I do Taekwondo. Three times a week. Пепел фиванской сотни стучит в мое сердце.
И снова, блядь, интересный человек демонстрирует бытовой расизм и гомофобию. Перестать, что ли, вообще читать friendstimes?
To whom can I speak today?
Brothers are evil
And the friends of today unlovable.
To whom can I speak today?
Hearts are rapacious
And everyone takes his neighbour's goods. [To whom can I speak today?]
Gentleness has perished
And the violent man has come down on everyone.
To whom can I speak today?
Men are contented with evil
And goodness is neglected everywhere.
To whom can I speak today?
He who should enrage a man by his ill deeds,
he makes everyone laugh (by) his wicked wrongdoing.
To whom can I speak today?
Men plunder
And every man robs his neighbour.
To whom can I speak today?
The wrongdoer is an intimate friend
And the brother with whom one used to act is become an enemy.
To whom can I speak today?
None remember the past,
And no one now helps him who used to do (good).
To whom can I speak today?
Brothers are evil,
And men have recourse to strangers for affection.
To whom can I speak today?
Faces are averted,
And every man looks askance at his brethren.
To whom can I speak today?
Hearts are rapacious
And there is no man's heart in which one can trust.
To whom can I speak today?
There are no just persons
And the land is left over to the doers of wrong.
To whom can I speak today?
There is a lack of an intimate friend
And men have recourse to someone unknown in order to complain to him.
-the violent man has come down on everyone

To whom can I speak today?
There is no contented man,
And that person who once walked with him no longer exists.
To whom can I speak today?
I am heavy-laden with trouble
Through lack of an intimate friend.
To whom can I speak today?
The wrong which roams the earth,
There is no end to it
Сегодня я узнала, что
а) бароны Сигоньяки существуют
б) владеют арманьяковарильней
ц)находится по адресу улица Д'Артаньяна 8, Кастельно д'Озан

И да, конечно же их герб - три золотых аиста на голубом фоне.


Dec. 9th, 2016 07:07 pm
TIL that the shopping center I visit most frequently (because of their awesome indoor playground) was an assembly center during the Japanese Internment.
Вот здесь http://in4ik.tilda.ws/ можно купить обалденно красивые штуки в поддержку очень хорошего человека.


Nov. 9th, 2016 05:36 pm
Let America Be America Again
Langston Hughes, 1902 - 1967

Let America be America again.
Let it be the dream it used to be.
Let it be the pioneer on the plain
Seeking a home where he himself is free.

(America never was America to me.)

Let America be the dream the dreamers dreamed—
Let it be that great strong land of love
Where never kings connive nor tyrants scheme
That any man be crushed by one above.

(It never was America to me.)

O, let my land be a land where Liberty
Is crowned with no false patriotic wreath,
But opportunity is real, and life is free,
Equality is in the air we breathe.

(There’s never been equality for me,
Nor freedom in this “homeland of the free.”)

Say, who are you that mumbles in the dark?
And who are you that draws your veil across the stars?

I am the poor white, fooled and pushed apart,
I am the Negro bearing slavery’s scars.
I am the red man driven from the land,
I am the immigrant clutching the hope I seek—
And finding only the same old stupid plan
Of dog eat dog, of mighty crush the weak.

I am the young man, full of strength and hope,
Tangled in that ancient endless chain
Of profit, power, gain, of grab the land!
Of grab the gold! Of grab the ways of satisfying need!
Of work the men! Of take the pay!
Of owning everything for one’s own greed!

I am the farmer, bondsman to the soil.
I am the worker sold to the machine.
I am the Negro, servant to you all.
I am the people, humble, hungry, mean—
Hungry yet today despite the dream.
Beaten yet today—O, Pioneers!
I am the man who never got ahead,
The poorest worker bartered through the years.

Yet I’m the one who dreamt our basic dream
In the Old World while still a serf of kings,
Who dreamt a dream so strong, so brave, so true,
That even yet its mighty daring sings
In every brick and stone, in every furrow turned
That’s made America the land it has become.
O, I’m the man who sailed those early seas
In search of what I meant to be my home—
For I’m the one who left dark Ireland’s shore,
And Poland’s plain, and England’s grassy lea,
And torn from Black Africa’s strand I came
To build a “homeland of the free.”

The free?

Who said the free? Not me?
Surely not me? The millions on relief today?
The millions shot down when we strike?
The millions who have nothing for our pay?
For all the dreams we’ve dreamed
And all the songs we’ve sung
And all the hopes we’ve held
And all the flags we’ve hung,
The millions who have nothing for our pay—
Except the dream that’s almost dead today.

O, let America be America again—
The land that never has been yet—
And yet must be—the land where every man is free.
The land that’s mine—the poor man’s, Indian’s, Negro’s, ME—
Who made America,
Whose sweat and blood, whose faith and pain,
Whose hand at the foundry, whose plow in the rain,
Must bring back our mighty dream again.

Sure, call me any ugly name you choose—
The steel of freedom does not stain.
From those who live like leeches on the people’s lives,
We must take back our land again,

O, yes,
I say it plain,
America never was America to me,
And yet I swear this oath—
America will be!

Out of the rack and ruin of our gangster death,
The rape and rot of graft, and stealth, and lies,
We, the people, must redeem
The land, the mines, the plants, the rivers.
The mountains and the endless plain—
All, all the stretch of these great green states—
And make America again!
I don't know what America was to Langston Hughes, but to Papashvili America was a joy and a festival, much like life. Today I am re-reading Anything Can Happen https://smile.amazon.com/Anything-Can-Happen-George-Papashvily/dp/B000NPNDHO and watching https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YKZAfe00mds

Songs! Friends! Adventures! Honest judges! Naked Georgians! Food! Wine! Love!

Чего и вам, господамы, от чистого сердца!
Is this. Not sure how things work in other areas, but near me dressing up and running around is conditional on wanting to be
a) a vampire
b) a racist
c) a sword-fighting enthusiast
Or a combination of the above. And I just don't like vampires that much.
Как вы думаете, господамы, возможно ли овладеть языком не влившись в культуру, не приняв каких-то ее ценностей, не ощутив себя в ней в какой-то мере своим? И если нет, то не вредно ли для родителей изучение детьми языков связанных с культурами резко отличающимися по ценностям от родительских? Например, стоит ли родителям, желающим передать детям строго патриархальные ценности, разрешать изучение английского языка?
Это очень красиво. Если бы у меня было куда повесить календарь, я непременно купила бы именно этот.


Oct. 11th, 2016 10:39 pm
Вот тут можно купить стихи. Хорошие. Ну или просто почитать, хотя купить, конечно, лучше.

I like this point of view http://jabberworks.livejournal.com/759970.html
for two reasons:

1. It is kinder than my default point of view
2. It brings up the importance of etiquette
Для тех, кому по жизни не повезло еще прочесть Звездные Дневники:


"Ардрит, пытливо взглянул на меня, позеленел (чувства у Ардритов выражаются изменениями окраски, зеленая соответствует улыбке) и спросил:
— Вы позвоночный?
— Да.
— Двоякодышащий?
— Нет, только воздухом.
— Благодарю вас, прекрасно. Всеядный?
— Да.
— С какой планеты, можно узнать?
— С Земли.
— Тогда прошу к следующему окошку. Я подошел туда и, заглянув внутрь, убедился, что вижу того же самого служащего, вернее — его дальнейшую часть. Он перелистывал большую книгу.
— А, вот она!—сказал он. — Земля... гм, очень хорошо. Вы турист или торговец?
— Турист.
— Тогда позвольте... — Одним присоском он заполнил анкету, а другим в то же время подал мне другую для подписи, говоря: — Спотык начинается через неделю. Благоволите поэтому перейти в комнату сто шестнадцать, там наша фабрика резервов, которая вами займется. Потом прошу зайти в комнат шестьдесят семь, это фармацевтический кабинет. Та вам дадут пилюли Эвфруглия, которые вы будете принимать через каждые три часа, чтобы нейтрализовать вредное для вашего организма влияние радиоактивности нашей планеты... Угодно вам светиться во время пребывания на Энтеропии?
— Благодарю вас, нет.
— Как хотите. Прошу вас, вот ваши бумаги. Вы млекопитающее?
— Да.
— Ну, так счастливого млекопитания!
Простившись с любезным служащим, я пошел, как он советовал мне, в отдел резервов."
Навеяно http://antysk.livejournal.com/260459.html

1. Себя (свое благополучие, свободное время, спокойствие) я ценю больше, чем большинство других людей.
1а. Я не читаю журналов, в которых я могу ожидать прочесть что-то неприятное.
1б. Я не трачу своего времени на чужое образование

2. Пропаганду антивакцинирования я воспринимаю как угрозу моим родственникам, т. е. лично мне.

3. Я никогда не спорю о важных для меня вопросах, и вообще спорю редко и только спорта ради.

4. Я считаю вежливым попрощаться перед уходом.

5. Я всегда прощаюсь с людьми, кажущимися мне глупыми, и редко с людьми кажущимися мне гадкими.
Ugh. Can't remember when I was last this disappointed with a book. Little fucking golden miracle, Mr. Gaiman? Really?

What makes this worse is that it _is_ well-written, and the premise is good (the ending seems to have been an afterthought), and there are enough characters that are easy to like, and the imagery is amazing, and the language just complicated enough - all the things I look for in a book, and yet. Like finding half a worm in a ripe strawberry.

The main hero has two kids. With an interval of 20 pages or so each disappears into Faerie, the unmentionable realm of no return. The disappearance of the first kid makes him angry, ashamed, and upset with his wife for being upset. The disappearance of the second fills him with an "impotent tenderness" and makes him go to the rescue.

Guess which kid is a boy.

Btw, the girl is also rescued - the hero doesn't intend to search for her, but sees her and her school friends accidentally, realizes that their sale is illegal, and the illegality appalls him, so he rescues them.
Я рос. Меня, как Ганимеда,
Несли ненастья, сны несли.
Как крылья, отрастали беды
И отделяли от земли.

Я рос. И повечерий тканых
Меня фата обволокла.
Напутствуем вином в стаканах,
Игрой печальною стекла,

Я рос, и вот уж жар предплечий
Студит объятие орла.
Дни далеко, когда предтечей,
Любовь, ты надо мной плыла.

Но разве мы не в том же небе!
На то и прелесть высоты,
Что, как себя отпевший лебедь,
С орлом плечо к плечу и ты.
Iseult of Brittany

So delicate my hands, and long,
They might have been my pride.
And there were those to make them song
Who for their touch had died.

Too frail to cup a heart within,
Too soft to hold the free-
How long these lovely hands have been
A bitterness to me!
This is mainly a reminder for myself to google when I return. I spent approximately 24 hours in museums this week, and saw umpty-hundred-something Allegories of Charity. These usually look like a woman feeding and playing with a bunch of kids http://goo.gl/b36p0v Why are these kids overwhelmingly boys, to the tune of (rough estimate here) 5 to 1? Are baby penises somehow more awwww, or is there an actual art history explanation?


Jun. 2nd, 2016 12:52 pm
Why don't I read more Boccaccio?
Today's news-to-me story is Gualdrada, who told her own father to shut up when he offered up a kiss from her to Emperor Otto in front of assorted nobles, which impressed everyone and netted her a nice dowry and a baron for a husband.

No word on what happened with the kissing once the baron took her and dowry over to Otto's court. Color me cynical.



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