Saturday, 22 October 2011

History preserves something from any earlier forms of transmitting the past.
 It is hard to determine what. 
More than anything, history strikes one as a fixated vendetta of the masses,
 of all masses, and that is exactly what condemns history. 
It provides for the perpetuation of all religions, nations, classes.
 For even the most peaceful among them have at some point drawn blood from someone, and history faithfully screams it to high heaven. 
Much has been attempted against it, but we never escape. 
History is the giant serpent that imprisons the world.
 An age old vampire, it sucks blood from the brain of every young person. 
It is not to be borne the way it commands exactly 
the same thing in many different languages. 

The most disgraceful forms of belief,
 which everyone ought to be ashamed of, are kept alive by history as it proves their age.
 No one has ever felt obligated to it except a few thin priests,
 and they would have had an easier time without history.
 One can object that history has brought the earth very close to unification,
 but at what price, and is the world already at one with itself? 
It seems to me as if history used to be better or ast least more innocuous in the days when it got lost from time to time.

 Today it is shackled to itself with the chains of writing. 
It offers to the future centuries the falsest, basest, and the most untruthful documents.
No one can sign a contract today without people knowing it a thousand years hence.

 No one can come into the world unnoticed;
 he is at least included in some statistic.
No one can think, no one can breathe,
 history corrupts his pure breath and twists the words around in his brain.

 How powerful the Heracles who could strangle it!
 Even death will be overcome more easily than history,
 and the first and only exploiter of a triumph over death 
will once again be history.
Elias Canetti

Monday, 17 October 2011

Just repetition.......

At the wishes of many people, he decided to write the same thing yet again.

I respect the weakness that is not an end in itself, that makes everything transparent, that surrenders no one, that encounters power tenaciously.
Elias Canetti....1968

There are no new stories. Since there are infinitely many new things, there are no new stories.

The difference today is that everything gets photographed. there is no misery left that can be kept secret. All misery has gone public.
But this merely signifies that everyone can more easily grow used to it.

Thursday, 13 October 2011

.....The One!

A machine invents a world language. Since no one can understand it, it is accepted by all.

The ambivalence of all social phenomena is such that one can interpret them at will. 
But the most contestable thing of all is the attempt at defining and draining them as functions.

It is really those who saw something more important beyond their achievement, something unattainable, so that their achievement seemed to shrink until it disappeared. EC

Wednesday, 12 October 2011

Play with light.......

All people experience the same thing: but no one is allowed to realize this. 
Identity of secrets. 
Destinies are iridescent in changing light.
 But in the dark, it's all the same again.

A city with secret names; policemen tell you where you are if they trust you.

Thursday, 6 October 2011

His head is made of stars, but not yet arranged into constellations. EC

If you were alone, you'd cut yourself in two, so that one part would shape the other. EC

I enjoy all systems if they are perspicuous, like a toy in your hand. If they get complicated, they make me nervous. Too much of the world has come to the wrong place, and how shall i get it out again? EC

Monday, 3 October 2011

One always pulls oneself together with an ancient myth; there are so many of them; for everything. Is that the reason why nothing truly creative has occurred in the world for a long time? Did we deplete ourselves with the ancient myths?

A dispute between two men who lust for immortality; one wants continuity, the other wants to come back periodically.
What fun!
Identity looses it's definition