I made this blog shortly after tumblr terminated eternal--return. A few days later this blog was also terminated. So frustrating! So...I made a third. And then somehow this blog came back. Please come follow me where I'll be active
@eternal--returned
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“[Love] promises a way out of our suffering. We suffer from our isolation in our individual separateness. Love reiterates: “If only you possessed the beloved one, your soul sick with loneliness would be one with the soul of the beloved.” Partially at least this promise is a fraud.”
— Georges Bataille, in Erotism: Death and Sensuality
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john lavery’s “anna pavlova as dying swan, (1921)” .
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Masha Raymers ǁ Over the Horizon (2024)
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America is made up, as we all know, of people who ran away from such ugly situations. America is the land par excellence of expatriates and escapists, renegades, to use a strong word. A wonderful world we might have made of this new continent if we had really run out on our fellow-men in Europe, Asia and Africa. A brave, new world it might have become, had we had the courage to turn our back on the old, to build afresh, to eradicate the poisons which had accumulated through centuries of bitter rivalry, jealousy and strife.
Henry Miller ǁ The Air-Conditioned Nightmare (1945)
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Marcus Bunyan ǁ Traveling the wonderful loneliness (2019-24)
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To old men and to bored, morose young ones it seemed that they themselves came to resemble her, having been with her and spoken with her for a time. Anyone who talked with her and saw her bright little smile at every word and her gleaming white teeth, which showed constantly, thought himself especially amiable that day. And that is what each of them thought.
Leo Tolstoy ǁ War and Peace (1869)
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André Kertész ǁ Lost Cloud, New York City (1937)
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Charlotte Kemp Muhl
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Against a grayish sky
a grayer cloud
rimmed black by the sun.
On the left, that is, the right,
a white cherry branch with black blossoms.
Light shadows on your dark face.
You'd just taken a seat at the table
and put your hands, gone gray, upon it.
You look like a ghost
who's trying to summon up the living.
(And since I still number among them,
I should appear to him and tap:
good night, that is, good morning,
farewell, that is, hello.
And not grudge questions to any of his answers
concerning life,
that storm before the calm.)
Wisława Szymborska ǁ “Negative.” Moment (2002)
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WATCHMAN: It's one long year I'm lying here watching
waiting watching waiting—
Aeschylus (trans. Anne Carson) ǁ Agamemnon, An Orestia (2009)
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cruelmiracles ǁ Clyde Lake, Kamas, Utah (2023)
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the 3 of us were somewhere
between 9 and 10 years old
and we would gather in the bushes
alongside the driveway about 9:30
p.m. and look under the shade
and through the curtains at Mrs. Curson's
crossed legs—always
one foot wiggling, such a fine
thin ankle!
and she usually had her skirt
above the knee
(actually above the knee!)
and then above the garter that
held the hose sometimes we could see
a glimpse of her white thigh.
how we looked and breathed and
dreamed about those perfect
white thighs!
suddenly Mr. Curson would
get up from his chair to
let the dog out and
we'd start running through strange yards
climbing 5 foot lattice fences,
falling, getting up, running for
blocks
finally getting brave again and
stopping at some hamburger stand
for a coke.
I'm sure that Mrs. Curson never
realized what her legs and white
thighs did for us
then.
Charles Bukowski ǁ “legs and white thighs.” what matters most is how well you walk through the fire (1999)
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Hajime Kinoko ǁ Funny (No date)
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I will enjoy the present and be done with the past. Dear friend, you are quite right, there would be less pain among people if they would desist—God knows what makes them do it—from so busily employing their imaginations in remembering past ills rather than in enduring an indifferent present.
Johann Wolfgang von Goethe ǁ The Sorrows of Young Werther (1774)
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Tommy Nease ǁ La Reina de la Noche (2024)
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