Although the format suggests it, many photobooks have structurally not a lot in common with a novel. They often lack basic structural elements, they lack something that even resembles a story-arc(a beginning? a middle? an end?) - instead, they more often resemble a musical piece. They have Rhythm, they have recurring motifs, a basic theme, variations; they are governed by moments of silence, followed by a swelling of sound, a Coda to pick up and fade out themes…

A sunset: 78%, a landscape: 76%, a little girl playing with a cat: 56%, a woman breast-feeding: 54%, a folk dance: 46%, a weaver at work: 39%, a famous monument: 27%, a first communion: 26%, a snake: 20%, a rope 16%, a metal frame: 15%, cabbages: 12%, a butcher’s stall: 9%… a car accident: 1% — Pierre Bourdieu, “The Social Definition Of Photography” in: Photography, A Middle Brow Art…

Wir durchstießen den Abend mit dem Kopf. Es gab keine Tages- und keine Nachtzeit. Bald rieben sich unsere Westenknöpfe aneinander wie Zähne, bald liefen wir in gleichbleibender Entfernung, Feuer im Mund, wie Tiere in den Tropen. Wie Kürassiere in alten Kriegen, stampfend und hoch in der Luft, trieben wir einander die kurze Gasse hinunter und mit diesem Anlauf in den Beinen die Landstraße weiter hinauf.

Since I have been drinking Coffee - which is almost literally all my life - I have been drinking it with Milk and Sugar. Very often with more milk and and more sugar for the Coffee really to be called Coffee. And every so often when I ordered my Coffee and was asked how I would like to drink it it, I answered it with my usual sing-sang of “Milk and Sugar please”.

He could not persuade himself that, if he wrote round about his subject with facility or treated it from any standpoint of impression, good would come of it. On the other hand he was persuaded that no-one served the generation into which he had been born so well as he who offered it, whether in his art or in his life, the gift of certitude. -James Joyce, Stephen Hero

Understanding is an outlier case in a universe of misunderstandings. -- Pierre Bourdieu

Die Union plant, das Informationsfreiheitsgesetz auszuhebeln. Fordere die SPD auf, keine Koalition ohne Transparenz einzugehen. Jetzt unterzeichnen ✍️​

“Why is form beautiful?  Because, I think, it helps us confront our worst fear, the suspicion that life may be chaos and that therefore, our suffering is without meaning.” — Robert Adams

an archaeology of the now, a reversed excavation, slowly burying things in order to let them be found thousand years in the future that is already lost to us.

Die zunehmende Proletarisierung der heutigen Menschen und zunehmende Formierung von Massen sind zwei Seiten ein und desselben Geschehens. Der Faschismus versucht, die neu entstandenen proletarisierten Massen zu organisieren, ohne die Einentumsverhältnisse, auf deren Beseitgung sie hindrängen, anzutasten. Er sieht sein Heil darin, die Massen zu ihrem Ausdruck (beileibe nicht zu ihrem Recht) kommen zu lassen. Die Massen haben ein Recht auf Veränderung der Eigentumsverhältnisse, der Faschismus sucht ihnen einen Ausdruck in deren Konservierung zu geben.

“Drop your hands to your sides; they are heavy weights now at the ends of your arms […] reach out and grasp this photograph — small indistinct city street damp black pavement — mounds of earth to the left, poles, long low building, high bright spot from arc-lamp on its standard etc. in the low flat landscape. The muscles in your arms are rigid, the glossy photo surface crinkles in the clutching fingers of your hand your hand the knuckles now gone white.

The soil crushed by power saws and couch-grass rock drills would set us a good example; a drunken magpie leaps one by one over the furrows crimson from blight. The twilight plowing has come to an end and on the church square, milk-white engagement bouquets blossom between paving stones. The sad flutter of old pennants, the notary’s and farrier’s share of responsibility, evaporate in the fizzy lemonade morning.

Im Zimmer ebben die Geräusche ab, das hohle Bellen des Hundes hohlt nicht mehr. Der Himmel tönt, und auch der leere Waschraum in der Schule; Frauen schauen sie an oder sich selbst. Wie lange dauert es, bis der Tee in einem Glas erkaltet? Oder der Fluss, die Kirche, die Glocken, der Rauch, der aus der Nase glitt? Es gibt eine Form von Gedächtnisschwund, die lässt sich nicht klinisch belegen.

The Second Coming W.B. Yeats Turning and turning in the widening gyre The falcon cannot hear the falconer; Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold; Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world, The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere The ceremony of innocence is drowned; The best lack all conviction, while the worst Are full of passionate intensity. Surely some revelation is at hand;