Posts Tagged ‘ walter benjamin ’

salt lick \/\/ branding wounds

February 25, 2010
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salt lick \/\/ branding wounds

The German literary critic Walter Benjamin, as much an avant guardian as anyone yet mentioned in these pages, once saw the revolution in an advertisement for this salt. Bullrich’s. He tells the story in his unfinished Arcades Project, his massive collage of historical ephemera drawn from nineteenth century Parisian street life. Benjamin left his manuscript of the Arcades Project in the hands of Georges Bataille, then a librarian at the Bibliotheque Nationale, while he attempted to escape Nazi persecution in America. He ended up committing suicide on the Spanish-French border, despairing this endeavor. His masterpiece languished in tantalizing obscurity for many years until it was published in German in the 1970′s and translated into English at the turn of the millenium.  In the meantime, his work slowly attracted considerable interest among artists and radicals the world over. The story’s a bit longish, but has stuck with me for many years, so I’d like to pass it along to you. Here goes: “Many years ago, on a streetcar, I saw a poster that, if things had their due in this world, would have found its admirers, historians, exegetes and copyists just as surely as any great poem or painting. And, in fact,

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boredom is the dream bird that hatches the egg of experience

November 30, 2009
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boredom is the dream bird that hatches the egg of experience

There is nothing that commends a story to memory more effectively than that chaste compactness which precludes psychological analysis. And the more natural the process by which the storyteller forgoes psychological shading, the greater becomes the story’s claim to a place in the memory of the listener, the more completely is it integrated into his own experience, the greater will be his inclination to repeat it to someone else someday, sooner or later. This process of assimilation, which takes place in depth, requires a state of relaxation which is becoming rarer and rarer. If sleep is the apogee of physical relaxation, boredom is the apogee of mental relaxation. Boredom is the dream bird that hatches the egg of experience. A rustling in the leaves drives him away. His nesting places—the activities that are intimately associated with boredom—are already extinct in the cities and are declining in the country as well. With this the gift for listening is lost and the community of listeners disappears. For storytelling is always the art of repeating stories, and this art is lost when the stories are no longer retained. It is lost because there is no more weaving and spinning to go on while

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