viernes, 31 de julio de 2015

Peter Singer on racism, sexism and speciesism

The Beauty of Wild Life

If a being suffers there can be no moral justification for refusing to take that suffering into consideration. No matter what the nature of the being, the principle of equality requires that its suffering be counted equally with the like suffering of any other being. If a being is not capable of suffering, or of experiencing enjoyment or happiness, there is nothing to be taken into account. So the limit of sentience is the only defensible boundary of concern for the interests of others. To mark this boundary by some other characteristic like intelligence or rationality would be to mark it in an arbitrary manner. Why not choose some other characteristic, like skin color?

Racists violate the principle of quality by giving greater weight to the interests of members of their own race when there is a clash between their interests and the interests of those of another race. Sexists violate the principle of equality by favoring the interests of their own sex. Similarly, speciesists allow the interests of their own species to override the greater interests of members of other species. The pattern is identical in each case.

- Peter Singer (Animal Liberation)

We all stand on an equal footing

All the arguments to prove man’s superiority cannot shatter this hard fact: in suffering the animals are our equals.

From an ethical point of view, we all stand on an equal footing - whether we stand on two feet, or four, or none at all."
-Peter Singer

jueves, 30 de julio de 2015

Peter Singer on Animal suffering and the principle of equality

The application of the principle of equality to the infliction of suffering is, in theory at least, fairly straightforward. Pain and suffering are in themselves bad and should be prevented or minimized, irrespective of the race, sex, or species of the being that suffers.

Just as most human beings are speciesists in their readiness to cause pain to animals when they would not cause a similar pain to humans for the same reason, so must human beings are speciesists in their readiness to kill other animals when they would not kill human beings.

miércoles, 29 de julio de 2015

Evelyn Mchale

Con 23 años Evelyn saltó del Empire State. La foto se hizo famosa por la tranquilidad y belleza del cadáver, así como la posición de su mano sosteniendo su collar. Abajo, la nota de suicidio de Evelyn.

No quiero, que, ninguno dentro o fuera de mi família vea alguna parte de mí.
¿ Podrían destruir mi cuerpo cremándolo ? Les ruego, que, no me hagan ningún funeral o ningún tipo de ceremonia. Mi novio me pidió matrimonio para Junio. No creo, que, pudiera ser una buena esposa para nadie. Él estará mucho mejor sin mí.
Díganle a mi padre, que, tengo muchas tendencias de mi madre.
- Evelyn McHale -

lunes, 27 de julio de 2015

Kundera explaining how women give men status... Kundera explica cómo las mujeres les damos a los hombres estatus.

For he was aware of the great secret of life: Women don't look for handsome men. Women look for men who have had beautiful women.

Porque él estaba al tanto del gran secreto de la vida: Las mujeres no buscan hombres apuestos. Las mujeres buscan hombres que hayan tenido mujeres hermosas. 

-Milan Kundera

sábado, 25 de julio de 2015

viernes, 24 de julio de 2015

Blanchot on Poetry

Maurice Blanchot (web)

Poetry is a means of putting oneself in danger without running any risk, a mode of suicide, destruction of self, that comfortably leaves space for the surest affirmation of self.

-Maurice Blanchot (France 1907-2003)

martes, 21 de julio de 2015

Maurice Blanchot on death.

Gilbert Garcin

My speech is a warning that at this very moment death is loose in the world, that it has suddenly appeared between me, as I speak, and the being I address: it is there between us as the distance that separates us, but this distance is also what prevents us from being separated, because it contains the condition for all understanding. Death alone allows me to grasp what I want to attain; it exists in words as the only way they can have meaning. Without death, everything would sink into absurdity and nothingness.

- Maurice Blanchot 

miércoles, 15 de julio de 2015

Kundera sobre el poder y el olvido

- El primer paso para liquidar a un pueblo, dijo Hubl, es borrar su memoria. Destruir sus libros, su cultura, su historia. Luego hacer que alguien escriba nuevos libros, manufacture una nueva cultura, invente una nueva historia. Pronto la nación empezará a olvidar lo que es y lo que fue. El mundo a su alrededor lo olvidará todavía más deprisa. 
- ¿Y la lengua?
-¿Por qué debiera alguien preocuparse de quitárnosla? Pronto solo será una cuestión de folklore y morirá de muerte natural.
   ¿Era la desesperación total la que dictaba aquella hipérbole?
   ¿O es verdad que una nación no puede cruzar un desierto de olvido organizado? [...]

La lucha del hombre contra el poder es la lucha de la memoria contra el olvido.

- Milan Kundera (El libro de la risa y el olvido) 

Kundera on power

Photo web

The first step in liquidating a people [...] is to erase its memory. Destroy its book, its culture, its history. Then have somebody write new books, manufacture a new culture, invent a new history. Before long the nation will begin to forget what it is and what it was. The world around it will forget even faster... The struggle of man against power is the struggle of memory against forgetting.

- Milan Kundera (The book of laughter and forgetting)

domingo, 12 de julio de 2015

Random facts on a Friday night... ok, not so random... CR- VocalesV


I walk out of the bedroom naked. He’s sitting in front of his laptop writing an abstract on Clarice Lispector. We had spent several weekends reading and discussing some of her books. We are sure he is the one who has to write about them. ‘Come to bed’ I say, looking at my own reflection in the window, a pale image against the darkness of night. He smiles looking at me as I move towards him. His gaze is full of intensity and love. I sat on top of him, my face facing his, I want to steal his eyes but I can’t so I kiss him. We take our time exploring each other’s mouths. I suck his tongue and drink his saliva, his eyes are closed and his hands touch my body with desire and tenderness. I feel his body reacting under his pants. ‘Come to bed’ I repeat, my face is hot and red. He stands up and follows me, because that’s what we do, we abandon anything just to make love together.I knew I loved him from the moment I met him. With others, there was always a level of effort that needed to be accomplished in order for me to love them. An effort that was destructed at the very moment they started loving me back. I would immediately felt disgusted and grow colder with the days, until they would walk away, trying to find me in a tenderer version. I always hoped they succeeded. Love is burdensome, but with him it feels light and bearable.

I’m addicted to the smell of his skin, I suck and blow him everywhere, and I don’t seem to get enough. He opens my legs and his tongue encounters my wetness. There’s no doubt he is as crazy about me as I am about him. He cleans me, he drinks me, and he invades me with anticipated authority, ‘Do you want me to go inside you now? – I can barely say yes. He is in and I am anaesthetise, I want to scream, I want to bite him, I want to climb up a mountain and let myself fall, but all I can do is coming with demoniac impatience. When I manage to open my eyes again, I see his face, steady, ready, with hints of painful pleasure. He comes and a river of dead promises comes with him. And we stay just like that, entangled and immobile, between open doors and windows that remind us of the life outside these walls. Our hearts beat hard enough for us to hear them and I drop all my cynicism about love. I don’t idealise anymore, I know he is just as corrupted as I am and I know he loves me, irremediably, but I don’t escape anymore. I’ve made peace with those facts.Real desire lacks rationality, lucky me, since I’m tired of being so rational. Would it last? These days we say it will, but we carry the seed of freedom within us. The seed is strong. Deep inside we’re scared it will not end. But how could we complain? We’ve tasted love.He kisses my neck, I move to disentangle our bodies, and in this very moment I agree with Aristophanes. I kiss him again and my whole body feels ready. I am wet, full of his fluids and I fall asleep with a smile. I hear his steps towards the laptop after he has closed the door. ‘Literature’, I think, ‘his second lover’. I’m more than willing to share him.


lunes, 6 de julio de 2015

There’s so much death when you come inside me, CR VocalesVerticales


There’s so much death when you come inside me
rivers of mentally-ill and dead children
it only makes our love more pure.
I drink your death and swallow it
it tastes of tragedy.

Looking at you opposite me in the bath,
I realize you redefine beauty
with your recollections of ambiguous forms of sorrow
ancient, like love and ruins
you could be a woman and yet, you're slightly better.
You smile while reading Levinas
and we both pity those who suffer
mutual incomprehension.

Once again your death is inside me
my womb becomes a cemetery of dead children
and you stop to appreciate the beauty
I’m so glad,
nothing shall ever leave my body alive
except you,
my love.

We couldn’t possibly call this coincidence.

Instead, you suck my blood
I’ll be a man or a woman
whatever you prefer that day
but I’ll always bleed
and you’ll open your majestic mouth
to drink my death full of flowers.

You love me,
of course you do
I’m the coffin of your little children
the guardian of your ego and frustrations
I’m an open wound and I never heal.

I want to feel an immense grief again
so I make love to you
the purest love in the world cannot be named
except by death.

Our bed is a wasteland of shadows
full of life, even in it's deadliest of forms...


You can also see this poem published  at: https://scriggler.com/DetailPost/Poetry/12472#sthash.PecEZDht.dpuf

Fragment Essays in Love, Alain de Botton

Beautifully written
love will always be inevitable.

viernes, 3 de julio de 2015

Violette leduc, Therese and Isabelle (II)

Therese & Isabelle

Do you love me? I asked.
I was hoping for confusion.

-Violette Leduc

Fragment Violette Leduc: Therese and Isabelle

Violette Leduc

We are talking. It’s a shame. What is said is murdered. Our words that will not grow any bigger or any lovelier will wilt inside our bones. Words wither feelings.

-Violette Leduc (France, 1907)

Kundera on Reality (Ignorance)


We won’t understand a thing about human life if we persist in avoiding the most obvious fact: that a reality no longer is what it was when it was; it cannot be reconstructed.

-Milan Kundera

Y la muerte también, CR


 Vi que mi padre besaba a mi madre

años antes de nacer
luego vi a mi padre en todos los hombres que 
condené al exilio.
Incesto inacabado.

Palabras prohibidas que han de confesarse. 

Un lenguaje simple y desnudo
siempre ha de herir mucho más.

Escribir el canto de un pájaro

y escribir su muerte,
ambos han de causar temblor y adoración
de forma irresponsable.

Un lugar en donde todo lo que no es


Caminantes perseguidos por las olas

y el recuerdo de un hombre estrangulado
detrás del mar.

El fin del mar ha coincidido con mi huida

la tierra fría ahoga,
mi libertad asusta a otros.

Busco a gatas un círculo

algún lugar donde pueda respirar
la tristeza para quien se la pueda permitir
y la muerte también,
para el que pueda pagarla.

CR- VocalesV