emily’s Reviews > Blinding: The Left Wing > Status Update
emily
is on page 372 of 432
‘Maybe, in the heart of this book, there is nothing other than—blinding, apocalyptic howling—in the carbonic rose, what of you remains after you meet the living you, what can have a revelation—It is the centre of the rose of our death, because there in the centre of our carbonised body, among the petals of char—a petunia’s soft, fibrous petals. In just a few seconds, the sound gained corporeality, and became yellow.’
— Jun 21, 2026 03:41AM
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emily’s Previous Updates
emily
is on page 360 of 432
‘The me of today englobes the me of yesterday, who encompasses the one from the day before yesterday and so on—until I am an immense line of Russian dolls—my astral body is nothing else but the clairvoyant light of the future. From the dark toward the light—the absurd trajectory of our lifetime tapers off—And the I of every moment is connected to the one before—braid of blue—violet capillaries inextricably—synapses—’
— Jun 13, 2026 03:51PM
emily
is on page 333 of 432
‘There are blind people who know they used to see, but, through an accident of fate, do not, & there are others who have no knowledge of any lack, for whom sight is unimaginable, the way we cannot imagine what we would feel if a sensory organ opened in our forehead like a flower, or if we grew—antennaes like a moth. I knew I was made to exist—but also that I couldn't perceive existence. The world—dirty & diaphanous—’
— Jun 10, 2026 05:02PM
emily
is on page 297 of 432
‘—smoking smelly Mărăşeşti cigarettes—like it wasn’t his, and it wasn’t, actually—arose within his tangled viscera, like puffs of steam over a coffee cup, to regard the world once more—High on the sweet amphetamine of springtime—The entire world was a mesh of gears, where the rotation of the most minuscule grains of sand at one end of the ocean produced, at the other, a devastating earthquake—everything's connected—’
— May 06, 2026 05:19PM
emily
is on page 279 of 432
‘The filaments of the jellyfish that had invaded his body were gone, leaving almost unnoticeable lines on his skin, like flowers—The grotesque croaking—frogs—opening a fluorescent cacophony onto the folded vault of night. On leaves of wild irises, rushes, & carnivorous plants, gigantic firefly larvae flashed—Under the yellow light, billions of pools burned as furiously as gasoline. Transparent swamp lilies opened—’
— May 02, 2026 10:35AM
emily
is on page 269 of 432
‘She felt the dizzying spin in her liver—Colour had completely disappeared from the city. It felt like—a black & white film, wound on a well-used reel. The old celluloid, stored damp—the copy of a copy of a copy—full of spots & scratches, and when the film was projected they looked like long drops—streams of rain. The butterfly on her ring absorbed & glowed—delicate—orange and magenta—where shadow fought with light.’
— Apr 30, 2026 05:56PM
emily
is on page 169 of 432
‘I knew the stairway—scarlet—smelled like detergent & Clorox. There were days when the only people I saw—were blind. Other times I noticed the deformed beggars. It was as if the entire population—had been mutilated. Why did I come into the world? What does all this madness mean, this circus, this illusion? Why did I pop out of a woman’s uterus onto a speck in a constellation of dust? They spit sunflower seed all day’
— Apr 27, 2026 03:49AM
emily
is on page 108 of 432
‘The past is everything—we exist between past & future like—vermiform body of a butterfly—in between its two wings—use one wing to fly. We live on a piece of plaque in the multiple sclerosis of the universe. It was the absolute past, w/o fissure. It was metaphysical flesh, homogenous & fiberless—filaments of future. There is a universal memory that destroys the idea of time—telescoping memory—rose w/ infinite petals’
— Apr 25, 2026 12:20PM
emily
is on page 69 of 432
“In a night coagulated like blood—its geometry—hem the acanthus leaves—I wander through sinuous labyrinths—inert flesh begin to prickle—lace of nerves, veins, lymph pathways & tubes of psychic energy came back to life—my corporeal system—complete. Plastic—stupid plastic. After the petals withered and became one with the earth, the milky pods were left—Terrifically animated by the light of the flames—tang of incense.’
— Apr 20, 2026 01:00AM
emily
is on page 18 of 432
‘The city—shining like glass, endless, inexhaustible—blackened leaves—poplars & beech trees—made the sky seem deeper & darker toward the stars. Poems, these illumination machines, debauched me. I used them like drugs, until it was impossible for me to live without them. When I re-read them, they terrified me like—prophecy came true. My heart was almost visible in the network of blue veins—I pretended to be catatonic’
— Apr 17, 2026 03:49PM
