Lightnews — Scholar-powered news

Christina Tudor-Sideri @dreamsofbeing.bsky.social · 5h

I love this

1 1

Reposted by Christina Tudor-Sideri

ali altaf mian @alialtafmian.bsky.social · 5h

1 1 1

Christina Tudor-Sideri @dreamsofbeing.bsky.social · 5h

Thank you for reading, Kim 🖤

1

Christina Tudor-Sideri @dreamsofbeing.bsky.social · 6h

Thank you, Stephen. It was wonderful putting them together and losing myself in those memories...

1

Reposted by Christina Tudor-Sideri

Christina Tudor-Sideri @dreamsofbeing.bsky.social · 17h

For the inaugural issue of Draught Journal @draughtjournal.bsky.social:

On Bookmarks and Other Ruins—a reflection on the bookmark as a fragile site of memory, desire, and incompletion, accompanied by images of my own bookmarks.

draughtjournal.com/article/on-b...

On Bookmarks and Other Ruins

<p>There is something indescribably intimate about the act of interrupting one’s reading, the act of marking one’s place in a book, a subtle gesture t

draughtjournal.com

4 18 50

Christina Tudor-Sideri @dreamsofbeing.bsky.social · 11h

💙

1 1

Christina Tudor-Sideri @dreamsofbeing.bsky.social · 12h

How wonderful! Congratulations, Róisín!

1 1

Reposted by Christina Tudor-Sideri

Róisín Ní Neachtain @roisinnineachtain.com · 1d

This happened just now.

Pre-orders up!!! Deeply grateful to @brokensleepbooks.bsky.social and all my teachers at UCD and the kind writers who wrote the blurbs including @gagebybell.bsky.social and @martinadalton.bsky.social and so many others …

www.brokensleepbooks.com/product-page...

Róisín Ní Neachtain - I, bird | Broken Sleep Books

Róisín Ní Neachtain's I, bird is a fragmented, lyrical reckoning with grief, trauma, and the porous boundary between body and voice. Structured in poetic prose and verse, the collection moves between ...

www.brokensleepbooks.com

10 15 36

Christina Tudor-Sideri @dreamsofbeing.bsky.social · 12h

🤍

1 1

Reposted by Christina Tudor-Sideri

Jeremy Millar @jeremymillar.bsky.social · 19h

I don't know if you remember but some time ago I said that we'd have something to share soon.

Anyway, it's this

@draughtjournal.bsky.social

draught

Description

draughtjournal.com

3 6 32

Christina Tudor-Sideri @dreamsofbeing.bsky.social · 14h

Thank you for reading, Betty 🖤

1

Christina Tudor-Sideri @dreamsofbeing.bsky.social · 17h

Thank you again for inviting me to contribute, Jeremy. The issue looks amazing, I cannot wait to read it.

1

Christina Tudor-Sideri @dreamsofbeing.bsky.social · 17h

For the inaugural issue of Draught Journal @draughtjournal.bsky.social:

On Bookmarks and Other Ruins—a reflection on the bookmark as a fragile site of memory, desire, and incompletion, accompanied by images of my own bookmarks.

draughtjournal.com/article/on-b...

On Bookmarks and Other Ruins

<p>There is something indescribably intimate about the act of interrupting one’s reading, the act of marking one’s place in a book, a subtle gesture t

draughtjournal.com

4 18 50

Christina Tudor-Sideri @dreamsofbeing.bsky.social · 17h

🖤

1 1

Reposted by Christina Tudor-Sideri

Draught @draughtjournal.bsky.social · 20h

Draught is now live!
www.draughtjournal.com
Issue 1.1.1 with contributions by Glenn Adamson, Jen Calleja, Don Mee Choi, Mark Cousins, Daisy Lafarge, Mark Manders, Rosalind Nashashibi, Lisa Robertson, Christina Tudor-Sideri and Francesca Wade

3 16 24

Christina Tudor-Sideri @dreamsofbeing.bsky.social · 3d

The physical world, long eclipsed by our luminous devices, still murmurs the language of the real. A language I fear we are slowly unlearning.

3 7 33

Christina Tudor-Sideri @dreamsofbeing.bsky.social · 3d

And in Ciels liquides: “To remain in the night forever… To lose the memory of light; to have no imagination left… I will have to invent for myself memories, loves, crimes, griefs anew, that I might perhaps suffer, take pleasure, and pass the time in my eternal night.”

6

Christina Tudor-Sideri @dreamsofbeing.bsky.social · 3d

a dark and gloomy afternoon with Eros mélancolique by Jacques Roubaud and Anne Garréta

1 4

Christina Tudor-Sideri @dreamsofbeing.bsky.social · 5d

“Each season tightens like a vise around me,” writes Cioran in one of his October journal entries.

1 2 15

Christina Tudor-Sideri @dreamsofbeing.bsky.social · 9d

Truly 🤍

1

Christina Tudor-Sideri @dreamsofbeing.bsky.social · 9d

time of the heart

Ingeborg Bachmann and Paul Celan Correspondence

German (Herzzeit) and English editions

1 11

Christina Tudor-Sideri @dreamsofbeing.bsky.social · 11d

“With my burned hand, I write of the nature of fire,” says Flaubert, whom Ingeborg Bachmann echoes in Malina. Tonight, with my own hand clumsily burned, I write not of fire, but of departure, of silence, of the void’s quiet invitation to dissolve unseen into being.

1 1 8

Christina Tudor-Sideri @dreamsofbeing.bsky.social · 11d

On Touching—Jean-Luc Nancy

1

Christina Tudor-Sideri @dreamsofbeing.bsky.social · 12d

At night.

Edvard Munch; tr. Jennifer Lloyd

I lie at night and listen to my heart beating. I hear the blood roaring in my ears - it fills my head - it seethes under my skin and in the tips of my fingers and toes. My skin tingles.
How they buzz, those billions of worlds that stream along from the skin to the heart - rhythmically steered by the beating of the heart.
Billions of worlds push forward. They wish to find a path out of their confinement. Yet they have to return over and over again. It gushes in the canals of my ear - it vibrates in my limbs - those billions of worlds.
What is little - what is large - what is time?
One second between my heartbeats - and the worlds inside me have made their circumnavigation. The light from the furthest stars in the universe take billions of years to reach me.
In my cellular tissue the worlds are at work - and the inhabitants of those worlds - the starry stream in the cellular tissue - and its inhabitants - and its atoms. I shut my eyes in the darkness. It shines and sparkles inside me. The worlds give off their light - the atoms give off their light.

7 16

Christina Tudor-Sideri @dreamsofbeing.bsky.social · 12d

“One must abandon one’s metaphors when the time comes,” writes Anna de Noailles to Marcel Proust, paraphrasing Alphonse Daudet.

9