such seething brains, such shaping fantasies

British/Hungarian. 19.
Modernism. Surrealism. Absurdism.

“Our apparitions, the things you know us by, are simply childish. Beneath it is all dark, it is all spreading, it is unfathomably deep; but now and again we rise to the surface and that is what you see us by.”

—   To the Lighthouse, Virginia Woolf
Nude boy lying on a patterned blanket, Egon Schiele

A Self-Portrait.

An eternal dreaming full with the sweetest
excess of life - disquieted, -
with uneasy pains within, in the
soul. - Blazes, burns, grows
for a fight, - heart smite.
Because of and insane astir with
stirring desire. - Powerless is
the agony of thought, meaningless, to
reach thoughts. - Were the language
of the creator to speak and
were there. - Demons! - Break the
violence! -
Your language, - your signs, -
your power.

—   Egon Schiele, 1910

Odilon Redon

Mystical Conversation, Odilon Redon

“Or I might be able to catch one, a little girl for example, and half strangle her, three quarters, until she promises to give me my stick, give me soup, empty my pots, kiss me, fondle me, smile to me, give me my hat, stay with me, follow the hearse weeping into her handkerchief, that would be nice. I am such a good man, at bottom, such a good man, how is it that nobody ever noticed it?”

—   Malone Dies, Samuel Beckett
Cardinal and Nun, Egon Schiele

“Elephants are contagious.”

—   Paul Éluard’s surrealist proverb
Harem, Emile Bernard

Harem, Emile Bernard

“As she laughed I was aware of becoming involved
in her laughter and being part of it, until her
teeth were only accidental stars with a talent
for squad-drill. I was drawn in by short gasps,
inhaled at each momentary recovery, lost finally
in the dark caverns of her throat, bruised by
the ripple of unseen muscles. An elderly waiter
with trembling hands was hurriedly spreading
a pink and white checked cloth over the rusty
green iron table, saying: “If the lady and
gentleman wish to take their tea in the garden,
if the lady and gentleman wish to take their
tea in the garden …” I decided that if the
shaking of her breasts could be stopped, some of
the fragments of the afternoon might be collected,
and I concentrated my attention with careful
subtlety to this end.”

—   Hysteria, T.S. Eliot