The Labyrinthine

February 25, 2010

Alexey Titarenko

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Titarenko "City of Shadows, Variant Crowd 2" 1993

Titarenko From ”Time Standing Still, White Dresses” 1998


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Jorge Luis Borges
“Borges and I”

The other one, the one called Borges, is the one things happen to. I walk through the streets of Buenos Aires and stop for a moment, perhaps mechanically now, to look at the arch of an entrance hall and the grillwork on the gate; I know of Borges from the mail and see his name on a list of professors or in a biographical dictionary. I like hourglasses, maps, eighteenth-century typography, the taste of coffee and the prose of Stevenson; he shares these preferences, but in a vain way that turns them into the attributes of an actor. It would be an exaggeration to say that ours is a hostile relationship; I live, let myself go on living, so that Borges may contrive his literature, and this literature justifies me. It is no effort for me to confess that he has achieved some valid pages, but those pages cannot save me, perhaps because what is good belongs to no one, not even to him, but rather to the language and to tradition. Besides, I am destined to perish, definitively, and only some instant of myself can survive in him. Little by little, I am giving over everything to him, though I am quite aware of his perverse custom of falsifying and magnifying things.

Spinoza knew that all things long to persist in their being; the stone eternally wants to be a stone and the tiger a tiger. I shall remain in Borges, not in myself (if it is true that I am someone), but I recognize myself less in his books than in many others or in the laborious strumming of a guitar. Years ago I tried to free myself from him and went from the mythologies of the suburbs to the games with time and infinity, but those games belong to Borges now and I shall have to imagine other things. Thus my life is a flight and I lose everything and everything belongs to oblivion, or to him.

I do not know which of us has written this page.

February 24, 2010

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February 19, 2010

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Overwhelmed – via bella

February 18, 2010

All fecund in its nuttiness!!!

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…as someone in the comments said, this makes being an English major so so worthwhile =]

February 17, 2010

…@ the corner of nuite and jour ave, was an infinite story building.

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“J: it would be like one story, into another, into another, and it would never stop”

February 16, 2010


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via “I Should Be the One Giving James Bond His Gadgets” by Benji .

Tandem story: Of Mars and Venus

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“You know that book Men are from Mars, Women from Venus? Well, here’s a prime example of that. This assignment was actually turned in by two of my English students: Rebecca (last name deleted) and Gary (last name deleted).

First, the Assignment:

English 44A
Creative Writing
Prof. Miller

In-class Assignment for Wednesday:

Today we will experiment with a new form called the tandem story. The process is simple. Each person will pair off with the person sitting to his or her immediate right. One of you will then write the first paragraph of a short story. The partner will read the first paragraph and then add another paragraph to the story. The first person will then add a third paragraph, and so on back and forth. Remember to re-read what has been written each time in order to keep the story coherent. The story is over when both agree a conclusion has been reached.

And now, the Assignment as submitted by Rebecca & Gary:

Rebecca starts:

At first, Laurie couldn’t decide which kind of tea she wanted. The camomile, which used to be her favourite for lazy evenings at home, now reminded her too much of Carl, who once said, in happier times, that he liked camomile. But she felt she must now, at all costs, keep her mind off Carl. His possessiveness was suffocating, and if she thought about him too much her asthma started acting up again. So camomile was out of the question.


Meanwhile, Advance Sergeant Carl Harris, leader of the attack squadron now in orbit over Skylon 4, had more important things to think about than the neuroses of an air-headed, asthmatic bimbo named Laurie with whom he had spent one sweaty night over a year ago.

“A.S. Harris to Geostation 17,” he said into his transgalactic communicator. “Polar orbit established. No sign of resistance so far…” But before he could sign off, a bluish particle beam flashed out of nowhere and blasted a hole through his ship’s cargo bay. The jolt from the direct hit sent him flying out of his seat and across the cockpit.


He bumped his head and died almost immediately, but not before he felt one
last pang of regret for psychologically brutalising the one woman who had
ever had feelings for him. Soon afterwards, Earth stopped its pointless
hostilities towards the peaceful farmers of Skylon 4.

“Congress Passes Law Permanently Abolishing War and Space Travel”,
Laurie read in her newspaper one morning. The news simultaneously excited
her and bored her. She stared out the window, dreaming of her youth —
when the days had passed unhurriedly and carefree, with no newspapers to
read, no television to distract her from her sense of innocent wonder at
all the beautiful things around her. “Why must one lose one’s innocence to
become a woman?” she pondered wistfully.


Little did she know, but she has less than 10 seconds to live. Thousands of miles above the city, the Anu’udrian mothership launched the first of its lithium fusion missiles. The dim-witted, wimpy peaceniks who pushed the Unilateral Aerospace Disarmament Treaty through Congress had left Earth a defenceless target for the hostile alien empires who were determined to destroy the human race. Within two hours after the passage of the treaty, the Anu’udrian ships were on course for Earth, carrying enough firepower to pulverise the entire planet. With no one to stop them, they swiftly initiated their diabolical plan.

The lithium fusion missile entered the atmosphere unimpeded. The President, in his top-secret mobile submarine headquarters on the ocean floor off the coast of Guam, felt the inconceivably massive explosion which vaporised Laurie and 85 million other Americans. The President slammed his fist on the conference table. “We can’t allow this! I’m going to veto that treaty! Let’s blow ’em out of the sky!”


This is absurd. I refuse to continue this mockery of literature. My writing partner is a violent, chauvinistic, semi-literate adolescent.


Yeah? Well, you’re a self-centred, tedious neurotic whose attempts at writing are the literary equivalent of Valium.

Rebecca:  Asshole.

Gary:  Bitch.”

Gosh, I love collaborative writing :]  I just sent this to my English professor, hopefully we’ll do something like this in class soon!

Filed under: Uncategorized — thelabyrinthine @ 11:43 am

A flickr friend took this picture when she saw him outside the mall at Adelaide.  I thought it hilarious, something to store in mind for future reference haha.

February 15, 2010

leather and metal: the envied couple

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First time I came across something similar was purely through chance,  and it was here.  I still get uncontrollably giddy when I browse through that stream and cannot limit my choices to favorites.  And the fascination continues:

Rouler de patins

And what I wouldn’t do get this robot pet, also reminds me of delicious folks as Wall-E.

robot pet

robot pet

These are steampunk scultpures created by Belgian artist Stephane Halleux.

“I like crazy mixtures, unlikely associations, advanced technology mixed with mechanisms of long ago. I’ve always been fascinated by robotics, its advantages and contradictions.”


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