#helene cixous Tumblr posts

  • I’ve always known one can make love in other ways without making love.

    Hélène Cixous, Hyperdream

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  • one can lose beyond loss, no one is capable of imagining the Worst, one can absolutely not imagine the Worst, one can only say the world Worst


    Hélène Cixous, Hyperdream

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    glimmer in the dust, hillsong united / mister rodgers’ neighborhood / e.e. cummings / hélène cixous / mary oliver / 1 corinthians 13:13 / philip larkin

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  • I don’t go to just any strange Dreams. I go to those that resemble the ancient gardens where I spent a forgotten life, to those that spread out beneath the earth, before names, in the zones where music is spoken, where the languages before languages resound.

    —Hélène Cixous, Three Steps On the Ladder of Writing

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  • “Women must write through their bodies.” Must not let themselves be driven away from their bodies. Must thoroughly rethink the body to re-appropriate femininity. Must not however exalt the body, not favor any of its parts formerly forbidden. Must perceive it in its integrity. Must and must-nots, their absolution and power. When armors and defense mechanisms are removed, when new awareness of life is brought into previously deadened areas of the body, women begin to experience writing/the world differently. This is exciting and also very scary. For it takes time to be able to tolerate greater aliveness. Hence the recurrence of musts and must-nots. As soon as a barrier is destroyed, another is immediately erected. Call it reform or expansion. Or else, well-defined liberation revolution. Closure and openness, again, are one ongoing process: we do not have bodies, we are our bodies, and we are ourselves while being the world. Who can endure constant openendedness? Who can keep on living completely exposed? We write-think and feel-(with) our entire bodies rather than only (with) our minds or hearts. It is a perversion to consider thought the product of one specialized organ, the brain, and feeling, that of the heart. The past convention was that we desire because we are incomplete, that we are always searching for that other missing half. More recently, we no longer desire-because, we simply desire, and we desire as we are. “I am a being of desire, therefore a being of words,” said Nicole Brossard, “a being who looks for her body and looks for the body of the other: for me, this is the whole history of writing.” Gathering the fragments of a divided, repressed body and reaching out to the other does not necessarily imply a lack or a deficiency. In writing themselves, women have attempted to render noisy and audible all that had been silenced in phallocentric discourse. “Your body must be heard,” Helene Cixous insists, “[Women] must invent the impregnable language that will wreck partitions, classes and rhetorics, regulations and codes.” Touch me and let me touch you, for the private is political. Language wavers with desire. It is “the language of my entrails,” a skin with which I caress and feel the other, a body capable of receiving as well as giving: nurturing and procreating. Let it enter and let it go; writing myself into existence also means emptying myself of all that I can empty out-all that constitutes Old Spontaneous/Premeditated Me- without ceasing from being. “Every woman is the woman of all women” (Clarice Lispector). Taking in any voice that goes through me, /i will answer every time someone says: I. One woman within another, eternally. “Writing as a woman. I am becoming more and more aware of this,” notes Anais Nin, “All that happens in the real womb, not in the womb fabricated by man as a substitute …. woman’s creation far from being like man’s must be exactly like her creation of children, that is it must come out of her own blood, englobed by her womb, nourished by her own milk. It must be a human creation, of flesh, it must be different from man’s abstractions." 

    Trinh T. Minh-ha, Woman, Native, Other

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  • #quote#helene cixous #the laugh of the medusa
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  • You have only to look at the Medusa straight on to see her.

    And she is not deadly.

    She is beautiful and she is laughing.”

    - Hélène Cixous

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  • #quote#helene cixous #the laugh of the medusa
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  • #quote#writing#helene cixous #the laugh of the medusa
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  • #helene cixous#quote #the laugh of the medusa
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  • Because I write for, I write from, I start writing from: love. I write out of love. Writing, loving: inseparable. Writing is a gesture of love.

    Hélène Cixous

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  • “And so when you have lost everything, no more roads, no direction, no fixed signs, no ground, no thoughts able to resist other thoughts, when you are lost, beside yourself, and you continue getting lost, when you become the panicky movement of getting lost, then, that’s when, where you are unwoven weft, flesh that lets strangeness come through, defenseless being, without resistance, without batten, without skin, inundated with otherness, it’s in these breathless times that writings traverse you, songs of an unheard-of purity flow through you, addressed to no one, they well up, surge forth, from the throats of your unknown inhabitants, these are the cries that death and life hurl in their combat.“

    Hélène Cixous

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  • Nothing is found. Nothing is lost. Everything remains to be sought.

    Hélène Cixous

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    Hélène Cixous, Poetry in Painting

    #i saved this from a post on here but i can’t find the op for the life of me so here’s this #w#r#helene cixous #poetry in painting #do we see what i mean... absolutely obsessedddddd
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  • What color was his voice? A very beautiful voice. No one can give us the same feeling of beauty and kindness. […] He’d say that he could hear the sun rising.

    - Hélène Cixous (Excerpt from Inside - 1969) (via)

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  • If you do not possess a language, you can be possessed by it: let the tongue remain foreign to you. Love it like your fellow creature.

    Hélène Cixious, Coming to Writing

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  • All the reasons I had for believing I didn’t have the right to write, the good, the less good, and the really wrong reasons: I had no grounds from which to write. No legitimate place, no land, no fatherland, no history of my own.


    Helene Cixous

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  • Writing: a way of leaving no space for death, of pushing back forgetfulness, of never letting oneself be surprised by the abyss. Of never becoming resigned, consoled; never turning over in bed to face the wall and drift asleep again as if nothing had happened; as if nothing could happen.

    Helene Cixous

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  • Your presence, your warmth, our closeness, our understanding,

    - Hélène Cixous (Excerpt from Hyperdream - 2006) (via)

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