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D Quotes

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“derelict. my voice cracked and yolk poured out. wind chimes rigid, no breeze, no song. my wings found hidden in your suitcase. pleas for help mistaken for a swan song. i'm stuffing pages from my journal down my throat as kindling. hoping the smoke will get the taste of you out of my mouth. he looks at me from across the room and all i want is to push him against the wall. ravage. ravage. carnage has never been more vogue. is it still art if it doesn't bring you to your knees? lover, let me prey at your altar. let me bare my fangs in praise. don't i look so pretty in a funeral shroud? i keep time with the click of my creaking bones. dance with me under the milky translucence of a world suffocating. how did you find me? i buried myself beneath the cicadas. is a girl trapped in glass still a prize? let me get under your skin. i want to know what your fears taste like. i want to consume.”

“Derian pulled the blanket snug around himself. “This is my added assurance.” Eena wrinkled her nose as if she thought his answer was odder than his actions. “It’s your what?” “If you recall the last time we were here standing in this very spot, you pelted me with neumberries.” He held up a single berry before popping it into his mouth. “I doubt you would risk soiling your blanket, so I figure wrapping it around me this way I’m pretty much assured safety from any potential attack.” He winked playfully, and she laughed out loud. “I’m afraid you don’t know me half as well as you think,” she announced. Aiming low, she flung a sizable berry at his calf. It hit its mark. “Whoa, whoa!” He lowered the blanket to cover his legs. “You can’t hide yourself entirely, Derian,” she said, aiming for his face. He ducked, raising the blanket like a shield in the process. Another round of ammunition pelted his ankles before he decided it was time to fight back. Eena found herself bound up in her own blanket, arms wrapped securely at her sides. She laughed nonstop, unable to move within his strong hold. Derian leaned forward until their noses touched, and then he kissed her giggles silent. He kept her in the blanket, snug and close to him, but Eena managed to wriggle an arm free and drape it around his neck, holding his lips in reach. She uttered a quick count in between kisses. “Seven,” she breathed. Derian paused, his mouth a whisper away from hers. It tickled when he spoke. “No, no, Eena.” “No what?” “No counting. Not today. No ground rules.” She barely uttered a partial “’kay” before his mouth covered hers again. His hot breath tasted like breakfast. He fixed his hands on each side of her face, and the blanket fell to the ground. As the intensity of their kisses grew hungry, he gripped her cheeks more securely. Eena could feel the air electrifying around them. Her heartbeat drummed—excited and anxious. “Derian…” she breathed. But he didn’t stop. She felt his hand move to support her neck while the other slid down her back, urging her closer. She brought her arms together and pressed against his chest, somewhat objecting to the intimacy. “Derian…” she tried again. But he covered her mouth with his own. She pushed more firmly against him without success. Her protest weakened as his kisses softened. The fervor subsided, and she could feel her wild pulse even out. Amidst a string of supple kisses, Derian’s breathing slowed. He planted his lips on her forehead for a moment before squeezing her tenderly. She snuggled up against his warm chest. “One ground rule,” he whispered in her ear. “We stop when you say ‘when.’” “When,” she uttered. “Okay,” he agreed. Then, as if the thought had just occurred to her, she stepped back to look up questioningly at the captain. “Wasn’t there a leftover sandwich in that basket from last night?” His lips formed a guilty smile as he confessed, “Yes—and it was delicious.”

“Derinlerdeki mahzenlerde, köklerin yayıldığı mağaralarda ve yüreğin karanlık kuyularında tutkunun hakiki ve tehlikeli canavarları fosforlu pırıltılarını saçarak dolaşırken, gizlice çiftleşir ve en akıl almaz biçimlerde birbirlerini parçalarken yazarların yaşamın sadece ışığın vurduğu üst kıyısını, duyguların açıkça ve kurallara uygun olarak sergilendiği kesimlerini anlatması rahatlıktan mı, korkaklıktan mı yoksa bakış darlığından mı geliyor acaba. Şeytansı dürtülerin kızgın ve tüketici soluğundan, tutuşmuş kanın buharından mı korkuyorlar, çok nazik ellerini insanlığın iltihaplı çıbanıyla kirletmekten mi ürküyorlar, yoksa yumuşak aydınlıklara alışkın gözlerini bu kaygan, tehlikeli, çürümüşlük sızan basamaklara çeviremiyorlar mı? Ne var ki bilen insan için hiçbir haz gizli olanın verdiği kadar güçlü değildir ve açıklanamayacak kadar utanç verici bir acı kadar kutsal olanı yoktur.”

“Derken garip bir düşünceyle çarpıldım. Adam ölmüş. Bir hayalet, onunu gibilerin hepsi ölüydi. Etraftaki bir çok insanın ölmüş olduğu o anda kafama dank etti. Bir insanın kalbi durunca -daha önce değil- öldüğünü söyleriz. Bana biraz keyfi geliyor bu. Sonuçta vücudun bazı kısımları çalışmaya devam ediyor; mesela saçlar, tüyler daha yıllarca uzuyor. Belki insan asıl beyni durunca ölüyor, yeni bir düşünceyi idrak etme gücünü yitirince.”

“Derrière la série de Fourier, d'autres séries analogues sont entrées dans la domaine de l'analyse; elles y sont entrees par la même porte; elles ont été imaginées en vue des applications. After the Fourier series, other series have entered the domain of analysis; they entered by the same door; they have been imagined in view of applications.”

“Derrière son apparente neutralité, le musée tient une place dans les processus de domination et dans la représentation que l’État-nation se fait de lui-même. Le pouvoir qu’il exerce ne s’appuie pas exclusivement sur son taux de fréquentation ou son prestige, mais aussi sur la transformation de tableaux et d’objets en symboles de la gloire nationale et de la richesse de la nation. Élevés au statut d’icônes d’une civilisation dite supérieure, reproduits à l’infini dans les manuels scolaires, sur les timbres, la vaisselle, les cartes postales ou les calendriers, ces objets sont devenus inséparables du récit occidental. On va au musée pour être éduqué·e non seulement à une histoire de l’art eurocentrée mais à une discipline du regard et du corps. Le musée se visite en silence, dans un recueillement propre à une conception de la réception de la beauté qui sied à la culture bourgeoise. Le musée est aussi un centre commercial, lieu privilégié du tourisme, un espace de hiérarchie sociale, de genre et de race, où la propriété privée et nationale sont de rigueur. Le musée universel reste le symbole pour les États, qu’ils soient libéraux ou autoritaires, de leur contribution à l’éducation de toute l’humanité.”

“Dersim özgürlüğün arka bahçesi, zulümden kaçan, kılıçtan kurtulanların barınağı, hainliğe, hileye-hurdaya, korkaklığa, kalleşliğe yol vermeyen, gönüllerinde insan sevgisi, beyinlerinde sömürüsüz-sınıfsız ideallerin volta attığı bir gül bahçesi. Bahçeyi kucaklayan dağları yüce, ırmakları coşkuludur. Dersim, silah olur patlar, saz olur çalınır, öykü olur anlatılır, semah olur dönülür, cem olur tutulur...”

“Dervish Advaitam Sonnet Aham dharmam, aham daivam, Aham qurban for bhoolokam. Aham nyayam, aham shastram, Aham the end of all divisionism. Aham prakriti, aham pralayam, Aham the seed of all causality. I am life, I am death as well, Life to love ‘n death to inhumanity. To most people family is the world, But to me the world is family. Because I am accountable for all life, I am the epitome of collectivity. All that is civilized starts with me. Aham brahmandam, aham brahmasmi. (aham: I am, dharmam: duty, daivam: divinity, qurban: sacrificed, bhoolokam: kingdom of earth, nyayam: justice, shastram: gospel, prakriti: nature, pralayam: apocalypse, brahmandam: universe, brahmasmi: almighty)”

“Dervishes died as the bullets smacked into them, but the rest never even thought of pausing. In a society where bravery and reputation counted for much more than mere wealth, the warrior creed drove them forward. Ancient blades flashed in the sunlight and swung again, now covered in fresh blood. In short order the ground was littered with torn and mangled Egyptian corpses and the battle was over.”

“Derviş yanıyor burda (Şiir) Yüzlerce kitap, binlerce şiir, nasıl yazabildiğimi biliyor musun? Çünkü beni bekleyen kimse yok, birinin sevgisine sahip olsaydım, onu dinlerdim, ona şarkı söylerdim, kendimi silerek ona alışırdım. Dudaklarda sessizlik, ama gönlümde gürültü - dışarıda aşırı soğuk, içimde derviş yanıyor. Aşk nedir? Benliği silmek. Cennet nedir? Biriyle birleşmek. Ama, aşık insan aşk nedir sormaz, canlı insan insanlık nedir aramaz.”

“Dervişler... Paris çok sevmiş onları. Harika. Tam bir gösteri işte. Saygıdeğer keşişlerin ayini de bu kadar etkileyici midir? Sanmıyorum. Ama haklısın. Ancak o zaman medeni oluruz. Peki, yeri değiştirilen gösteri müminler için taşıdığı değeri korur mu? Şüpheliyim. Her zamanki gibi 'biçimin korunduğu ama içeri-k'in (ya da ateşin veya kaynağın) sonsuza dek yittiği söylenir! Medeniyet çoğu zaman 'etkisizleşme' anlamına gelir.”