#mac

De machine is niet bestreden, maar opgenomen, met een ereplaats, in de komende maatschappij: om de machine nog te beheersen, zal de mens van zichzelf een machine maken, maar hij doet het met trots, en hij noemt dát 'de menselijke waardigheid ↗

— E. du Perron

#men

Men believe the cure for war is war as the curandero prescribes the serpent's flesh for its bite. ↗

— Cormac McCarthy

#cormac-mccarthy #john-dunn #men

Few travelled in these days, for, thanks to the advance of science, the earth was exactly alike all over. Rapid intercourse, from which the previous civilization had hoped so much, had ended by defeating itself. What was the good of going to Peking when it was just like Shrewsbury? Why return to Shrewsbury when it would all be like Peking? Men seldom moved their bodies; all unrest was concentrated in the soul. ↗

— E.M. Forster

#civilisation #civilization #future #machine #science-fiction

But neither money nor machines can create. They shuttle tokens of energy, but they do not transform. A civilization based on them puts people out of touch with their creative powers. ↗

— Lewis Hyde

#culture #machines #money #poetry #money

The avoiding, in many times and places, has proved so difficult that a very large part of the human race failed to achieve it. But in our own time and place it is extremely easy. Avoid silence, avoid solitude, avoid any train of thought that leads off the beaten track. Concentrate on money, sex, status, health and (above all) on your own grievances. Keep the radio on. Live in a crowd. Use plenty of sedation. If you must read books, select them very carefully, but you’d be safer to stick to the papers. You’ll find the advertisements helpful; especially those with a sexy or snobbish appeal. ↗

— C.S. Lewis

#distraction #god #spiritual-intimacy #money

I'm not the one who's so far away When I feel the snake bite enter my veins. Never did I wanna be here again, And I don't remember why I came. ↗

— Sully Erna

#erna #godsmack #metal #music #snake

Sex parties, alcohol and drugs lost their appeal to Sven after a while. Music never did, in his continual search for that sober connection--intimacy with one person over a long period of time, as opposed to periods of intimacy with a bunch of random faces. ↗

— Jess C. Scott

#connection #drugs #happiness #incubus #intimacy

Early Summer, loveliest season, The world is being colored in. While daylight lasts on the horizon, Sudden, throaty blackbirds sing. The dusty-colored cuckoo cuckoos. "Welcome, summer" is what he says. Winter's unimaginable. The wood's a wickerwork of boughs. Summer means the river's shallow, Thirsty horses nose the pools. Long heather spreads out on bog pillows. White bog cotton droops in bloom. Swallows swerve and flicker up. Music starts behind the mountain. There's moss and a lush growth underfoot. Spongy marshland glugs and stutters. Bog banks shine like ravens' wings. The cuckoo keeps on calling welcome. The speckled fish jumps; and the strong Swift warrior is up and running. A little, jumpy, chirpy fellow Hits the highest note there is; The lark sings out his clear tidings. Summer, shimmer, perfect days. ↗

— Marie Heaney

#fionn-mac-cumhaill #folklore #ireland #poetry #summer

Alright, let's rock it ↗

— Mac Powell

#mac-powell #third-day #music

To transform a grimace into a sound sounds impossible, yet it is possible to transform a vision into music, to go outside an enslaved personality, to become impersonal by transforming into sand, into water, into light. ↗

— Dejan Stojanovic

#dejan-stojanovic #grimace #impersonal #impossible #light