again and again and again
" The modern individual family is founded on the open or concealed domestic slavery of the wife and modern society is a mass composed of these individual families as its molecules. In the great majority of cases today, at least in the possessing classes, the husband is obliged to earn a living and support his family, and that gives him a position of supremacy without any need for special legal titles and privileges. Within the family he is the bourgeois, and the wife represents the proletariat. "
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" At the level not so much of approval, but rather of unthinking social acceptance, I believe that the male-female relationship in Australia rests on a frightening sub-stratum of violence. Part of it is that the Australian culture belongs with Judaeo-Christian culture, which, as Joachim Kahl points out in The Misery of Christianity, is fundamentally anti-woman. The popular language of sex (as in all the variants of the English language) is violent… [T]he Australian code of aggressive masculinity (which found its first expression in “mateship”) involves the positive isolation of women in their role as sexual objects. This implies an inhuman violence in sexual relationships, against which Women’s Liberationists are quite reasonably protesting. "
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reblog if capitalism ruined ur chill aesthetic

(Source: stepitupforthecoolcats, via pheromoans)


hauntology:

"Contemplating night, I see nothing, love nothing. I remain immobile, frozen, absorbed in IT. I can imagine a landscape of terror, sublime, earth open as a volcano, the sky filled with fire, or any other vision capable of ‘putting the mind into ecstasy’; as beautiful and disturbing as it may be, night surpasses this limited ‘possible’ and yet IT is nothing, there is nothing in IT which can be felt, not even finally darkness. In IT, everything fades away, but, exorbitant, I traverse an empty depth and the empty death traverses me. In IT, I communicate with the ‘unknown’ opposed to the ipse which I am; I become ipse, unknown to myself, two terms merge in a single wrenching, barely differing from a void—not able to be distinguished from it by anything that I can grasp—nevertheless differing from it more than does the world of a thousand colors.”

—Georges Bataille, Inner Experience

(via 1109-83)


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