Forugh Farrokhzad, from ‘Forgive Her’, Sin: Selected Poems
is everything okay man i couldn’t help but notice you’ve been hesitant to say anything beautiful and true lately
Forugh Farrokhzad, from ‘Forgive Her’, Sin: Selected Poems
is everything okay man i couldn’t help but notice you’ve been hesitant to say anything beautiful and true lately
“Admittedly, it’s not entirely our own fault that we approach our finite time in such a perversely instrumental and future-focused way. Powerful external pressures push us in this direction, too, because we exist inside an economic system that is instrumentalist to its core. One way of understanding capitalism, in fact, is as a giant machine for instrumentalsing everything it encounters — the earth’s resources, your time and abilities (or “human resources”) — in the service of future profit. Seeing things this way helps explain the otherwise mysterious truth that rich people in capitalist economies are often surprisingly miserable. They’re very good at instrumentalising their time, for the purpose of generating wealth for themselves; that’s the definition of being successful in a capitalist world. But in focusing so hard on instrumentalising their time, they end up treating their lives in the present moment as nothing but a vehicle in which to travel toward a future state of happiness. And so their days are sapped of meaning, even as their bank balances increase. […] And yet we’d be fooling ourselves to put all the blame on capitalism for the way in which modern life so often feels like a slog, to be “gotten through” en route to some better time in the future. The truth is that we collaborate with this state of affairs. We choose to treat time in this self-defeatingly instrumental way, and we do so because it helps us maintain the feeling of being in omnipotent control of our lives. As long as you believe that the real meaning of life lies somewhere off in the future — that one day all your efforts will pay off in a golden era of happiness, free of all problems — you get to avoid facing the unpalatable reality that your life isn’t leading toward some moment of truth that hasn’t yet arrived. Our obsession with extracting the greatest future value out of our time blinds us to the reality that, in fact, the moment of truth is always now — that life is nothing but a succession of present moments, culminating in death, and that you’ll probably never get to a point where you feel you have things in perfect working order. And that therefore you had better stop postponing the “real meaning” of your existence into the future, and throw yourself into life now.”— Oliver Burkeman, Four Thousand Weeks
Comme des Garçons: Poem Pants (2002) Designed By: Junya Watanabe
The Face of Another/他人の顔, dir. by Hiroshi Teshigahara (1966)
Unknown, Fritware tile panel, painted in blue, turquoise, and moss green under a transparent glaze. Turkey, Iznik; c. 1540
words from class of 2013 by mitski
Susan Sontag, As Consciousness Is Harnessed to Flesh: Journals and Notebooks, 1964 - 1980
Lori Gottlieb, Maybe You Should Talk to Someone: A Therapist, Her Therapist, and Our Lives Revealed