γρήγορα πριν να το κατοικήσω
κάποιος που είναι πάντοτε μπροστά και δε μ’ αφήνει
κλείνοντας και φράζοντας το δρόμο να περάσω

Κάποιος κινείται μέσα μου και ξεκινάει σαν τρένο
γεμάτος ανυπόμονους κι ωραίους ταξιδιώτες
κάποιος μου λέει πως είν’ αργά και δε θα αρθούν εγκαίρως
να μας γλιτώσουν οι καλοί απ’ τις κακές διαθέσεις

Κάποιος μου λέει για στάσου ένα λεπτό περίμενε
στάσου να δω ποιος είσαι συ ποιος είν’ αυτός πού πάμε
μα ήταν άλλος απ’ αυτό που νόμιζα πως ήταν
και που’ ναι πάντα μακριά από εκείνου που είναι

Κάποιος θυμάται μέσα μου έναν παλιό του φίλο
τότε που πέφταν κανονιές η μια πάνω στην άλλη
κάποιος μου λέει δεν είμαι γω που γράφω αυτήν την ώρα
μα ένα χέρι ελαστικό που σπρώχνει το δικό μου

Κάποιος μιλάει μέσα μου όταν μιλάω με κάποιον
και του εξηγεί πως γίνεται το κάθε τι στον κόσμο
πως γίνεται το ανώμαλο απ’ το κανονικό
και ο καπνός απ’ τη φωτιά πως βγαίνει γαλανόλευκος

Κι απ’ τη βροχή το σύννεφο πως χαμηλώνει αθόρυβα
κι αδειάζοντας πως πέθαινε επάνω από τα σπίτια
κι από την πόρτα του μυαλού μια σκέψη πως μπαινόβγαινε
αλείβοντας τα λόγια της με της μιλιάς το μέλι

Ένας σκορπιός τρυπήθηκε απ’ το κεντρί του μόνος
κάποιο ρολόι αδέσποτο μπερδεύοντας τις ώρες
χτυπούσε οκτώ στις έντεκα και δώδεκα στις μία
απάνω στο καμπαναριό ή μέσα στην καρδιά μου

Ανοίξτε αμέσως για να μπει αυτός ο κάποιος άλλος
να μπει απ’ το παράθυρο όπως μια πεταλούδα
που με κοιτάει όταν κοιτώ μέσα στον εαυτό μου
μες το δικό μου πρόσωπο το πρόσωπο ενός άλλου

Νάνος Βαλαωρίτης, Κάποιος
Ποιήματα - 2 - Η ανισόρροπη Μούσα 1963-1965

The Book & the Movie: The Confusions of Young Törless | Robert Musil, 1906 / Volker Schlöndorff, 1966


“The feeling of not being understood and of not understanding the world is no mere accompaniment
 of first passion, but its sole non-accidental cause. And the passion itself is a panic-stricken flight in
 which being together with the other means only a doubled solitude.”

Robert Musil, The Confusions of Young Törless, 1906



“His life was focused on each single day. For him each night meant a void, a grave, extinction. 
The capacity to lay oneself down to die at the end of every day, without thinking anything 
of it, was something he had not yet acquired.”

Robert Musil, The Confusions of Young Törless, 1906


"Are grownups like that too? Is the world like that? Is it a general rule that there is something 
inside us that is stronger, bigger, darker, more beautiful and passionate than we are? Over 
which we have so little power that we can only aimlessly scatter thousands of seeds, until 
from one a sprout suddenly shoots up like a dark flame that far outgrows us?… And for 
answer there was an impatient ‘Yes’ quivering in every nerve in his body."

Robert Musil, The Confusions of Young Törless, 1906


‘But anyway, are you going to count the moments of humiliation that every great passion burns
 into our soul? Just think of the times of deliberate humbling during a love-affair. Those times 
of rapture when lovers bend over certain deep wells or put their ears to each other’s heart to 
see if they can hear the claws of the restless tigers impatiently scratching at the walls of their 
prison? Only to feel themselves tremble! Only to feel alarm at their loneliness above those 
dark, stigmatizing depths! Only abruptly to flee—out of fear of being alone with those dark 
forces—into each other! 

Robert Musil, The Confusions of Young Törless, 1906


“There were moments when life at school became a matter of utter indifference to him. 
Then the putty of his everyday concerns dropped out and, with nothing more to bind 
them together, the hours of his life fell apart.”

Robert Musil, The Confusions of Young Törless, 1906


“In all the corridors the dark waves of silence seemed to be asleep, unmoving. He was trying 
to find his way back to himself, but they were blocking all the doors like black guards.”

Robert Musil, The Confusions of Young Törless, 1906


“We sometimes have a flash of understanding that amounts to the insight of genius, and yet
 it slowly withers, even in our hands - like a flower. The form remains, but the colours 
and the fragrance are gone.”

Robert Musil, The Confusions of Young Törless, 1906



"And suddenly--and it seemed to him as if it had happened for the very first time--Torless became
 aware of how incredibly high the sky was. It was almost a shock. Straight above him, shining
 between the clouds, was a small, blue hole, fathomlessly deep.
He felt it must be possible, if only one had a long, long ladder, to climb up and into it. But the
 further he penetrated, raising himself on his gaze, the further the blue, shining depth receded. 
And still it was as though some time it must be reached, as though by sheer gazing one must
 be able to stop it and hold it. The desire to do this became agonizingly intense."

Robert Musil, The Confusions of Young Törless, 1906


“Now it's all over. I know now I was wrong after all. I'm not afraid of anything any more.
 I know that things are just things and will probably always be so. And I shall probably go 
on for ever seeing them sometimes this way and sometimes that, sometimes with the eyes
 of reason, and sometimes with those other eyes. . . . And I shan't ever try again to compare
 one with the other. .”

Robert Musil, The Confusions of Young Törless, 1906


Der junge Törless (1966)
Director: Volker Schlöndorff
Writers: Robert Musil (novel), Herbert Asmodi (adaptation)
Cinematography: Franz Rath
Stars: Mathieu Carrière, Marian Seidowsky, Bernd Tischer, Barbara Steele

Robert Musil,Young Torless, London, 1955 (first English translation)                                        Movie Poster for Young Torless by Karel Teissig, 1967


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