Category Archives: reading

I’ll be reading this coming Saturday in Fort Collins at the Art Lab as part of the Remembered Maps exhibition my good friend Jess put together. I’ll be supporting the fabulous Dani Rado, Richard Froude, and Jennifer Denrow! Check the … Continue reading →

The romantic novel can manifest the continuity of forms of the poetic absolute—and it can give individuality to this absolute—because it has discovered the absolutely dissolving power of prose. Prose signified, for the romantics, the potential for indefinite encompassment that … Continue reading →

Where should I keep a heart? I have forgotten that I have one. Certainly it is sad, but how should I find it proper to feel sorrow? One feels sorrow only when one has lost money, or when one’s new … Continue reading →

Einige von denen, die derart hinaussprangen, hatten feurige Flügel, ihre Köpfe brannten oder ihre Hände, und sie sahen wie merkwürdige Vögel aus, die schreien aber nicht fliegen konnten. —Robert Walser, “Theaterbrand” (Some who jumped had fiery wings, their heads burned, … Continue reading →

from Fiction and Diction, chapter 3: “Fictional Narrative, Factual Narrative” by Gérard Genette: 25Jorge Luis Borges, “Epilogo,” in Obras completas (Buenos Aires: Emece, 1974), 1143. The technique, of which Borges’s text is surely not the earliest illustration, has been used … Continue reading →

The Khazars pray by weeping, for tears are a part of God, by virtue of always having a bit of salt at the bottom, just as shells hold pearls. Sometimes women take a handkerchief and fold it until it can … Continue reading →

Gentle ideas are pregnant with mountains of corpses. —Witold Gombrowicz, A Kind of Testament

Comps Deathmatch! (you say modernism; I say modernism) Franz Kafka vs. Rainer Maria Rilke   “The Truth About Sancho Panza” Without making any boast of it Sancho Panza succeeded in the course of years, by feeding him a great number … Continue reading →

And they went further and further from her, being attached to her by a thin thread (since they had lunched with her) which would stretch and stretch, get thinner and thinner as they walked across London; as if one’s friends … Continue reading →

I wasn’t reading this. I wasn’t even intending to read this. It jumped off the page at me though, and so here it is instead of something I was supposed to be reading (Wilhelm Worringer on the page opposite, for … Continue reading →