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THE BATTLE FOR MODeRN 1923


  chunks of flommus 

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weirdly, i do feel like injecting myself with bleach

Does any­one over­seas have a dank cel­lar I can hide out in for sev­er­al months to four years?

I’ll be very qui­et and will only emerge to weed your herb gar­den and say hi to the moon. Please just think about it.

 

You know,
even though back in the day – when I fair­ly eas­i­ly read gi­ant tomes and was an avid Dos­toyevsky fan – I don’t re­mem­ber this.

But one for­gets what one reads.

Here, (quite lit­er­al­ly lift­ed from a re­cent ar­ti­cle in the New York­er) is a dream of Raskol­nikov, from near the end in Crime and Pun­ish­ment (1866).

I have to say, it does seem very familiar • • • •

 

He had dreamed that the whole world was doomed to fall vic­tim to some ter­ri­ble, as yet un­known and un­seen pesti­lence spread­ing to Eu­rope from the depths of Asia. Every­one was to per­ish, ex­cept for cer­tain, very few, cho­sen ones. Some new trichi­nae had ap­peared, mi­cro­scop­ic crea­tures that lodged them­selves in men’s bod­ies. But these crea­tures were spir­its, en­dowed with rea­son and will. Those who re­ceived them into them­selves im­me­di­ate­ly be­came pos­sessed and mad. But nev­er, nev­er had peo­ple con­sid­ered them­selves so in­tel­li­gent and un­shake­able in the truth as did these in­fect­ed ones. Nev­er had they thought their judg­ments, their sci­en­tif­ic con­clu­sions, their moral con­vic­tions and be­liefs more un­shake­able. En­tire set­tle­ments, en­tire cities and na­tions would be in­fect­ed and go mad. Every­one be­came anx­ious, and no one un­der­stood any­one else; each thought the truth was con­tained in him­self alone, and suf­fered look­ing at oth­ers, beat his breast, wept, and wrung his hands. They did not know whom or how to judge, could not agree on what to re­gard as evil, what as good. They did not know whom to ac­cuse, whom to vindicate.

 

Just an in­ter­est­ing tidbit.

Also, it’s Banned Books Week, a good chance to ex­plore dan­ger­ous writ­ings both his­tor­i­cal­ly and to­day.

Oh and – good­bye Sep­tem­ber. I nev­er did like you much.

 

—lau­ra hohlwein

Flom­mist Lau­ra Hohlwein is a con­tem­po­rary ab­stract sur­re­al­ist. Copy­right © 2020 Lau­ra Hohlwein. Jack­et im­age swiped from Abe Books.

read en l’ordre cronológi­co

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shar­ing ist nice



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Der Tung
Posted
Thu 1 Oct 2020

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