pallid
the childhoods that we will never again live through, except by means of the relatively pallid movement of imaginative creation
the childhoods that we will never again live through, except by means of the relatively pallid movement of imaginative creation
for Benjamin, the act of remembrance through writing had a palimpsest, dialectical character that raced backwards and forwards in time
Its rage for reinventing itself and erecting very nearly bombastic architecture
Berlin
we still live in a world like the one Frankfurt School excoriated
his adult exile from Germany into picaresque vagabondage and tragic death on the run from the Nazis aged forty-eight in 1940
Benjamin, of course :(