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Realer Than Real: The Simulacrum According to Deleuze and Guattari “A common definition of the simulacrum is a copy of a copy whose relation to the model has become so attenuated that it can no longer properly be said to be a copy. It stands on its own as a copy without a model. (…)…
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Time is the substance I am made of. Time is a river which sweeps me along, but I am the river; it is a tiger which destroys me, but I am the tiger; it is a fire which consumes me, but I am the fire. Jorge Luis Borges (via fernsandmoss)
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thingsmagazine: The Uncomfortable Project by Katerina Kamprani (via things)
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You can discover more about a person in an hour of play than in a year of conversation. Plato (via azspot)
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The Person Who Would Be Happy Spending 30 Dollars on a Minor Rule Change Does Not Exist
The Person Who Would Be Happy Spending 30 Dollars on a Minor Rule Change Does Not Exist christianmccrea: These are images from Halfbrick’s new game Bears Vs. Art. You can go and find the trailer for yourself, and play the game soon enough if you’re interested. The game is a puzzler with the premise that…
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tanacetum vulgare: A conversation on facebook about gendered clothing just reminded me…
tanacetum vulgare: A conversation on facebook about gendered clothing just reminded me… tanacetum-vulgare: A conversation on facebook about gendered clothing just reminded me about the moment I stopped wearing dresses as a kid. As a very little girl I was obsessed with “twirly dresses,” dresses that spun glamourously wide when i twirled in them. I…
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jonnyskov: theparisreview: “I blurb only for the dead, these days.” Margaret Atwood’s form rejection poem. For more of this morning’s roundup, click here. Margret Atwood will not blurb your book. Nothing personal.
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The world is full of painful stories. Sometimes it seems as though there aren’t any other kind and yet I found myself thinking how beautiful that gleam of water was through the trees. Parable of the Sower, Octavia E. Butler (via ethiopienne)
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In order to rise From its own ashes A phoenix First Must Burn. Octavia Butler, Parable of the Talents (via postmodernismruinedme)