(Source: waliszewska, via killyoursons)

 

In 1969, an artist named Otmar Bauer performed a piece called, “Zeigt.” As a critique of society, Bauer prepared a bourgeois meal, ate it, threw it up, ate it, threw it up, ate it, threw it up, ate it, and threw it up.

 

In 1969, an artist named Otmar Bauer performed a piece called, “Zeigt.” As a critique of society, Bauer prepared a bourgeois meal, ate it, threw it up, ate it, threw it up, ate it, threw it up, ate it, and threw it up.

(via ciaobellatarr)

 

Irma Vep Olivier Assayas, 1996


"I’m 87 years old…I only eat so I can smoke and stay alive.. The only fear I have is how long consciousness is gonna hang on after my body goes. I just hope there’s nothing. Like there was before I was born. I’m not really into religion, they’re all macrocosms of the ego. When man began to think he was a separate person with a separate soul, it created a violent situation.
The void, the concept of nothingness, is terrifying to most people on the planet. And I get anxiety attacks myself. I know the fear of that void. You have to learn to die before you die. You give up, surrender to the void, to nothingness.
Anybody else you’ve interviewed bring these things up? Hang on, I gotta take this call….. Hey, brother. That’s great, man. Yeah, I’m being interviewed… We’re talking about nothing. I’ve got him well-steeped in nothing right now. He’s stopped asking questions.”
- HARRY DEAN STANTON

"I’m 87 years old…I only eat so I can smoke and stay alive.. The only fear I have is how long consciousness is gonna hang on after my body goes. I just hope there’s nothing. Like there was before I was born. I’m not really into religion, they’re all macrocosms of the ego. When man began to think he was a separate person with a separate soul, it created a violent situation.

The void, the concept of nothingness, is terrifying to most people on the planet. And I get anxiety attacks myself. I know the fear of that void. You have to learn to die before you die. You give up, surrender to the void, to nothingness.

Anybody else you’ve interviewed bring these things up? Hang on, I gotta take this call….. Hey, brother. That’s great, man. Yeah, I’m being interviewed… We’re talking about nothing. I’ve got him well-steeped in nothing right now. He’s stopped asking questions.”

- HARRY DEAN STANTON

(Source: ciaobellatarr, via negativnein)

(Source: painoveracceptance, via narcst)

 

from Artaud Anthology

 

from Artaud Anthology

(Source: toniiu, via fyodor-haneke)

(Source: flimslit, via maggot-death)


"To go on means going from here, means finding me, losing me, vanishing and beginning again, a stranger first, then little by little the same as always, in another place, where I shall say I have always been, of which I shall know nothing, being incapable of seeing, moving, thinking, speaking, but of which little by little, in spite of these handicaps, I shall begin to know something, just enough for it to turn out to be the same place as always, the same which seems made for me and does not want me, which I seem to want and do not want, take your choice, which spews me out or swallows me up, I’ll never know, which is perhaps merely the inside of my distant skull where once I wandered, now am fixed, lost for tininess, or straining against the walls, with my head, my hands, my feet, my back, and ever murmuring my old stories, my old story, as if it were the first time."
Samuel Beckett, The Unnamable (1954)

"To go on means going from here, means finding me, losing me, vanishing and beginning again, a stranger first, then little by little the same as always, in another place, where I shall say I have always been, of which I shall know nothing, being incapable of seeing, moving, thinking, speaking, but of which little by little, in spite of these handicaps, I shall begin to know something, just enough for it to turn out to be the same place as always, the same which seems made for me and does not want me, which I seem to want and do not want, take your choice, which spews me out or swallows me up, I’ll never know, which is perhaps merely the inside of my distant skull where once I wandered, now am fixed, lost for tininess, or straining against the walls, with my head, my hands, my feet, my back, and ever murmuring my old stories, my old story, as if it were the first time."

Samuel Beckett, The Unnamable (1954)

(Source: oldworldwisdom, via some-velvet-morning)

Stranger than paradise (Jim Jarmusch,1984)

(Source: abstiegundzerfall, via some-velvet-morning)

(via narcst)