#Factice

[photosansapp]

Le joie sur-jouée.

[soulthom]

La bêtise a perdu d’avance

Elle ne peut que finir par “s’exploser” elle-même pour reconstituer un être quelque peu valable

Stupidity has lost in advance

It can only end up "exploding" itself to reconstitute a somewhat valid being

[highendhoney]

Clara Achard for Factice Magazine with Fantine Guyot

Photography: Clara Achard.

Styling: Esther Vadon at The Disco Closet.

Hair & Makeup: Camille Roche.

Model: Fantine Guyot.

[philosophybits]

Ethics is the triumph of freedom over facticity, and the sub-man feels only the facticity of his existence. Instead of aggrandizing the reign of the human, he opposes his inert resistance to the projects of other men. No project has meaning in the world disclosed by such an existence. Man is defined as a wild flight. The world about him is bare and incoherent. Nothing ever happens; nothing merits desire or effort. The sub-man makes his way across a world deprived of meaning toward a death which merely confirms his long negation of himself.

Simone de Beauvoir, The Ethics of Ambiguity

[tommyssupercoolblog]

Sometimes I think about how my source, despite the things we DO have in common, is a lot more calm and mellow compared to me- he's still silly but in a moee "chill" monotone way because of the depression, and he likes to be sarcastic about his friends and insult them, and get made fun of back because he's low-key a platonic masochist. He's like if you tooka glass of early 2020 tommyinnit, added three shots of the bitterest alcohol you can find and a bit of lemon juice, and then watered it down at least a third of the way. And maybe distilled it like wine?

And I'm a sparkly rainbow party twink who is manic hyper almost all the time, cannot insult my friends because it makes me feel bad even when they say it's okay (and it's just not true!!! They r amazing!!!), and cries and thrashes if you look at him wrong. I'm the most stereotypical happy go lucky manic pixie "girl's girl" femboy twink you could possibly imagine except I can't go to da club because of my autism so I build one in Minecraft and blast music while crouching and uncrouching aggressively instead. I'm like if you took a glass of early 2020s tommyinnit, added edible glitter and a little margarita umbrella, put a glob of ice cream in there and then served it in a novelty cup with a bright pink silly straw

[witekspicsbanknotes]

Another kind of school / education notes from France >>> CELDA.

[alexiaseyes]

Listen to: Glow by Factice Factory

https://facticefactory.bandcamp.com/album/the-white-days

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[primepaginequotidiani]

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[newagesurvivalist]

The siren song of anonymity

Life is strange. We are, immediately, lured astray by the movements of desire (the ruse of desire?). I guess we can see there are many oblique movements in the variety of pure existence, but these are not actual references: there is only constant replication, which is a direction of happiness - nothing more, nothing less. The bureaucracy was organized on the principle of hopeful conduct, which is now the merit of the shamanistic replicators, that will house the power of the Lord forever; this is a noise-rebuttal of the nagging application of sensibility and intuition and this goes on. A man can make a visceral joke: this shall surely make us fear the moribund reflection of the manifold assertivity, which is still living in the plan of the entire populace, building castles in the air. The authority which structures existence - the potestas - is certainly a recurrence of the good old days, which do still live on in the work of the actuaries; and to do actuary work is definitely exalted, although few know the actual processes of it: why, it is verily just a repercussion, or resonance, of the pretty good replication of the manifold, who build castles in the air as I said - and this is constantly a sign of the times: good things will continue to happen, but we must seek to admit that doctorates are not meaningful in the constancy of the stoic sage, or be that as it may, the circulation of vegetative or comatose licks of the language: and verily, language speaks.

Aristocratic love, a function of moribund assertivity, verily lives in the market of vicissitudes of good and bad, which continue to live on even in the curious cases of feeling and distance. There is certainly a kind of tyranny in the construction of normal society, and this goes on until the very end. However, the colonial program of sex and death is now happening over and over again - even in true silence, which happens under the auspices of the ancient bloodlines that will succour us in the silence of rock'n roll or something like that: and this is a threat to bureaucratic, dignified power, because we forever worship not dogma, but grammar. In this sense, grammatology is very dangerous.

Dead facts, militariness, verily continues in our factical deprivation or privation and life truly is a circus. I encounter visiccitudes in the normality of sheer redundancy, which really makes me pine of the scenic worldviews of the good men who were once satisfied with what was little enough to be squashed by the machines of war and this is really a reminisence. However, our fantasy of the strictures of visibility truly goes on in a particular way (because we are stoned to death by the limitless authority of solvability) and in this interstice we concur with happiness, battle and combat. So in the end our hope is pinned on not religion, but really on Earthly authority - and we just used the church, in so many ways, to achieve peace of mind - yet there are infinitely many ways of life and we can verily live in any way we like; and of course we are kind of stuck in the accreditations of the museal noise and feral sentence-structure in which the totality of theology and bureaucracy is captured; and obviously, no man likes to be a bureaucrat, so what we see in history is that there is slowly the development of the independent office and so finally, of the column-paper, the magazine of news-based essay. Reading the newspaper is for me not some way to pass the time, but truly just a form of philosophy, a métier, an commandment. Anyway, I really admire the spurious facts of fiction, which lie crazily close to Islamic theology, which is not theology at all, but an alternative form of metaphysics. I will read the Quran when I am ready. The female power of memory is structural in the retribution of virtuous happiness in theory even: so we are confused about the actual nature of theory. There is a facticity in the endlessness of space and time that is reflected in the very act of reasoning, and this the direction of true happiness. Yes, we can really grow in awareness and simplicity if we just use this vigour of carnal hope and visceral energy that is concealed not in day-jobs or scribal mail, but actually in the Christian or shamanistic contact of community and help, of goodness and decency, of malingering and laconicism. Because what remains is always that there is no liberty in oppression.

[thornevald]

Factice Factory - Somnolence

[barbie-roberts-is-a-goddess]

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[philosophybits]

The passionate man seeks possession; he seeks to attain being. The failure and the hell which he creates for himself have been described often enough. He causes certain rare treasures to appear in the world, but he also depopulates it. Nothing exists outside of his stubborn project; therefore nothing can induce him to modify his choices. And having involved his whole life with an external object which can continually escape him, he tragically feels his dependence. Even if it does not definitely disappear, the object never gives itself. The passionate man makes himself a lack of being not that there might be being, but in order to be. And he remains at a distance; he is never fulfilled. [...] Though the passionate man inspires a certain admiration, he also inspires a kind of horror at the same time. One admires the pride of a subjectivity which chooses its end without bending itself to any foreign law and the precious brilliance of the object revealed by the force of this assertion. But one also considers the solitude in which this subjectivity encloses itself as injurious. Having withdrawn into an unusual region of the world, seeking not to communicate with other men, this freedom is realized only as a separation. [...] The passionate man is not only an inert facticity. He too is on the way to tyranny. He knows that his will emanates only from him, but he can nevertheless attempt to impose it upon others. He authorizes himself to do that by a partial nihilism. Only the object of his passion appears real and full to him. All the rest are insignificant. Why not betray, kill, grow violent? [...] Thus, maniacal passion represents a damnation for the one who chooses it, and for other men it is one of the forms of separation which disunites freedoms. It leads to struggle and oppression. A man who seeks being far from other men, seeks it against them at the same time that he loses himself.

Simone de Beauvoir, The Ethics of Ambiguity

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[primepaginequotidiani]

PRIMA PAGINA Liberation di Oggi lunedì, 09 settembre 2024