Long separated by cruel fate, the star-crossed lovers raced across the grassy field toward each other like two freight trains, one having left Cleveland at 6:36 p.m. traveling at 55 mph, the other from Topeka at 4:19 p.m. at a speed of 35 mph.
"Apparently the washingtonpost held a contest in which high school teachers sent in the “worst” analogies they’d encountered in grading their students’ papers over the years. (I place “worst” in quotes because many of these actually strike me as quite witty). The top 25 of these have been circulating around the “Sandra Bullock” (”net”, get it?) recently, but I decided to post all 56 that I was able to find. Here they are, in their order of objective funniness (in my opinion)."
Actually, almost all of these are intentionally hilarious. Who would send these things in as bad writing? Jerks, that’s who.
"48. I felt a nameless dread. Well, there probably is a long German name for it, like Geschpooklichkeit or something, but I don’t speak German. Anyway, it’s a dread that nobody knows the name for, like those little square plastic gizmos that close your bread bags. I don’t know the name for those either."
"One of the young men plaintively remarked that he felt completely lost.
'You have to be lost as a young man,' Wade recalls Foucault replying. 'You are not really trying unless you are lost. That is a good sign. I was lost as a young man too.'
'Should I take chances with my life?' the student asked earnestly.
'By all means! Take risks, go out on a limb!'
'But I yearn for solutions.'
'There are no solutions,' said the French philosopher firmly.
'Then at least some answers.'
'There are no answers!' exclaimed Foucault.
The fire was dying, so Foucault volunteered to go chop some more wood.
After the group had gathered round the fireplace again, another one of the young men said that he felt he needed psychotherapy, and asked Foucault what kind he would recommend. ‘Freudian will be fine,’ said the philosopher.
Wade, who was steeped in the theories of Foucault’s friend Deleuze, was surprised. ‘I would have thought “schizoanalysis” would be more in order,” said Wade, alluding to the mind-boggling vision of psychology that Deleuze and Guattari had elaborated in Anti-Oedipus.
Foucault roared with laughter.
Finally composing himself, he said, as Wade recalls, ‘There cannot be a general theory of psychoanalysis— everyone must do it for themselves!”
(excerpt from James Miller, The Passion of Michel Foucault— an excellent book which, judging from this section, was cowritten with J.D. Salinger.)
“To describe externals, you become a scientist. To describe experience, you become an artist. The old distinction between artists and scientists must vanish. Every time we teach a child correct usage of an external symbol, we must spend as much time teaching him how to fission and reassemble external grammar to communicate the internal.”—Timothy Leary (via nathanielstuart)
“'It's not easy to improvise, it's the most difficult thing to do. Even when one improvises in front of a camera or microphone, one ventriloquizes or leaves another to speak in one's place the schemas and languages that are already there. There are already a great number of prescriptions that are prescribed in our memory and in our culture. All the names are already preprogrammed. It's already the names that inhibit our ability to ever really improvise. One can't say what ever one wants, one is obliged more or less to reproduce the stereotypical discourse. And so I believe in improvisation and I fight for improvisation. But always with the belief that it's impossible. And there where there is improvisation I am not able to see myself. I am blind to myself. And it's what I will see, no, I won't see it. It's for others to see. The one who is improvised here, no I won't ever see him.'”—DERRIDA :: TEXT CITATIONS
“'As soon as there is the one, there is murder, wounding, traumatism. The one guards against the other, it protects itself from the other. But in the movement of this jealous violence it compromises in itself its self-otherness or self difference. The difference from within one's self, which makes it one. The one as the other. At one and the same time, but in the same time that is out of joint. The one forgets to remember itself to its self. It keeps and erases the archive of this injustice that it is, of this violence that it does. The one makes itself violence, it violates and does violence to itself. It becomes what it is, the very violence that it does to itself. The determination of the self as one is violence.'”—DERRIDA :: TEXT CITATIONS
“Nothing is original. Steal from anywhere that resonates with inspiration or fuels your imagination. Devour old films, new films, music, books, paintings, photographs, poems, dreams, random conversations, architecture, bridges, street signs, trees, clouds, bodies of water, light and shadows. Select only things to steal from that speak directly to your soul. If you do this, your work (and theft) will be authentic. Authenticity is invaluable; originality is nonexistent. And don’t bother concealing your thievery—celebrate it if you feel like it. In any case, always remember what Jean-Luc Godard said: “It’s not where you take things from—it’s where you take them to.”—Jim Jarmusch (via intervals)
“From this point [the present], it would be necessary to consider the division of mankind [sic] into two parts: one confronted with the challenge of complexity, the other with the terrible ancient task of survival…”—Jean-Francois Lyotard
“Which is where romance comes in, subsuming awkwardness and rendering it not only charged but erotic. Because there’s always sex, whether implicit or explicit, consummated or unfulfilled. Sex fulfills and transcends the awkward promise of puberty, offering justification for the pain and embarrassment and sheer amount of effort it took to get through those years. But it brings with it a new form of awkwardness, too; the awkwardness of exposing yourself, bit by bit, to another person as he or she does the same, until both of you are confronted by the existence of an individual who is somehow both a part of you and not at all what you thought…Awkwardness lives outside your mind. Instead, it makes itself known somewhere between your cheeks and your heart and your stomach. It breathes out of every uncomfortable pore of the body. It is so insistent in its demand to be acknowledged that it becomes, by necessity, a delectable, guilty pleasure, until it seems the only possibly solution is to introduce your full awkwardness to the other person and either descend to earth or ascend together to heaven.”—