Bookmarker is a personal project by @dellsystem to help with retaining reading material. Source on GitHub.

Activity

You added a note
1 year, 10 months ago

the stories were almost never about money

In the Silicon Valley where I'm from, the stories were almost never about money. They were tales about resistance, heroism, and struggle, yarns about the creation of something out of nothing-and the derring-do required to pull such a feat off. In short, they were about dragon slaying. That's still …

—p.xv Valley of Genius: The Uncensored History of Silicon Valley (As Told by the Hackers, Founders, and Freaks Who Made It Boom) Preface (xi) by Adam Fisher
You added a note
1 year, 10 months ago

there are no women who are not strippers

the rapper says deftness, sleight of hand with the limited discursive materials of consumable black life, more about which below), borrowed from the beat-making repertoire of electronic dance mu-sic, which thrives on investment in the pushy invasion that occurs when sine waves deployed in vast open…

—p.143 Dear Angel of Death Dear Angel of Death (67) by Simone White
You added a note
1 year, 10 months ago

the vulgar practice of Jay-Z

"There is a history of the embrace of degraded pleasure." What about the ways in which the R&B of my mind, today, is undermined by its own exuberant supplantation by the vulgar practice of Jay-Z— right-before-our-eyes capitalization of the value of black love and (of) hustle; he is a hedge fund. Hi…

—p.135 Dear Angel of Death (67) by Simone White
You added a note
1 year, 10 months ago

a kind of eschatology occurs within the poem itself

The poem is ... an organism or temporal machine, that, from the very start, strains toward its end. A kind of eschatology occurs within the poem itself. For the more or less brief time the poem lasts, it has a specific and unmistakable temporality, it has its own time.

— Georgio Agamben The Time…

—p.47 Endings (45) missing author
You added a note
1 year, 10 months ago

on this day 11 years ago my father died misc/poetry

DOG POEM

On this day 11 years ago my father died.
I watched him refuse death.
There was no reason to share this.
It was an indignity.
There is no refusing.
The brain stops even if until the last it performs miraculously the
duty of remaining illuminated.
He died on an evening like thi…

—p.40 Dollbaby (7) by Simone White