cioran-moths

September 3, 2024

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The centuries have grown heavy and weigh upon the moment. We are more corrupt than all the ages, more decomposed than all the empires. Our exhaustion interprets history, our breathlessness makes us hear the death rattle of nations… the curtain of the universe is moth-eaten, and through its holes we see nothing, now, but masks and ghosts…

Thought:

“But, for a moment, let us pause. Let us be still. Or, rather, let me be quiet in her memory — and in memory of me — for a while.”

Harold Brodkey | The Runaway Soul

Christian Molenaar

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  • Souvenir
  • Yeah, There Was Always Going to Be a June 5, 1968
  • Dogs Are All the Time Licking My Hand
  • Should He Remember?
  • Blooming