It’s hard to commune with the dead when you are attending to your body. But didn’t I see my companion cry back there, in front of the suitcases? Did he smell the odor from human bodies?
The car was gliding over the drying asphalt and everything around me seemed strange and beautiful beyond words. Ruthlessly beautiful. As if nature itself had decided to flaunt all the precious treasures of this land, which I was destined to lose.
Futurists like Mayakovsky were never merely utopian or fanciful in their views. Instead, they believed in the power of art to revolutionize everyday life by transforming people’s perception of, and engagement with, the spaces and objects around them. Their world-making was playful, but it was far from just a game.
All the cards do–I say as if it’s a small thing–is show you yourself.
The newspapers are, sir, blight, disorder of the first order, just like everything that’s printed; but I tread all over it.