Sleepy Sun


The modern man,
Insatiable in his thirst for a plan
To coordinate the intellects,
So to redefine
The future span the present can’t deny
11:32 is all the time

The open hand
Satisfies longing for the damned
And so the sharpest tongue is licking up the humble pie
The sweetest curse, seconds can’t deny
11:32 is all the time

In the house of sand,
The hourglass simply can’t deny
11:32 is all the time

… just what
is missing in us, that needs so many worlds?

—Alan Williamson, from “Sleep” (Ploughshares, Fall 2011)

(Source: leopoldgursky, via fuckyeahexistentialism)


adjective Psychiatry.
of or pertaining to aspects of one’s behavior or attitudes viewed as inconsistent with one’s fundamental beliefs and personality


"True Love Will Find You in the End"

True love will find you in the end
You’ll find out just who was your friend
Don’t be sad, I know you will,
But don’t give up until
True love finds you in the end.

This is a promise with a catch
Only if you’re looking will it find you
'Cause true love is searching too
But how can it recognize you
Unless you step out into the light?

Don’t be sad, I know you will,
But don’t give up until
True love finds you in the end.

Jacques Lacan reminds us, that in sex, each individual is to a large extent on their own, if I can put it that way. Naturally, the other’s body has to be mediated, but at the end of the day, the pleasure will be always your pleasure. Sex separates, doesn’t unite. The fact you are naked and pressing against the other is an image, an imaginary representation. What is real is that pleasure takes you a long way away, very far from the other. What is real is narcis­sistic, what binds is imaginary. So there is no such thing as a sexual relationship, concludes Lacan. His proposition shocked people since at the time everybody was talking about nothing else but “sexual relationships”. If there is no sexual relationship in sexuality, love is what fills the absence of a sexual relationship.

Lacan doesn’t say that love is a disguise for sexual relationships; he says that sexual relationships don’t exist, that love is what comes to replace that non-relationship. That’s much more interesting. This idea leads him to say that in love the other tries to approach “the being of the other”. In love the individual goes beyond himself, beyond the narcissistic. In sex, you are really in a relationship with yourself via the mediation of the other. The other helps you to discover the reality of pleasure. In love, on the contrary the mediation of the other is enough in itself. Such is the nature of the amorous encounter: you go to take on the other, to make him or her exist with you, as he or she is. It is a much more profound conception of love than the entirely banal view that love is no more than an imaginary canvas painted over the reality of sex.

—Alain Badiou, In Praise of Love (via ounu)

(Source: lysenkoist, via fuckyeahexistentialism)

Los Campesinos!

"Baby I Got The Death Rattle"

We burnt all the skin from the palm of my hands,
With an old zippo lighter and deodorant cans,
I went to the palmist and asked her to read:
No heart line, no sun line, no life line, no need,
Said all that I wanted was a quiet life,
Not one predetermined by minuscule slices,
Into my flesh and the broad, she agreed,
One look in my sad eyes, she had to concede

“Baby… the girdle of Venus got me…
Got me down on my knees.
And baby… baby, I got the death rattle and
You’re six months old shakin’ me.”

Traced my right index finger along the roof of every car,
On the walk back to your house in the cold from City Arms,
In the frost I drew a dick for every girl that wouldn’t fuck me,
Woke early the next morning to see the frost had bitten me

My blisters black and touch cold,
Like a cute stuffed toy bear’s nose,
The kind of gift I’d give you,
Like a less committed Van Gogh

And you,
You are an angel, that’s why you pray,
And I am an ass, and that’s why I bray

Your halo slipped to frame you,
Like a photo, porthole window,
I see blood-spill in the pure snow,
You see sweet-sauce on ice-cream cones

And you,
You are an angel, that’s why you pray,
And I am an ass, and that’s why I bray
If you were tomorrow, I’d be today,
And this is the end;

(I’m serious, so listen now.)

Baby I got the death rattle
And baby, I got it bad
I’ve been digging my grave
For quite some time,
When I’m not digging up the past
And I chewed my only necktie,
From the metal frame of my bed
Where I tied your wrists together
Spent all night giving…
(Oh, you get the message)

Not headstone,
But headboard,
Is where I wanna be mourned.

The Antlers

"Putting The Dog To Sleep"

Prove to me
I’m not gonna die alone
Put your arm ‘round my collar bone
And open the door

Don’t lie to me
If you’re putting the dog to sleep
That pet you just couldn’t keep
And couldn’t afford

Well prove to me
I’m not gonna die alone
Unstitch that shit I’ve sewn
To close up the hole that tore through my skin

Well my trust in you
Is a dog with a broken leg
Tendons too torn to beg
For you to let me back in

You said I can’t prove to you
You’re not gonna die alone
But trust me to take you home
To clean up that blood all over your paws

You can’t keep running out
Kicking yourself off the bed
Kicking yourself in the head
Because you’re kicking me too

Put your trust in me
I’m not gonna die alone
Put your trust in me
I’m not gonna die alone
I don’t think so

Music To Walk Home By

But that’s only when I think of you,

Some vision that I hold on to,
You know it’s everything I do,
You know it’s everything I do

Can almost stand competing with the others
Can almost hear the fun that I should be having
Instead of all this dreaming

But it’s only when I think of you,
The mover I could turn into,
There must be something I can do,
There must be something I can do

But I just don’t know
How to feel right,
A beautiful girl
Is wasting my life,
I’m playing a part
As somebody else,
While trying so hard
To be myself
I just need to hear
Somebody say,
That this will make sense one day
I guess I’m alright
But they’re all doing so well,
What I would give
To be under that spell

You’ll know soon

In so many ways
I’m somebody else
I’m trying so hard
To be myself.
I just need to hear
Somebody say
That this will all make
Sense one day

Well it’s getting late
I’d better go
I made it this far
As far as I know

They call you heartless; but you have a heart and I love you for being ashamed to show it.

—Friedrich Nietzsche (via hellanne)

The Daysleepers


You can dream,
Every time you close your eyes.

Birds fly,
Through the trees,
Lifted by the summer breeze.

Star shine,
Down on me,
Distant in an open sky.