Base­ment

“He real­ly lik­ed the base­ment. It was like being in ano­ther world, while kno­wing that the other world was still the­re out­side, abo­ve you, if you nee­ded it. But down here it was quiet, and no one came and said anything, did anything to you. Not­hing you had to do.”

John Ajvi­de Lind­q­vist, ‘Let the Right One in’

Thou canst not hear the songs of my dark­ness

“When it is day with thee, my fri­end, it is night with me; yet even then I speak of the noon­ti­de that dances upon the hills and of the pur­ple shadow that ste­als its way across the val­ley; for thou canst not hear the songs of my dark­ness nor see my wings bea­ting against the stars—and I fain would not have thee hear or see. I would be with night alo­ne.”

[Kha­lil Gibran: Com­ple­te Works; Aus­zug aus: The Mad­man]

Sta­ring eyes

“The only con­stant was his eyes. Sta­ring into them, I saw not­hing. No emo­ti­on. No huma­ni­ty. In every pho­to­graph, the eyes (…) were dark blanks that reve­a­led not­hing. A say­ing I’d heard long ago came to mind: When you sta­re into the abyss, the abyss also sta­res into you.

[R. Sager: Home Befo­re Dark]

(Fiel mir erst nach­träg­lich ein: klei­ner Ver­weis zum Gedicht Ich faß­te dei­ne Hand.)

Cau­tio­na­ry Tale (D. Schweit­zer)

„Jack Sprat would eat no fat.
His wife would eat no lean.
Mrs. Sprat died in her late thir­ties
of a com­bi­na­ti­on of dia­be­tes,
high blood pres­su­re, and heart fail­ure.

Her hus­band out­lived her by almost four deca­des.
He never remar­ried.“

{Cau­tio­na­ry Tale by Dar­rell Schweit­zer}

 

The New Crea­tures of the Night

“The Bri­tish streets had always been a bree­ding ground for inter­na­tio­nal style crea­ting an Eng­lish civil style war that saw the other youth tribes–Teddy Boys, skin­heads, punks, metal heads, rocka­bil­lies and psychobillies–fighting pit­ched batt­les. Goths though, pre­fer­red to dress up, read, think, fuck and dance; the­se new crea­tures of the night came ali­ve on the dance flo­or.”
― from John Robb: “The art of dark­ness: The histo­ry of goth”
Castrum Nigra, 2019
Tan­zen­de @ Castrum Nigra 2019

Not giving a f*ck about pain

apples, good, ripe, bad, mold“Pain is an inex­tri­ca­ble thread in the fab­ric of life, and to tear it out is not only impos­si­ble, but des­truc­ti­ve: attemp­ting to tear it out unra­vels ever­ything else with it. To try to avo­id pain is to give too many fucks about pain. In con­trast, if you’­re able to not give a fuck about the pain, you beco­me unstoppable.”

[Mark Man­son, The Subt­le Art of Not Giving a Fuck]

Bio­lo­gi­cal Needs

Bathroom, Lost Place“… as if Zach con­side­red sex a bio­lo­gi­cal need on the order of going to the bath­room: you did­n’t form an emo­tio­nal bond with every toi­let you took a crap in, and when you were done, you flus­hed and wal­ked away – fee­ling bet­ter, to be sure, but not real­ly thin­king about what you’d just done.”

Pop­py Z. Bri­te, Dra­wing Blood

the sound­track of our own fai­lings

“Behind the melan­cho­lia the­re always lies more sor­row than tra­ge­dy, more truth than dra­ma. That’s why Goth is the very essence of dignity. (…)

Goth is about tho­se moments of reflec­tion we all have – that nost­al­gia bor­ne of emo­ti­on, the sound­track of our own fai­lings.”

  Mer­cer, Mick: Hex Files: the goth bible, Kind­le 2021 (first publ. 1993)

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