Saturday, September 30, 2006

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Friday, September 29, 2006

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Thursday, September 28, 2006

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Wednesday, September 27, 2006

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Tuesday, September 26, 2006

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Monday, September 25, 2006

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......"What were we running toward? I don't think any of us would ever know fully. But superficially the answer was a balloon."

~Ian McEwan, from Enduring Love

Posted by Nietzsche's Wife @ 6:56 PM

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Sunday, September 24, 2006

[...head is killing me...]

Posted by Nietzsche's Wife @ 8:55 PM

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Saturday, September 23, 2006

Oceans of ink
antecede me.
Of

wit
I know
not much. Of

course, I think:
coarse try;
just

quit;
such notions
mislead; it's tough.

Posted by Nietzsche's Wife @ 4:54 PM

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Friday, September 22, 2006

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Thursday, September 21, 2006

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Wednesday, September 20, 2006

There is nothing like blending with the space that steals my name. Diluted in the multitude, I could die from excitement. Movement becomes essential. It moves. The Metro moves. Its movement will never cease to amaze me.


*


Closeness to those who surround me is priceless. They breathe resentment; deep down inside of their souls the same air, the same pain, is inhaled.


*


I certainly am annoyed by people's chickenesque behaviour; however, once you become aware of the spectrum of possibilities for anthropological research, outside noise becomes a bagatelle.


*


Imagine for as long as your ride lasts that you have been given the opportunity to interact with animals at the zoo. For brief moments, you are allowed into their cage. These specimens rarely attack. Most of the times they perceive you as one of them.


*


Once you distinguish the difference between you, & a chicken, utilising public transportation becomes easier. Really.

Posted by Nietzsche's Wife @ 8:07 PM

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Tuesday, September 19, 2006

te audire non possum

Posted by Nietzsche's Wife @ 5:04 PM

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Monday, September 18, 2006

Ǿ

Posted by Nietzsche's Wife @ 8:25 PM

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Sunday, September 17, 2006

&
I know
I am close;

I’m
almost home.
One last translation.

I
could swerve;
end it all
.

«Mon
destin». Algún
día. Todavía. No.


My destiny. Some
day. Not.
Yet

Edited by: Mark Young

Posted by Nietzsche's Wife @ 7:47 PM

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Saturday, September 16, 2006

Nullo Metro Compositum Est 

Mundus
vult decipi,
natura non
contristatur.

§


Dum
spiro, spero
ad vitam æ
ternam.


§


Acta
non verba,
absit iniuria verbis.

Posted by Nietzsche's Wife @ 9:32 PM

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Friday, September 15, 2006

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Thursday, September 14, 2006

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En ce qui me concerne, les personnes innocents n'existent pas. Si les citoyens d'un pays ne font rien pour eviter les interventions de leur gouvernment dans d'autres pays, les citoyens sont si coupables que leurs gouvernments. Mais je suis un'idiote...ne m'ecoutez pas.

Posted by Nietzsche's Wife @ 8:56 PM

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Wednesday, September 13, 2006

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Tuesday, September 12, 2006

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Monday, September 11, 2006

Da Tagte Es 

redeem the surrogate goodbyes
the street astream in your hand
who have no more for the land
and the glass unmisted above your eyes

Samuel Beckett, from Collected Poems in English and French

Posted by Nietzsche's Wife @ 7:43 PM

Comments

"What have people ... ever given me? Not even grass under my feet. Not even companionship of another creature like myself."

Patricia Highsmith, "Chorus Girl's Absolutely Final Performance" in The Animal-Lover's Book of Beastly Murder

Posted by Nietzsche's Wife @ 7:32 PM

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Sunday, September 10, 2006

Imposter Syndrome 

Some readers of mine are boundlessly kind. What they believe I am doing—most likely—, I ignore.


*


For a couple of months now, my blog has been tainted with silence. Everything I write sounds tremendously stupid—unnecessary—phoney. I have become an expert at deleting. I delete & delete. As though by deleting the traces of my fraudulent intellectuality were expunged. It gets even worse when I have to speak—out loud. This chronic self-doubt keeps holding me back...

Posted by Nietzsche's Wife @ 1:07 PM

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Saturday, September 09, 2006

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Friday, September 08, 2006

11 

To see is this other torture, atoned for
In the pain of being seen: the spoken,
The seen, contained in the refusal
To speak, and the seed of a single voice,
Buried in a random stone.
My lies have never belonged to me.


~Paul Auster, from Collected Poems

Posted by Nietzsche's Wife @ 7:40 PM

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Thursday, September 07, 2006

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Wednesday, September 06, 2006

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Tuesday, September 05, 2006

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Monday, September 04, 2006

Re-Posting Because 

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*

I
Really Need
To Unmeet You

Posted by Nietzsche's Wife @ 8:32 PM

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Sunday, September 03, 2006

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Saturday, September 02, 2006

You make me detest myself.

Posted by Nietzsche's Wife @ 12:33 AM

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Friday, September 01, 2006

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"I know I'll say something that's halfway clever but mostly shallow and probably inaccurate on some level. Then you'll pity me for having been born."

Don DeLillo, Cosmopolis



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