Mat Laporte's Blog, page 37

on poetry, #3, or "Dichter sollen die Wahrheit schreiben" / poets are to tell the truth

on poetry, #3, or "Dichter sollen die Wahrheit schreiben" / poets are to tell the truth:

anneboyer:

In Good Morning, Revolution—a book made up of Langston Hughes’ writings for revolutionary magazines—there is a tiny poem about a big question:

Johannesburg Mines

In the Johannesburg mines
There are 240,000 natives working.

What kind of poem
Would you make out of that?

240,000 natives…

susanlanders:portlandpoetry:Allison Cobb at À reading #15March...

susanlanders:

portlandpoetry:

Allison Cobb at À reading #15
March 2015

who knew the lamb inside my teeth was really babies

Photo

"Do you think a city can control the way people live inside it? I mean, just the geography, the way..."

“Do you think a city can control the way people live inside it? I mean, just the geography, the way the streets are laid out, the way the buildings are placed?”

- Kidd, Dhalgren, Samuel R. Delany (via minicules)

on poetry, #1

on poetry, #1:

anneboyer:

It’s hard to not hate April, even when it marks the spring in which you are unexpectedly not dying, because April is the month of the performative self-loathing of poets and an equally boring performative poetry-loving of institutions. It’s an exasperating symbiosis. The poet says terrible things…

70sscifiart:Motherboard

70sscifiart:

Motherboard

"money which begets money, such is the description of Capital from the mouths of its first..."

“money which begets money, such is the description of Capital from the mouths of its first interpreters”

- Marx - Capital Vol 1 Ch.4 1867
(via dailymarx)

"Rain drips, soaking into the floor, and Slothrop perceives that he is losing his mind. If there is..."

“

Rain drips, soaking into the floor, and Slothrop perceives that he is losing his mind. If there is something comforting—religious, if you want—about paranoia, there is still also anti-paranoia, where nothing is connected to anything, a condition not many of us can bear for long. Well right now Slothrop feels himself sliding onto the anti-paranoid part of his cycle, feels the whole city around him going back roofless, vulnerable, uncentered as he is, and only pasteboard images now of the Listening Enemy left between him and the wet sky.

Either They have put him here for a reason, or he’s just here. He isn’t sure that he wouldn’t, actually, rather have that reason…

”

- Thomas Pynchon, Gravity’s Rainbow from biblioklept
(via fuckyeahthomaspynchon)

Photo

also from Portrait of Doom by Marie Buck

also from Portrait of Doom by Marie Buck