exquisite pain
Exquisite pain.
In this book, Sophie Calle describes a nearly year long period of her life, in special reference to a single moment, when ‘the man she loves’ leaves her.
In comparison to the enourmosity of all the things that make up for a life, the overbearing importance she puts on this one ocurrence becomes laughable. I’m sure thats part of the point of the book, to sort of even out things that grow too big in our eyes.
Súistinn. The bastards. I pay 350 kr. For a fucking café latte here and they don’t even let us access their wireless net.
‘before unhappiness’ the first part of the book is called. Every picture has a countdown stamp on its picture.
I don’t know what kind of a guy leaves a beautiful, french woman. But hell, what should i know? There are so many assholes in this world.
Well, there is some eroticism in the book, including other men.
I link particularily well with this book, because, at the time of ‘the woman i (used to) love’ left, i was on a travel through europe. That was the time of the filming of Grímurs grand film about me ‘Varði Goes Europe’. An anthropoligical documentary. Or something. Fuck it.
‘from time to time he warned me that he wasn’t really in love but i blithely ignored the warning, after all, he was living with me. he warned me that he’d forget about me if i left him’.(p.206)
It’s funny how, these lines evoke thoughts such as, ‘why in hell should a 30 year old woman presume her life was nothing without being with this man’.
Such is the enormousity of our self-inflicted pain, drawing conclusions that to others might seem insane. is it a way to tie ourselves down to the past tense disasters in order to remain distant to the present.
I will keep on talking about this stuff until the sheer repetition burns me into feeling nothing at all.
What is sophie doing with this book. Its exactly this. The sheer repetition burnes us into feeling nothing at all.
a woman thinks she is giving stillbirth. then finds out the baby is alive.
a brother commits suicide.
a mother dies.
a father dies.
a woman, is left for a younger one, pays a visit to her husbands new place, then watches in horror, everytimeshe walks by.
until the sheer weight of the horrors laid upon us is so big, it becomes rediculous. therefore is exorcised.
In this book, Sophie Calle describes a nearly year long period of her life, in special reference to a single moment, when ‘the man she loves’ leaves her.
In comparison to the enourmosity of all the things that make up for a life, the overbearing importance she puts on this one ocurrence becomes laughable. I’m sure thats part of the point of the book, to sort of even out things that grow too big in our eyes.
Súistinn. The bastards. I pay 350 kr. For a fucking café latte here and they don’t even let us access their wireless net.
‘before unhappiness’ the first part of the book is called. Every picture has a countdown stamp on its picture.
I don’t know what kind of a guy leaves a beautiful, french woman. But hell, what should i know? There are so many assholes in this world.
Well, there is some eroticism in the book, including other men.
I link particularily well with this book, because, at the time of ‘the woman i (used to) love’ left, i was on a travel through europe. That was the time of the filming of Grímurs grand film about me ‘Varði Goes Europe’. An anthropoligical documentary. Or something. Fuck it.
‘from time to time he warned me that he wasn’t really in love but i blithely ignored the warning, after all, he was living with me. he warned me that he’d forget about me if i left him’.(p.206)
It’s funny how, these lines evoke thoughts such as, ‘why in hell should a 30 year old woman presume her life was nothing without being with this man’.
Such is the enormousity of our self-inflicted pain, drawing conclusions that to others might seem insane. is it a way to tie ourselves down to the past tense disasters in order to remain distant to the present.
I will keep on talking about this stuff until the sheer repetition burns me into feeling nothing at all.
What is sophie doing with this book. Its exactly this. The sheer repetition burnes us into feeling nothing at all.
a woman thinks she is giving stillbirth. then finds out the baby is alive.
a brother commits suicide.
a mother dies.
a father dies.
a woman, is left for a younger one, pays a visit to her husbands new place, then watches in horror, everytimeshe walks by.
until the sheer weight of the horrors laid upon us is so big, it becomes rediculous. therefore is exorcised.
posted by hallvardur at 2:33 AM
2 Comments:
eg skal gefa yður latté fyrir fucking 150 kall, ekki vera að púkka upp á súfistann..!
takk fyrir. loksins commentar einhver. það hljóta allir að vera búnir að gefast upp á mér. ég væri til að semja við þig um píanótíma í leiðinni. ég fer aðeins á súfistann til þess að sinna andlegri sjálfsfróun, þegar ég er í þannig ástandi. skoða A3 opnur af 'listrænum' ljósmyndum og svona.
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