i am shaking. how did it get this far, this deep, this low, this nothing? satellite images are mirrors but i need faces not reflections and i go looking and i go searching and i stand waiting wondering if i will move as the earth does but of course i do not, i do not move, i remain still, the earth moves beneath me, i sink slowly, minutely, infinitely, and i do not struggle, i do not resist, i go, i merely go, i go and i go and i

a few bands coming out these days:
- local natives
- the drums
- foreign born
- best coast
- cold cave

only the endings, the finalities, the great crashing closing of waves on shores (waves of course that only recede to crash again, again, again, as long as the sea rolls, rolling as it has for five thousand years, the motion of the sandburied orphans eternal) raise my skin, hollow my bones, chill my nerves.
--
"I closed my eyes and tried to sleep. But it was not until much later I was able to get any real sleep. In a place far away from anyone or anywhere, I drifted off for a moment."
- Haruki Murakami, The Wind Up Bird Chronicle



"Spring has come again, St Brigid's day, right on time. The harmony of the seasons mocks me. I spend hours watching the sky, the lake, the enormous sea. This world. I feel that if I could understand it i might then begin to understand the creatures who inhabit it. But I do not understand it. I find the world always odd, but odder still, I suppose, is the fact that I find it so, for what are the eternal verities bywhich I measure these temporal aberrations? Intimations abound, but they are felt only, and words fail to transfix them. Anyway, some secrets are not to be disclosed under pain of who knows what retribution, and whereof I cannot speak, thereof I must be silent."
- John Banville, Birchwood



"I wrote at the start that this was a record of hate, and walking there beside Henry towards the evening glass of beer, I found the one prayer that seemed to serve the winter mood: O God, You've done enough, You've robbed me of enough, I'm too tired and old to learn to love, leave me alone forever."
- Graham Greene, The End of the Affair

is real life différance sometimes i am inclined to ask and like petals blooming no no there is no synchronicity and the instantiation of a fact is in its failed instantiation that is to say: there is no structure no megastructure no superstructure no microstructure no substructure we are constituted purely and solely by our own inimitable yet consistently flawed attempts at communication, at signification, at the construction of a subjective identity that is to say: cogito ergo cogito, sum ergo sum, or, non sum ergo sum, or non sum ergo non sum but really i am just playing freely laying myself merely bare before the bar pushing forwards into the abyss on a carpet of ugly flowers and in this chasm time has no meaning no motion no wave that rises and falls but rather is and only is as a fragmented unaccountable and unrelatable and unknowable series of moments constantly seeking chasing but never finding an imaginary whole

молекулярная биология здорово смахивает на клондайк: во-первых, точно знаешь-дело беспроигрышное, потом засталбливание, интриги, жизнь мало похожая на курорт, а напал на жилу - пиши пропал. а если не напал, то все копаешь и копаешь.стоит только начать. когда с петей садимся обсуждать картинки с конфокала, нас накрывает жестокая золотая лихорадка.