jim haynes - the wires cracked - 2013
have found nothing to eat and are returning with tired wings to their nests; at the craggy cliffs along the sea-shore; at the fires burning on the masts of invisible ships; at the muffled sound of the waves beating against the huge fish who, as they swim, reveal their black backs and then plunge down again into the fathomless depths; and against man, who makes slaves of them. after which, they start running again through the countryside, bounding across ditches, paths, fields, through weeds and over steep rocks, their paws bleeding. their prolonged howls fill nature with dread.
(lautréamont - maldoror, 39)
tomonari nozaki - north palace - 2013
about these places especially, dark, almost dirty, shadows gathered. come to discover beauty in shadows. the light from the garden; fragile, dying rays, avoid the failure to comprehend the mystery of shadows, and especially not to disturb the glow. listening to the murmur that penetrates, what lies within the darkness one cannot distinguish. the spell disappears from the dream world built by that strange light, what feeble light there was i could imagine. a part picked up by a faint light. water lines harmonize with and bury the wires. the beauty of the grain begins to emerge, left obscure, shrouded in a dusky haze. softness and warmth of the still dimmer light, the aura of depth and mystery. set out in the night, and recede into darkness. dreamlike glow that suffuses it.
(tanizaki - manipulated in praise of shadows)
atay ilgun & alper yildirim -
aokigahara, the black sea of trees - 2012
wounded wolf press
the waves tower, and the suicide phenomenon, a labyrinth forest and postwar nihilism that expanded the scope and further darkened the atmosphere of the wind-blocking density of the trees and an absence of deer, rabbits and the like, this forest is known for being exceptionally quiet!
darkness hummed about him, clinging to him like coagulated, damp warm wool. the terror he had felt as intimation fused with the darkness became whole and real. he could see a little now: the darkness had grown horizontal lines of gray, as if it had begun to decompose. "i just feel tired' he said.
(p.k. dick - ubik)
wrapped in his cloak, a book in his lap, our traveller rested; hours slipped by unawares. it stopped raining, the canvas was taken down. the horizon was visible right round; beneath the sombre dome of the sky stretched the vast plain of empty sea. but immeasurable unarticulated space weakens our power to measure time as well: the time-sense falters and grows dim. strange, shadowy figures passed and repassed. (t. mann - death in venice)
