@mark-yugen.bsky.social
"Whether it’s good or bad, it is sometimes very pleasant, too, to smash things. [...] Man will never renounce real suffering, that is, destruction and chaos. Suffering is the sole origin of consciousness. [...] Reactionary as it is, corporal punishment is better than nothing." (F Dosteovsky)
January 7, 2026 at 3:04 AM
"Whether it’s good or bad, it is sometimes very pleasant, too, to smash things. [...] Man will never renounce real suffering, that is, destruction and chaos. Suffering is the sole origin of consciousness. [...] Reactionary as it is, corporal punishment is better than nothing." (F Dosteovsky)
"The whole work of man really seems to consist in nothing but proving to himself every minute (by way of perverse, freely willed, self-destructive behavior) that he is a man and not a (mechanical, deterministic, purely rational) piano-key!" (F Dosteovsky)
January 7, 2026 at 2:49 AM
"The whole work of man really seems to consist in nothing but proving to himself every minute (by way of perverse, freely willed, self-destructive behavior) that he is a man and not a (mechanical, deterministic, purely rational) piano-key!" (F Dosteovsky)
my love gives you the immortality
your body refuses to concede -
I place you above the clouds
where you fly alone and touch me
from a distance that is forever near
your body refuses to concede -
I place you above the clouds
where you fly alone and touch me
from a distance that is forever near
January 6, 2026 at 2:00 AM
my love gives you the immortality
your body refuses to concede -
I place you above the clouds
where you fly alone and touch me
from a distance that is forever near
your body refuses to concede -
I place you above the clouds
where you fly alone and touch me
from a distance that is forever near
"Surrealism is a cry of the mind turning back on itself, and it is resolved in desperation to sunder its shackles." (A Artaud)
January 5, 2026 at 8:53 PM
"Surrealism is a cry of the mind turning back on itself, and it is resolved in desperation to sunder its shackles." (A Artaud)
"Inexperience hardly strikes: me as a sorry thing; the necessity of experience is the flaw in accomplishment: if we were not so moved by the babble of childhood, our deep thoughts would never have the lightness which is the measure of their depth." (G Bataille)
January 5, 2026 at 8:50 PM
"Inexperience hardly strikes: me as a sorry thing; the necessity of experience is the flaw in accomplishment: if we were not so moved by the babble of childhood, our deep thoughts would never have the lightness which is the measure of their depth." (G Bataille)
"Artaud and I got to know one another fairly well without ever having spoken." (G Bataille)
January 5, 2026 at 8:16 PM
"Artaud and I got to know one another fairly well without ever having spoken." (G Bataille)
"The fact that we cannot experience the reality of death to the very end makes death unreal, and this unreality condemns us to fear that we may die not truly dying, as though held, forever, between life and death, from which our whole life perhaps draws its meaning and reality." (M Blanchot)
January 5, 2026 at 4:57 AM
"The fact that we cannot experience the reality of death to the very end makes death unreal, and this unreality condemns us to fear that we may die not truly dying, as though held, forever, between life and death, from which our whole life perhaps draws its meaning and reality." (M Blanchot)
Pain is the order of the world. Happiness is our only chaos, which is both fleeting and insecure. To hurt others is the imperative of those in power, as hurt is the gift of power. Suffering is not self-inflicted but comes from a strategic distribution of violence by those who are unsettled by joy.
January 3, 2026 at 10:05 PM
Pain is the order of the world. Happiness is our only chaos, which is both fleeting and insecure. To hurt others is the imperative of those in power, as hurt is the gift of power. Suffering is not self-inflicted but comes from a strategic distribution of violence by those who are unsettled by joy.
Redactio Ad Absurdum
January 2, 2026 at 11:45 PM
Redactio Ad Absurdum
"The image in a poem is not the designation of a thing but the way in which the possession of this thing, or its destruction, is accomplished, the means found by the poet to live with it, on it, and against it." (M Blanchot)
January 2, 2026 at 5:36 AM
"The image in a poem is not the designation of a thing but the way in which the possession of this thing, or its destruction, is accomplished, the means found by the poet to live with it, on it, and against it." (M Blanchot)
"Each true artist is a traitor to his forebears." (E Cioran)
January 2, 2026 at 4:24 AM
"Each true artist is a traitor to his forebears." (E Cioran)
""Imagination consists of expelling from reality many incomplete persons, making use of the magical and subversive powers of desire, to obtain their return in the form of a completely satisfying presence." (R Char)
January 2, 2026 at 4:23 AM
""Imagination consists of expelling from reality many incomplete persons, making use of the magical and subversive powers of desire, to obtain their return in the form of a completely satisfying presence." (R Char)
"Reason is a necessary evil." (Chamfort)
January 2, 2026 at 3:21 AM
"Reason is a necessary evil." (Chamfort)
"The best of philosophies, with regard to the world, must
combine the sarcasm of good humor with the indulgence of contempt." (Chamfort)
combine the sarcasm of good humor with the indulgence of contempt." (Chamfort)
January 2, 2026 at 2:12 AM
"The best of philosophies, with regard to the world, must
combine the sarcasm of good humor with the indulgence of contempt." (Chamfort)
combine the sarcasm of good humor with the indulgence of contempt." (Chamfort)
It's already 2026, and I'm still writing "Fuck Trump" on my checks.
January 1, 2026 at 5:51 PM
It's already 2026, and I'm still writing "Fuck Trump" on my checks.
I forfeit my ideas
none of them any good
even the battery of inspiration
I leave uncharged
in favor of the mindless slime
that fills my every orifice
and tickles me to orgasm
at the cost of only $5 a minute
and a little bit of my soul
none of them any good
even the battery of inspiration
I leave uncharged
in favor of the mindless slime
that fills my every orifice
and tickles me to orgasm
at the cost of only $5 a minute
and a little bit of my soul
December 31, 2025 at 7:32 PM
I forfeit my ideas
none of them any good
even the battery of inspiration
I leave uncharged
in favor of the mindless slime
that fills my every orifice
and tickles me to orgasm
at the cost of only $5 a minute
and a little bit of my soul
none of them any good
even the battery of inspiration
I leave uncharged
in favor of the mindless slime
that fills my every orifice
and tickles me to orgasm
at the cost of only $5 a minute
and a little bit of my soul
Art & culture do not need to be at odds, but in today's society such confrontations are inevitable, as technology & capitalism work together to supplant tradition & tear down historical memory in favor of a seductive amnesia that devalues the wisdom of one's elders in favor of the latest youth fad.
December 31, 2025 at 7:54 AM
Art & culture do not need to be at odds, but in today's society such confrontations are inevitable, as technology & capitalism work together to supplant tradition & tear down historical memory in favor of a seductive amnesia that devalues the wisdom of one's elders in favor of the latest youth fad.
It's scandalous how many commentators who address the problems in the Middle East know nothing of its history and have no grasp of how Europe/USA oppression of its peoples, exploitation of its resources & arbitrary remaking of its cultural boundaries played a major role in shaping what it is today.
December 31, 2025 at 7:30 AM
It's scandalous how many commentators who address the problems in the Middle East know nothing of its history and have no grasp of how Europe/USA oppression of its peoples, exploitation of its resources & arbitrary remaking of its cultural boundaries played a major role in shaping what it is today.
Silence is a form of speech, an articulation of the void.
Silence is never at a loss for words.
There is no need to translate silence.
Meditation cannot exist without silence. Words dilute any deep grasp we may have of our existence.
On both sides of words, beginning and end, is silence.
Silence is never at a loss for words.
There is no need to translate silence.
Meditation cannot exist without silence. Words dilute any deep grasp we may have of our existence.
On both sides of words, beginning and end, is silence.
December 31, 2025 at 6:39 AM
Silence is a form of speech, an articulation of the void.
Silence is never at a loss for words.
There is no need to translate silence.
Meditation cannot exist without silence. Words dilute any deep grasp we may have of our existence.
On both sides of words, beginning and end, is silence.
Silence is never at a loss for words.
There is no need to translate silence.
Meditation cannot exist without silence. Words dilute any deep grasp we may have of our existence.
On both sides of words, beginning and end, is silence.
"In Buddhism, it is said of an adept seeking illumination that he must be as relentless as “a mouse gnawing on a coffin.” Every authentic writer makes a similar effort. He is a destroyer who adds to existence — who enriches by undermining it." (E Cioran)
December 30, 2025 at 9:45 PM
"In Buddhism, it is said of an adept seeking illumination that he must be as relentless as “a mouse gnawing on a coffin.” Every authentic writer makes a similar effort. He is a destroyer who adds to existence — who enriches by undermining it." (E Cioran)
"Faithful and righteous believers, do not be like weeds, which soak up water but bear no fruit." (Ginza Rabba)
December 30, 2025 at 6:50 PM
"Faithful and righteous believers, do not be like weeds, which soak up water but bear no fruit." (Ginza Rabba)
I wish solitude would stop so greedily gazing at me as if I were its prize and prey. Even when I am speechless and misery has me in thrall, I will not be caged! I will cry out into the void and savor its arbitrary echo until it exhausts itself and is turned over to the deliverers of silence.
December 30, 2025 at 12:19 AM
I wish solitude would stop so greedily gazing at me as if I were its prize and prey. Even when I am speechless and misery has me in thrall, I will not be caged! I will cry out into the void and savor its arbitrary echo until it exhausts itself and is turned over to the deliverers of silence.
Order is merely tolerable chaos.
December 29, 2025 at 8:03 PM
Order is merely tolerable chaos.
the night
when I can wander
and listen to the wolves,
when the darkness unveils itself
and my blindness lifts
and I can see eternity
staring back
with a drunken gaze
at the shadow I've become
when I can wander
and listen to the wolves,
when the darkness unveils itself
and my blindness lifts
and I can see eternity
staring back
with a drunken gaze
at the shadow I've become
December 28, 2025 at 8:09 PM
the night
when I can wander
and listen to the wolves,
when the darkness unveils itself
and my blindness lifts
and I can see eternity
staring back
with a drunken gaze
at the shadow I've become
when I can wander
and listen to the wolves,
when the darkness unveils itself
and my blindness lifts
and I can see eternity
staring back
with a drunken gaze
at the shadow I've become
these words are kept short
as life is short
and what we know is scarce
as we are guided into the unknown
from whence we were born -
returning to namelessness,
spreading our bodies
to rejoin with our friends
and take on the shape of light
as life is short
and what we know is scarce
as we are guided into the unknown
from whence we were born -
returning to namelessness,
spreading our bodies
to rejoin with our friends
and take on the shape of light
December 28, 2025 at 7:25 PM
these words are kept short
as life is short
and what we know is scarce
as we are guided into the unknown
from whence we were born -
returning to namelessness,
spreading our bodies
to rejoin with our friends
and take on the shape of light
as life is short
and what we know is scarce
as we are guided into the unknown
from whence we were born -
returning to namelessness,
spreading our bodies
to rejoin with our friends
and take on the shape of light