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#helene cixous
Hélène Cixous, from Hyperdream.
He who dies kills me, I kill myself to death, I am hand in hand with death I spend my days palpating it. You think it isn’t contagious. But the soul that comes close enough to touch catches like a funeral pyre.
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Hélène Cixous, from Hyperdream.
鈥he sudden, grandiose, brutal, unexpected setting off of an internal storm of supernatural size, whose cause I see perfectly but for which I was unprepared.
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“Her libido is cosmic, just as her unconscious is worldwide. Her writing can only keep going, without ever inscribing or discerning contours, daring to make these vertiginous crossings of the other(s) ephemeral and passionate sojourns in him, her, them, whom she inhabits long enough to look at from the point closest to their unconscious from the moment they awaken, to love them at the point closest to their drives; and then further, impregnated through and through with these brief, identificatory embraces, she goes and passes into infinity. She alone dares and wishes to know from within, where she, the outcast, has never ceased to hear the resonance of fore-language. She lets the other language speak-the language of 1,000 tongues which knows neither enclosure nor death. To life she refuses nothing. Her language does not contain, it carries; it does not hold back, it makes possible. When id is ambiguously uttered-the wonder of being several-she doesn’t defend herself against these unknown women whom she’s surprised at becoming, but derives pleasure from this gift of alterability. I am spacious, singing flesh, on which is grafted no one knows which I, more or less human, but alive because of transformation.”

—Hélène Cixous, “The Laugh of the Medusa.”

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“Perhaps all the dragons in our lives are princesses who are only waiting to see us act, just once, with beauty and courage. Perhaps everything that frightens us is, in its deepest essence, something helpless that wants our love.” ― Rainer Maria Rilke, Letters to a Young Poet

“You only have to look at the Medusa straight on to see her. And she’s not deadly. She’s beautiful and she’s laughing.” ― Hélène Cixous, The Laugh of the Medusa

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H茅l猫ne Cixous, The Laugh of the Medusa
Men say there are two unrepresentable things: death and the feminine sex. That’s because they need femininity to be associated with death; it’s the jitters that gives them a hard-on! For themselves! They need to be afraid of us.
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Hélène Cixous, from Stigmata; Unmasked!
When the person turns hisher mask toward the mirror, heshe no longer recognizes himherself. Heshe doesn鈥檛 recognize him-herself in the mask either. The mask is there to keep the self from getting its face back. It is apotropaic: it chases the self away
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Hélène Cixous, from Hyperdream.
So what if this is folly. Who can define the status and value of a presentiment?
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Hélène Cixous, from Hyperdream.
Lately I see a golden haze around beings, the kind that usually only haloes the silhouettes of those who have gone. As if my eyes were filled with loss and I was the one who misted those around me (…)
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Hélène Cixous, from Hyperdream.
I called out to her. I called the way one calls only in dreams of desolation, howling at the empty sky a name one knows lies hidden beyond the reach of the human voice, a long dragged-out high-pitched cry even at the risk of tearing one’s throat, as if one wished to kill some thing that does not answer behind the curtain of sky.
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Hélène Cixous, from Hyperdream.
鈥t would be better to give up sleeping, give up waking give up running, not budge, not think not remember not try to forget any more no more rotting no more fearing no more cherishing what lures the bad thoughts.
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Hélène Cixous, from Hyperdream.
“Instinct?” What kind of word is that? I’m scared of this “instinct” whose beast of burden I’ve become. It’s strange to want who knows what, to obey who knows what, and it’s black as pitch in here.
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Hélène Cixous, from Hyperdream.
I hear it, I hear a murmur your skin speaks, blood thinks, I hear your thought running under the skin I hear your life thinking under the neat spotless silk. I read with my life. I am torn. At the same time I am healed and glued back together again.
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Hélène Cixous, from Hyperdream.
Something like the courage to be happy welled up in me and, though alive, the feeling of being brought back to life.
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