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schraubd · 2 years

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Who's Defending Hamline?

By now, you've probably heard of the flare-up at Hamline University in Minnesota, where an adjunct professor of art history was dismissed following student complaints after she showed a historic painting that depicted the prophet Muhammad. Every account I've seen suggests that the professor presented the painting (which was created in Persia by a Muslim artist in the 14th century) in a respectful and sensitive fashion, including notifying students that it would be depicted in her syllabus and again before the start of the relevant class (and told students they were free to opt out of attending that session). Nonetheless, the college not only declined to renew her contract, they expressly accused her of "Islamophobia" and indicated that "academic freedom" should not have protected her ability to "harm" her student.

The decision to terminate the professor has been met with a firestorm of criticism (e.g.: FIRE, PEN America, the Muslim Public Affairs Council, Academic Freedom Alliance). I personally found this post by Jill Filipovic to be especially thoughtful. So far, though, the college has been emphatic in defending its decision.

On that note, however, one thing I've yet to see is any prominent figure defending Hamline. The closest I've seen is a local CAIR official who (at a university-sponsored forum) said that the lesson had "absolutely no benefit" and compared alternative Muslim perspectives on portraying Muhammad as akin to the existence of people who think "Hitler was good." I've also heard hearsay that some academic professional organizations have privately declined to speak out because many officers and/or members feel uncomfortable. But as far as public discourse goes, I've seen essentially nothing but wall-to-wall condemnation.

Indeed, the universality of the "Hamline got it wrong" position in some ways renders it impressive the degree to which the Hamline administration is sticking to its guns here. It is one thing to abandon principles of academic freedom under intense external pressure demanding censorship; it's another thing to abandon principles of academic in the face of intense external pressure to abide by them. It does make me wonder if there are any unknown cross-currents of pressure that the college is responding to. It's not out of character for a university to make terrible, craven decisions, of course -- but it's a little out of character for a university to make terrible, brave decisions, which makes me think that there must be some point of leverage on the administration that they are succumbing to. Again, the prospect that these cross-currents exist doesn't at all excuse the college's actions here. If, for example, the decision to terminate the professor was widely popular amongst Hamline students (or groups that Hamline hopes to recruit students from), it would still be the case that the college had an obligation to stand up for the right principles. But at least that would be a normal, explicable failing.

But maybe I'm overthinking it. Maybe the Hamline administrators are that ideologically committed to being thoughtlessly censorial. Or maybe there's a line of Hamline defenders I haven't seen. But as far as I can tell, virtually everyone (left right and center) is onboard with the view that Hamline fouled up. The last people to agree, it turns out, are the Hamline administrators.

via The Debate Link https://ift.tt/OReugIK

#academia #academic freedom #College #Islamophobia #Minnesota #Muslims #religion

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kaydeefalls · 2 years

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I posted 1,240 times in 2022

124 posts created (10%)

1,116 posts reblogged (90%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@raedear

@rhubarbdreams

@ladynox

@lindstrom2020

@captivamoon

I tagged 1,217 of my posts in 2022

Only 2% of my posts had no tags

#the old guard - 152 posts

#ask me anything - 107 posts

#fandom - 95 posts

#fanart - 79 posts

#laugh rule - 79 posts

#our flag means death - 65 posts

#the truest of facts - 61 posts

#always a sucker for an askmeme - 60 posts

#joe x nicky - 49 posts

#yes good - 33 posts

Longest Tag: 140 characters

#when i actively and regularly trawl through every fic my fave authors have written in the hopes of reading that exact thing except different

My Top Posts in 2022:

Fandom: The Old Guard (Movie 2020) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova Additional Tags: Pre-Canon, POV Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani, Historical, 14th Century, Reunions, Canon-Typical Violence, Light Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, This is a love story Summary:

Yusuf hates resurrecting alone.

(In which Yusuf falls off a cliff into a river and has to find his way back again. Like you do.)

66 notes - Posted June 1, 2022

"Tell me what happened. Don't be modest."

"Tell me what happened. Don't be modest." Joe's eyes are twinkling in a manner that Nile does not find endearing in the slightest.

She heaves out a sigh. "Look, I don't know why it matters."

"It was very impressive," Nicky says, the corners of his mouth twitching suspiciously. "I have truly never seen the like."

Nile glares at him. "Et tu, Nicolò?"

"Come, it can't be so very terrible," Joe coaxes. "I promise you I have seen worse."

"Worse?" Nile gestures down at herself. "Are you kidding me, this is a brand new sweater, I really liked this sweater. Do you know how hard it is to get bloodstains out of white cashmere?"

"Yes, actually, quite intimately," Joe says. "Although I'm still not sure how you managed--"

"Head wounds," Nicky says sagely. "They bleed a lot."

"Right, but I thought you were teaching her how to win at darts. Even Booker could not manage to injure himself on a pub dart."

Nile puts her head in her hands. "It wasn't a dart."

"Nile," Nicky says cheerfully, "has been learning knife tricks from Andy."

"Oh, no," Joe says, badly concealing his grin.

"Oh, yes," Nile grumbles. "You know that thing, with the pocketknife, where you give it that twirl as you throw it--"

"And it goes ping! into the target," Nicky agrees. "Much more fun than those blunt little darts."

"I take it your knife did not go ping into the target," Joe says kindly.

"It bounced right off it," Nile says, dully, resigned to her fate. "And I was standing a little too close to it when I threw. So then--"

Nicky grins outright. "I think the word you are looking for is boomerang."

"Right into my fucking skull. Oh, my god, if you don't stop laughing, Joe, I am gonna--"

"Oh, Nile," Joe wheezes out, when he can catch his breath. "You are going to fit right in."

73 notes - Posted October 30, 2022

Fandom: The Old Guard (Movie 2020) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova Characters: Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani, Andy | Andromache of Scythia, strong cameos from all the usual suspects Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Football | Soccer, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Friends to Lovers, Mutual Pining, POV Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, they're idiots your honor, Misunderstandings, Minor Andy | Andromache of Scythia/Quynh | Noriko, Everyone Is Gay, working title was "gay kickball fake dating" and i stand by that, past joe/omc and nicky/omc Summary:

In which Nicky joins a queer football club, makes some new friends, and offers to help Joe piss off his ex by pretending to be his new boyfriend. This is a very reasonable scheme that will definitely not lead to any feelings whatsoever.

(a.k.a. gay kickball fake dating)

79 notes - Posted September 3, 2022

my wife accidentally spilled a bunch of hamster food in his habitat and it is the best goddamn night of Hamlet’s life

186 notes - Posted July 29, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

tumblr_video

When your hamster shoves an entire stick of zucchini in his cheek and then goes about his day. 🤣

104,359 notes - Posted June 9, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #my 2022 tumblr year in review #love that virtually none of my posts get even 100 notes #AND THEN THAT DAMN HAMSTER GETS 100K #such whiplash you don't even know #i mean obviously he deserves it #but still

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whennnow · 1 year

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2023 Goals

January 11, 2023

Now that we've established that I didn't meet most of my 2022 goals, I am going to keep 2023's goals vague.

Vague Goal #1: SCA Garb (3rd quarter of the 14th century)

Yes, I have started getting into my local SCA community. I'm lucky to have found a large, active group that is friendly and willing to teach!

I want to start working on a medieval European/English wardrobe - specifically a decade in roughly the 3rd quarter of the 1300s. I'm still researching to figure out which decade. I'm planning on ordering a buttload of linen in January so I can make a shift, a veil and wimple, and some hose.

I won't fool myself into thinking I'll get any more sewing done this year in this era, but I would like to end the year with a solid plan for this wardrobe going forward. I'll probably do a capsule-ish wardrobe to keep things cohesive.

Vague Goal #2: Stashbusting

I know, it's everyone's forever goal. But I mean it this time.

With the exception of my SCA linens, I am not allowing myself to start any projects whose supplies don't come primarily from my stash. Obviously, if I need something to complete a project like trim or interfacing or something, that's okay, but no buying fabric just because it's pretty or because I want to start another project. Stash-based projects only.

Of course, this would be a very short blog post if I ended it here, so let's see what I have in my stash...

Stash Project Ideas (Not Goals)

Seriously, this is just an inventory of what is in my stash and what I have planned for it. These are NOT goals.

Regency Stash

5 or 6 yds of blue/pink poly dupioni, destined to become a Regency open robe and accessories, like a reticule or turban, and maybe also a pair of slippers. For the robe, I intend to use American Duchess/Simplicity 8941, which I already have.

Misc remnants, including two velvets and a dupioni that might become a bodice, and some scraps and trims that might become a turban or a dark blue bonnet.

1890s Stash

6(?) yds pinstripe poly suiting, to be used for a walking skirt and hopefully a suit jacket. If I don't have enough for a jacket, then I'll make a vest, but I'm really hoping for a jacket. Either way there will be black trim or contrasting black fabric involved.

An unknown quantity of white cotton, which has already been cut out for Edwardian (close enough) combinations, and I should still have enough for a proper 1890s corset cover.

An unknown quantity of light blue cotton, for bust and hip pads because white would be boring or something. Maybe part of a petticoat if there's enough fabric.

4.75 yds striped poly taffeta and 4yds of poly tissue taffeta, in almost coordinating shades of purple that I'm hoping can become a "dress" (aka skirt and bodice), possibly with the help of some white accents. Alternately, the striped taffeta could become a petticoat and the tissue taffeta will become some combination of a bodice, vest, belt, hat, and other accessories.

Misc Stash

Most of a yard of periwinkle burnout velvet, to make more fun lingerie to match the bralette I made in 2022, though I'll need to order more elastic.

1 yd of non-stretch burnout velvet plus elastic and findings, to make more lingerie using my purple cotton bralette and shorts patterns as a starting point.

2.25 yds brown/black flannel, which would make a cute skirt or something.

Roughly 2 yards of blue cotton canvas (left over from my 1890s corset) which would make a sturdy tote bag or two.

Various cotton pieces, which could become summery tops or shorts or both or something else entirely. I need to spice up my everyday wardrobe.

Well, that sums it up, I think. I've had some of this fabric since college or even high school, and I'd really like to use it - get it out of my stash and into my wardrobe. That way I can justify buying nice wools and maybe a little silk in 2024 for my medieval wardrobe, or some thicker wool for Regency winter-wear, or more fabric for 1890s stuff, or, or, or...

The possibilities are endless, but my budget and the space in my apartment are not.

Wishing you all a delightful new year!

Stay warm. Stay safe. Stay healthy.

#wnn yearly

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talesofsonicasura · 2 years

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Saiyuki Sun Wukong with a Game Designer s/o

I began watching Saiyuki Journey West playthrough and I got hooked to the characters mainly it's iteration of Sun Wukong. Now this headcanon that doesn't have any crossover elements. Why? Well... I want to try an experiment with alternative paths like Nevada's Oasis.

You are also a normal human with the only thing special being you got medical knowledge and you own a shotgun. This is a slow burn. This can be read as gender neutral or preferred gender.

Only this type of bullshit would happen to you. You were a simple game designer who made small Indie or fan games from time to time. It wasn't nothing special but it paid the bills and at least enjoyable.

Now you live in a fairly big house with some distance from the neighborhood so no one saw the most ludicrous thing in your yard.

A giant red ape at least three times your size adorned with gold jewelry in his(?) hair, wrists, and ankles. Big fella was out like a light and covered with nasty wounds.

Sure you patched up any hurt stray animal that would wander in your yard but nothing this BIG. Yet the animal lover in your heart told ya to help the poor fella.

So you gathered all the ointment and bandages in the house then began treating the injured giant ape. It looked like he been through hell from the large gashes and were those electrical burns?!

At least halfway through tending his injuries did you meet the fiery amber eyes of the beast than just the naturally sharp tusks that protrude from the lower jaw. Or that the ape could talk.

"Where am I? A mortal?" From the masculinity in the deep husky, rugged and growlish voice, this ape being male had been confirmed.

You told the big guy who you were but his name had thrown your world upside down. Motherfucking Sun Wukong is in your backyard. The Monkey King and Great Sage Equal To Heaven from China's most influential story.

One, he's depicted as a four ft tall stone monkey not an ape big enough to be a prototype King Kong. Two, he's supposed to be on Mount Huagao. And three, he's fucking real. You dealt with weird shit but not horse piss like this.

Oh and apparently he can shrink into a human size man... wait...nope, the Monkey King just poofed back into ginger Donkey Kong. Injured AND magic on the fritz. Guess he can't take a human form for who knows how long.

Looks like you were going to house a 15 ft Great Ape. Thankfully your garage was big enough for Sun Wukong to sleep in. The big tree in your backyard being sturdy and the foliage thick enough for the Monkey King to hang in without getting seen. And your doorways were wider than the normal.

Why you say that? Cause this monkey likes to wander throughout your house. One second you are programming and the next he's looking over your shoulder.

Pretty reasonable since he's from 14th century China and the current year is 2022. So the questions about things like the tv, your work and such were answered with the best of your ability.

Until his magic is properly working again, you had to do certain things Sun Wukong couldn't as his hands and fingers were too big. Been awhile since you read aloud to someone.

The Monkey King did try to make himself useful around the house since he didn't want to be a freeloader. Moving heavy objects about, help forage extra food(you didn't have enough money to buy a ton of groceries), and teach you martial arts.

Was your life ever going to return to normal? Probably never. But as you watched a movie with Sun Wukong's large frame curled around ya, the strangeness isn't something you would ever take for granted.

And that's it. The Were concept of Saiyuki Journey West is really interesting. Sun Wukong's true form in this iteration being a giant monkey called the Great Ape. An incredible twist on the character in both design and portrayal.

I'm still a bit rusty for not writing so long but I hope this came out good. Until next time folks, I'll see you soon. Here's Saiyuki Sun Wukong, human form and true form.

#tales of sonicasura #sonicasura #sun wukong #sun wukong x y/n #sun wukong x reader #saiyuki journey west #saiyuki: journey west #journey to the west imagines #journey to the west #jttw #saiyuki sun wukong #self insert #game designer reader

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breitzbachbea · 3 years

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(For that ask game)

I wish you would write a fic where...Sadik and Herakles consider adopting a child

yes this is Exi speaking

You know what, I think I could have Sherlock Holmes'd who this ask is from. It's very on brand. (Also, you don't have to hide behind the little grey face.)

I wish you would write a fic where…

(BTW, I provide the links to the original posts so that if anyone else stumbles over the ask can reblog the post OR send me another one. Doesn't matter if it is an old ask game, I am always happy to share my thoughts and interact with others. Even if I cannot promise a timely answer.)

Ho boy, va be'. If I am fair with you, I'd not even give these who fuckers, out of all the ships, a kid in the Hetaverse. At least not in the interpretation of them and their relationship that I follow. (It's mostly how sadlygrove portrays them in their fics). Now, there is very few people I'd also give a kid in LFLS, even if I might think they'll make great parents in another context. But Herakles and Sadık are near the absolute bottom of the list of people who should have kids together. I'm currently writing the 4th Part of my TurGre Fanfic "The Amulet" and these two can't even keep their shit together for their fellow friends. Not in a million years. It's just not going to work out in a way that'll be healthy and good for the children or anyone involved.

However: They do have children in the "Testa di Moro" AU. Here's the post about that one. Herakles and Sadık are happily married with a boy and a girl in that one - too bad they end up half-orphaned due to Michele's vanity.

I can totally see them adopting kids in my Constantinople AU though. (Here is the post for that one and if you haven't checked it out yet, you absolutely should because I am sooo proud of that one). Some more thoughts on that and parental TurGre under the cut.

The question of succession in that AU has crossed my mind before, wondering if maybe the offspring of the closest relative of Herakles would then be next in line. You know, there would have needed to be something in place if in this AU, gay marriage is viable. Briefly also considered if one of Herakles many, many half-siblings could be electable, but the problem with that is that there's simply too many. So why not adoption?

I have no idea about childhood and specifically imperial childhood in 14th century Byzantium or Seljuk/Ottoman Turks. Since the AU is however Alternate History mixed with some feel good, basic fantasy, I'll just go ahead with the "Parents that love their kids and are intimiately, hands-on involved with them" 18th century middle class idea. (I am not saying that non-Western or prior families do not love their kids or spouses nor that already back then parents huddled their kids that much, but I would say that this modern, classically Western view of the nuclear family has its roots there. Just so we are all on the same page with tooth rotting, anachronistic fluff). Also, I choose Eirene and Theophania, because 1) Their name meanings (Peace and Manifestation of God) are pretty dope 2) Both were names borne by members of the Byzantine Imperial families (Theophanu was also the name of the Byzantine wife of Otto II of the HRE and she's one of my favourite medieval women) 3) Sadık is already on thin ice with the people of Constantinople at times, so to demonstrate some good will, both of the girls have proper Greek names. I suppose both of them are also Greek or at least not Turkish, but who knows. It's politics, ya know.

Sword still at his hips and clothes still dirty, Sadık stepped into living quarters of the palace. He'd have to do something about the dirt before the council meeting later in the day; honestly, after his return from the campaign, he craved a bath more than anything else -- "Baba!" All of his physical aches were forgotten, even the dirt that hung to his uniform, when he heard the excited voices and fast steps of his daughters. He merely had enough time to hunker down on one knee when Eirene and Theopania jumped him. "Hey, hey, girls, be careful with baba's sword," he said and moved th sword a little away from them while they still giggled and squealed into his neck, shoulders and chest. Now he wrapped both arms around them and held them close. "So, how are my girls? Oh, I'm so happy to have you back." He squeezed them, one arm around each one. "We've missed you, baba!" Eirene said while Theophania only buried her face in his shoulder. "I missed you too." He kissed first Eirene and then Theophania on the hair. "My darling princesses." He patted Theophania on the back. "Now, now, baba's still all dirty from travel, get your pretty face out of there." Theophania only shook her head, dug her hands deeper into his uniform and Sadık chuckled. He gently loosened his grip on Eirene to slip one hand each under Theophania's armpits and pick her up to set her on his knee. She immediately leaned her head against his shoulder and buried one hand his uniform again. Her eyes were closed, almost squeezed shut. One arm around each girl's waist, Sadık bobbed the leg Theophania sat on. "Hmm, what's the matter, Theo? What's wrong?" Theo didn't answer. "We missed you," Eirene reiterated and when Sadık looked at her, there was a bright and eager sparkle in her eyes, a whole radiance to her excited face. "You know, we also worried. And, and, you've been gone for so long and we have sooo much to show you. And, we learnt new things with our teachers! So, we started reading this new text and it's really, really old!" She beamed with pride at him. "Oh, wow! What clever girls I have," he said and ruffled through her hair. "What's the text?" "It's uh ... It's ... It's really old and Greek and ... one of those! One of those babás reads! He read with us! He said he's really proud of us and that he's gonna teach us, too!" "Mhm, speaking of that, where's your babás?" He shortly looked to Theophania. She had loosened her grip and half-opened her eyes. "He's in the library, at a council meeting with the officials," Eirene explained. "He said we could go and play as long as he's busy." "Ah, yes." He gently nudged Theophania off his thigh, who seemed real hesitant to use her own two legs to stand on. When she finally did, Sadık knelt and grabbed both of his daughters tight, to stand up with one on each arm. "How about we go into the gardens while we wait for babás to be done with the council, hm? How does that sound, Theo?" "Mhm," Theophania said. "I want to go into the gardens." Sadık kissed her on the cheek. "Good, then we'll do that." "Baba, your beard itches," Theophania mumbled. "Hey, well, I didn't want to waste time this morning getting dolled up when I was so close to getting back home to you," he said and she giggled.

Sitting by a basin in the gardens, Eirene was talking about a trip they had been taken on by Dilan, much to their teacher's displeasure. The story greatly amused Sadık however, who could picture the teacher's upset reaction and reasoning quite well upon his students being taken on an interdimensional trip to the great places he could only lecture about. Theophania watched the fish in the basin. "Timothea said that you would come back when I asked her, but I didn't believe her," Theophania suddenly said and he turned to his daughter. "Huh?" "I asked Timothea and Omar every day if you'd come back and ... and they said they couldn't see the future but ask the Jinns and then they said that everything is okay ... but I didn't believe them, because I was scared that you wouldn't come back." So that's what had been eating away at her. Sadık turned to her and picked her up to sit her on his thigh again. "Hey, Theo, no need to worry about that. Baba will always come back, no matter what. And if Thea and Omar tell you so, you have to believe them. They know stuff, you know?" He poked her nose, but she only looked at him with brows knitted in worry. "But I'm scared that you won't," she said. "Like, they said they can't see the future, so ... what if they don't know? I don't want you to ... I want that you come home." He stroked her hair and pressed her head against his chest. "Oh Theooo, you shouldn't worry about your baba. Fathers are there to worry about their kids, not the other way around. Were you worried sick the entire time I was gone?" "She was!" Eirene said at the same time that Theophania nodded, tears in her eyes. "Hey, don't cry, it's okay ... I'm here ... We're all here, your sister, your fathers, everything is alright, hm?" He kissed her on the hair and let her cry into his chest. It went on for a few minutes. Eirene's tries to cheer Theophania up weren't very successful, so that he told her to simply leave her sister be. "Why don't you go and take a little walk, a little look elsewhere?" Sadık asked Eirene, who kicked the air with a bored pout. "Go visit the new animal that you brought back from your trip. Me and Theo will join soon." "Okay!" Life had immediately returned to the girl and she jumped to her feet before she ran down one of the paths and disappeared behind the bushes. It didn't take long for her to return in company. "Oh, finally done talking, your Highness?" Sadık asked Herakles with a grin. "For now." Herakles carried Eirene on his arm. "Seems like you came straight from the camp." "Well, I've been ambushed as soon as I stepped into the palace, so I didn't have time to change yet." They chuckled together about that. "Mohammed just arrived and I was showing him around the gardens, since there's still time until the next council. He's still looking at the ... peculiar speciman that Dilan and the girls brought back." "Oh, wasn't that what we and Theo were gonna do?" Sadık looked at Theophania, whose tears had finally dried out. "What do you think of that, Theo? You want to tell Mohammed about the animal?" Theophania nodded. She even smiled at him and Sadık smiled back. "Alright." He kissed her on the cheek, which made her giggle and got up. "Baba! Your beard still itches!" "Shut up or I'll kiss you again!" He threatened, which only increased the giggling. "I'm not joking!" "You're still a clown," Herakles said as he slowly turned to go. "If I were you, big shot, I'd also shut up, or you're next," Sadık said and Herakles snorted while they ambled through the gardens, two giggling girls on their arms.

#beareplies #hetalia #hws #aph #aph greece #hws greece #aph turkey #hws turkey #turgre #turgre hetalia #hetalia au #I hope everyone enjoyed the toothrotting fluff that is what the Constantinople AU is honestly for #like. sometimes i just want the kids to be sappy and happy.#i do enjoy domestic turgre mightily but it is HARD to pull off right i think #because you do have to incorporate still that they had an incredibly complicated history.#it can never be cookie cutter toothless stuff. i think turgre as a ship is hard to master.#but it is so worth it.#domestic turgre in the hetaverse i mean. AU wise can be a bit easier but you still don't want to go completely toothless.

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glittergummicandypeach · 4 years

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Fake Hafez: How a supreme Persian poet of love was erased | Religion | Al Jazeera

This is the time of the year where every day I get a handful of requests to track down the original, authentic versions of some famed Muslim poet, usually Hafez or Rumi. The requests start off the same way: "I am getting married next month, and my fiance and I wanted to celebrate our Muslim background, and we have always loved this poem by Hafez. Could you send us the original?" Or, "My daughter is graduating this month, and I know she loves this quote from Hafez. Can you send me the original so I can recite it to her at the ceremony we are holding for her?"

It is heartbreaking to have to write back time after time and say the words that bring disappointment: The poems that they have come to love so much and that are ubiquitous on the internet are forgeries. Fake. Made up. No relationship to the original poetry of the beloved and popular Hafez of Shiraz.

How did this come to be? How can it be that about 99.9 percent of the quotes and poems attributed to one the most popular and influential of all the Persian poets and Muslim sages ever, one who is seen as a member of the pantheon of "universal" spirituality on the internet are ... fake? It turns out that it is a fascinating story of Western exotification and appropriation of Muslim spirituality.

Let us take a look at some of these quotes attributed to Hafez:

Even after all this time, the sun never says to the earth, 'you owe me.' Look what happens with a love like that! It lights up the whole sky.

You like that one from Hafez? Too bad. Fake Hafez.

Your heart and my heart Are very very old friends.

Like that one from Hafez too? Also Fake Hafez.

Fear is the cheapest room in the house. I would like to see you living in better conditions.

Beautiful. Again, not Hafez.

And the next one you were going to ask about? Also fake. So where do all these fake Hafez quotes come from?

An American poet, named Daniel Ladinsky, has been publishing books under the name of the famed Persian poet Hafez for more than 20 years. These books have become bestsellers. You are likely to find them on the shelves of your local bookstore under the "Sufism" section, alongside books of Rumi, Khalil Gibran, Idries Shah, etc.

It hurts me to say this, because I know so many people love these "Hafez" translations. They are beautiful poetry in English, and do contain some profound wisdom. Yet if you love a tradition, you have to speak the truth: Ladinsky's translations have no earthly connection to what the historical Hafez of Shiraz, the 14th-century Persian sage, ever said.

He is making it up. Ladinsky himself admitted that they are not "translations", or "accurate", and in fact denied having any knowledge of Persian in his 1996 best-selling book, I Heard God Laughing. Ladinsky has another bestseller, The Subject Tonight Is Love.

Persians take poetry seriously. For many, it is their singular contribution to world civilisation: What the Greeks are to philosophy, Persians are to poetry. And in the great pantheon of Persian poetry where Hafez, Rumi, Saadi, 'Attar, Nezami, and Ferdowsi might be the immortals, there is perhaps none whose mastery of the Persian language is as refined as that of Hafez.

In the introduction to a recent book on Hafez, I said that Rumi (whose poetic output is in the tens of thousands) comes at you like you an ocean, pulling you in until you surrender to his mystical wave and are washed back to the ocean. Hafez, on the other hand, is like a luminous diamond, with each facet being a perfect cut. You cannot add or take away a word from his sonnets. So, pray tell, how is someone who admits that they do not know the language going to be translating the language?

Ladinsky is not translating from the Persian original of Hafez. And unlike some "versioners" (Coleman Barks is by far the most gifted here) who translate Rumi by taking the Victorian literal translations and rendering them into American free verse, Ladinsky's relationship with the text of Hafez's poetry is nonexistent. Ladinsky claims that Hafez appeared to him in a dream and handed him the English "translations" he is publishing:

"About six months into this work I had an astounding dream in which I saw Hafiz as an Infinite Fountaining Sun (I saw him as God), who sang hundreds of lines of his poetry to me in English, asking me to give that message to 'my artists and seekers'."

It is not my place to argue with people and their dreams, but I am fairly certain that this is not how translation works. A great scholar of Persian and Urdu literature, Christopher Shackle, describes Ladinsky's output as "not so much a paraphrase as a parody of the wondrously wrought style of the greatest master of Persian art-poetry." Another critic, Murat Nemet-Nejat, described Ladinsky's poems as what they are: original poems of Ladinsky masquerading as a "translation."

I want to give credit where credit is due: I do like Ladinsky's poetry. And they do contain mystical insights. Some of the statements that Ladinsky attributes to Hafez are, in fact, mystical truths that we hear from many different mystics. And he is indeed a gifted poet. See this line, for example:

I wish I could show you when you are lonely or in darkness the astonishing light of your own being.

That is good stuff. Powerful. And many mystics, including the 20th-century Sufi master Pir Vilayat, would cast his powerful glance at his students, stating that he would long for them to be able to see themselves and their own worth as he sees them. So yes, Ladinsky's poetry is mystical. And it is great poetry. So good that it is listed on Good Reads as the wisdom of "Hafez of Shiraz." The problem is, Hafez of Shiraz said nothing like that. Daniel Ladinsky of St Louis did.

The poems are indeed beautiful. They are just not ... Hafez. They are ... Hafez-ish? Hafez-esque? So many of us wish that Ladinsky had just published his work under his own name, rather than appropriating Hafez's.

Ladinsky's "translations" have been passed on by Oprah, the BBC, and others. Government officials have used them on occasions where they have wanted to include Persian speakers and Iranians. It is now part of the spiritual wisdom of the East shared in Western circles. Which is great for Ladinsky, but we are missing the chance to hear from the actual, real Hafez. And that is a shame.

So, who was the real Hafez (1315-1390)?

He was a Muslim, Persian-speaking sage whose collection of love poetry rivals only Mawlana Rumi in terms of its popularity and influence. Hafez's given name was Muhammad, and he was called Shams al-Din (The Sun of Religion). Hafez was his honorific because he had memorised the whole of the Quran. His poetry collection, the Divan, was referred to as Lesan al-Ghayb (the Tongue of the Unseen Realms).

A great scholar of Islam, the late Shahab Ahmed, referred to Hafez's Divan as: "the most widely-copied, widely-circulated, widely-read, widely-memorized, widely-recited, widely-invoked, and widely-proverbialized book of poetry in Islamic history." Even accounting for a slight debate, that gives some indication of his immense following. Hafez's poetry is considered the very epitome of Persian in the Ghazal tradition.

Hafez's worldview is inseparable from the world of Medieval Islam, the genre of Persian love poetry, and more. And yet he is deliciously impossible to pin down. He is a mystic, though he pokes fun at ostentatious mystics. His own name is "he who has committed the Quran to heart", yet he loathes religious hypocrisy. He shows his own piety while his poetry is filled with references to intoxication and wine that may be literal or may be symbolic.

The most sublime part of Hafez's poetry is its ambiguity. It is like a Rorschach psychological test in poetry. The mystics see it as a sign of their own yearning, and so do the wine-drinkers, and the anti-religious types. It is perhaps a futile exercise to impose one definitive meaning on Hafez. It would rob him of what makes him ... Hafez.

The tomb of Hafez in Shiraz, a magnificent city in Iran, is a popular pilgrimage site and the honeymoon destination of choice for many Iranian newlyweds. His poetry, alongside that of Rumi and Saadi, are main staples of vocalists in Iran to this day, including beautiful covers by leading maestros like Shahram Nazeri and Mohammadreza Shajarian.

Like many other Persian poets and mystics, the influence of Hafez extended far beyond contemporary Iran and can be felt wherever Persianate culture was a presence, including India and Pakistan, Central Asia, Afghanistan, and the Ottoman realms. Persian was the literary language par excellence from Bengal to Bosnia for almost a millennium, a reality that sadly has been buried under more recent nationalistic and linguistic barrages.

Part of what is going on here is what we also see, to a lesser extent, with Rumi: the voice and genius of the Persian speaking, Muslim, mystical, sensual sage of Shiraz are usurped and erased, and taken over by a white American with no connection to Hafez's Islam or Persian tradition. This is erasure and spiritual colonialism. Which is a shame, because Hafez's poetry deserves to be read worldwide alongside Shakespeare and Toni Morrison, Tagore and Whitman, Pablo Neruda and the real Rumi, Tao Te Ching and the Gita, Mahmoud Darwish, and the like.

In a 2013 interview, Ladinsky said of his poems published under the name of Hafez: "Is it Hafez or Danny? I don't know. Does it really matter?" I think it matters a great deal. There are larger issues of language, community, and power involved here.

It is not simply a matter of a translation dispute, nor of alternate models of translations. This is a matter of power, privilege and erasure. There is limited shelf space in any bookstore. Will we see the real Rumi, the real Hafez, or something appropriating their name? How did publishers publish books under the name of Hafez without having someone, anyone, with a modicum of familiarity check these purported translations against the original to see if there is a relationship? Was there anyone in the room when these decisions were made who was connected in a meaningful way to the communities who have lived through Hafez for centuries?

Hafez's poetry has not been sitting idly on a shelf gathering dust. It has been, and continues to be, the lifeline of the poetic and religious imagination of tens of millions of human beings. Hafez has something to say, and to sing, to the whole world, but bypassing these tens of millions who have kept Hafez in their heart as Hafez kept the Quran in his heart is tantamount to erasure and appropriation.

We live in an age where the president of the United States ran on an Islamophobic campaign of "Islam hates us" and establishing a cruel Muslim ban immediately upon taking office. As Edward Said and other theorists have reminded us, the world of culture is inseparable from the world of politics. So there is something sinister about keeping Muslims out of our borders while stealing their crown jewels and appropriating them not by translating them but simply as decor for poetry that bears no relationship to the original. Without equating the two, the dynamic here is reminiscent of white America's endless fascination with Black culture and music while continuing to perpetuate systems and institutions that leave Black folk unable to breathe.

There is one last element: It is indeed an act of violence to take the Islam out of Rumi and Hafez, as Ladinsky has done. It is another thing to take Rumi and Hafez out of Islam. That is a separate matter, and a mandate for Muslims to reimagine a faith that is steeped in the world of poetry, nuance, mercy, love, spirit, and beauty. Far from merely being content to criticise those who appropriate Muslim sages and erase Muslims' own presence in their legacy, it is also up to us to reimagine Islam where figures like Rumi and Hafez are central voices. This has been part of what many of feel called to, and are pursuing through initiatives like Illuminated Courses.

Oh, and one last thing: It is Haaaaafez, not Hafeeeeez. Please.

The views expressed in this article are the author's own and do not necessarily reflect Al Jazeera's editorial stance.

This content was originally published here.

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jjba-hell · 4 years

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Fate and Fortune

So this was sitting in my WIP folder forever and I was bouncing between self-insert and OC but I figured it was just too specific for self-insert... ✌︎('ω')✌︎

Part 1 of (?) and tagging some moots- @risottoneroo (I know you’ve been going through it recently, I hope this upcoming series can help distract you just a little bit- I know your writing always helps pick me up) @giogio-gucci-gangstar @rat-makes-stuff and @uttertrash (sorry =w= I get nervous tagging any moots)

Setting for this one is pre-Stardust Crusaders and the best dscription for this timeline is MY CANON NOW. This is a very short entry piece of how Vera (my OC) first met Muhammed Abdul. As the story progresses I’ll give more explanation and context to my OC but for now, all ya gots ta know is that it starts off in Egypt.

Content warning is pretty mild- maybe some mysticism if you’re not comfortable with that but nothing beyond that. (Ya’ll know you just gotta et me know if I miss something)

Also- my interpretation of the tarot crads is about like 20% more accurate than Araki’s- meaning its probably not completly right but it makes a bit more sense than canon.

1.4 K words

Life as an expat in a foreign country wasn’t easy to begin with. Vera grew up a bit isolated from the real world, safely hidden behind the tall walls that held her with the other expat children from expat homes. That was, until she decided to go to a neaarby local market- in search of some cooler casual fabrics, an alternative to the continuously wrong winter fabrics the expat camp gave them for ventures outside of the walls of the camp- even though it was much too luxurious to be called a camp.

The decision to desert the safety o fthe camp had been made on a whim, without much warning to her parents, as casual as if she were heading toward the expat gym.

In hindsight, so much could have gone wrong for a 16-year old foreign girl but the threat of danger was never something she had felt too greatly. She had always felt safe- in a way. It had felt like there was always this...presence around her when she felt any unease. Dangerous or nerve racking situations unfolded themselves as life usually does, but things had a tendency to go her way, danger seeming to veer out of her path. She chcuckled at the thought- how cocky she used to be. Her first few trips unaccompanied had only cemented her idea that she was untouchable.

One faithful day- a few months after continous visits to the market- among the many stalls, stood a tall dark skinned Egyptian man- looming over the wares of a vendor whom Vera had made good acquaintances with. “Ah Muhammed. This is that teenager I was telling you about, the foreigner.”

“Hello Hassan.” She smiled- trying to hint at greeting her first.

She turned to the man beside her, almost two heads taller than herself. Two markings moved down his handsome face, a playful smile on his face- slightly marred by his eyes that seemed to hide an impossible sadness behind the warm brown. “You must be Vera. Pleasant to make your acquaintance. I’m Muhammed Abdul.” He gave a courteous nod, hands folding into his somewhat overlflowing robe sleeves.

Hassan leaned in to chip into the conversation before you could answer. “Vera is a foreigner, doesn’t divulge what her parents do but they’re the first in a long time to walk out the camp unaccompanied.”

“Now Hassan, I’m not one of your wares, no need to advertise me like that.” She smiled at the wares dealer with just a glimmer of warning in her eyes.

Muhammed chuckled. “More importantly why would you want to?” He asked with feign suspision.

Hassan looked shocked, dramatically holding his hand over his chest. “Muhammed, was it not you telling me just a few moments ago that you needed a new assistant for your shop.”

Hassan then rounded on Vera. “And didn’t you say you’d like a part-time job for some extra coin.”

Muhammed threw his head back and gave a hearty laugh straight out of his chest. “Hassan, if I didn’t know any better I’d swear this was an elaborate scheme to get Vera to buy more of your wares.”

Hassan showed his open palms up beside his head in a sign of surrender. “Caught red-handed. Easier to persuade her to buy something when her wallet is full. But why don’t you just believe that it’s a kind gesture?”

Muhammed turned towards you, that same warm smile on his face. “If you’re willing, Vera, we can discuss these things in my shop if you like.”

In the back of her mind she was a bit apprehensive, she’d been taught to keep her guard up when out alone. But then again, she had some mace on her persons, just in case of an emergency. And that presence looming over her shoulder seemed to make itself a bit more known, bringing a comforting warmth to her shoulders. So ,impulsively, she had agreed. “I’d love to see what you have to offer.”

Vera and Muhammed bid Hassan a temporary goodbye, Hassan assuring her that he’d skin Muhammed alive if he laid a finger her. Somehow the image of Hassan attempting to skin this monstrosity of a man walking ahead of her -almost gliding through the streets to his shop- a bit comical but at least she could appreciated the gesture. Ducking under a stone arch and then curling up some stone steps the two of them stopped in front of an old wooden door- looking as if it came straight from the 14th century.

Muhammed unlocked the heavy black iron lock and pushed the door open to reveal a ceiling of stars, dangling charms and sigils. “Would I be stereotyping you if I assumed you were a mystic of some sort?”

Muhammed gave a warm chuckle.“Indeed I am. I am what you’d consider a fortune teller, and Hassan heard assistant, when in actuality I was looking for an apprentice.”

“Would you say there’s a difference?” She had chcukled as she entered deeper into the shop.

Muhammed kept the door open, stepping through behind her as her eyes travelled through all the trinkets, stones, and more.

“Unfortunately there is. If I overstep a boundary, you are more than welcome to leave but...may I ask. Have you ever felt...guarded? Or watched? As if nothing could go wrong and if it did, it would turn out your favor.”

For a moment she couldn’t help but smile to herself. “Sounds like some crazy luck.”

Muhammed laughed again. She spun around on her heel and saw a deck of cards in his hands, tapping the edges on the red clothed table. “It’s actually a phenomenon I study. It’s considered mysticism but...if you really want this job, I’d suggest you at least have some inkling of what that feeling is.”

Abdul’s eyes flashed dark as his gaze moved from Vera to just beside her head. She frowned in confusion, looking over her shoulder to see nothing but before she could ask, Muhammed immediately looked her head-on with a calm yet stern expression. The focus in his eyes back.

“I’ll be honest with you, Mr Abdul. I do possess that feeling. Although it wavers from time to time- probably makes me a little cocky but I’ve never faced a problem that didn’t solve itself.”

Muhammed smiled, straightened a bit and then seamlessly slid into the chair at the table.

“A tarot reading? Before we discuss money then?”

She had laughed but slid into the chair in front of him and watched Abdul’s skilled fingers shuffle the deck and spread it out before her. “Pick three.”

One. Two. Three.

He slid them back together and arranged the three chosen cards a specific way.

“The past. Judgement, reversed.”

“Care to explain?” Her gaze locked with his for a moment.

“Your past is a source of turmoil to you- a never ending fountain of self-doubt and self-flagellation.”

Vera shrugged, not reacting much to this. She wasn’t about to explain her whole life to him any time soon.

“The present. Death, upright. Big change is coming very soon. Be weary of the storm that lies before you.”

You nodded, a slow fear creeping up your spine. Even Abdul seemed to swallow a bit harder at the prospect, as if avoiding her gaze.

“And future. Wheel of fortune, upright. You are the guardian of your own fate- even through the ever-changing storm of fates.”

She nodded, feeling more at ease with the last prediction. “Is it normal to feel such a variety of emotions after a read?”

Muhammed only smiled as he folded his arms before him. “It is. However no one likes pulling the death card. But that beside the point. How does 300 a week sound to you?”

“Generous.”

“Oh it‘ll only seem that way at the start. Later you’ll cuss me out for paying you so little. For now, I think it best I show you the ropes first.”

There a was a beat of silence, before Muhammed gracefully brought his hand out to shake. “Do we have a deal?”

Vera hesitated a moment before trusting in her own character judgement and shaking his hand to seal the deal. Abdul’s warmth as well as what she had seen from his character thusfar had her feeling as though she could trust him. But she’d be lying if that was the only reason- that unshakable good luck she’d been carrying on her shoulders her whole life seemed to assure her that if a problem ever did arise- she’d still be in control of her own fate.

It was, however, not Abdul whomst she had to worry about...

For not a month into her apprenticeship- Death has already sunken its claws into her life, and a violent change would alter the course of her life forever.

#jojo kimyou na bouken #jojos bizarre adventure #jojo part 3 #muhammed abdul #oc content #my writing #stardust crusaders #Fate and Fortune

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somethingusefulfromflorida · 3 years

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Say the United States we're to collapse; would it be like the Soviet Union or Yugoslavia?

The USSR broke into 15 countries, but Russia was the clear successor state, the main entity that inherited all its nukes, assets, and international treaties. Nobody says that Kyrgyzstan or Latvia are continuations of the Soviet Union. The USSR disappeared overnight in 1991, but Russia has been carrying its baton ever since.

Yugoslavia however was Balkanized slowly, whittled away bit by bit severe years. Croatia, Slovenia, Macedonia, and Bosnia and Herzegovina broke away in 1992, leaving just Serbia, Montenegro, and Kosovo. They stopped calling themselves Yugoslavia in 2003, and Montenegro broke away in 2006. Kosovo is functionally independent, Serbia's Taiwan, and I figure it's only a matter of time before they get recognized as such by the international community. Yugoslavia is dead, and nothing of it remains.

So, what would be the fate of the United States? I don't see them all going their separate way as 50 independent nations, that's just not gonna happen. I could see groups of neighboring states sticking together, but the new groupings would still fight over which one gets to call themselves the United States. Which one would inherit our seat on the UN Security Council? Which one would commandeer our nuclear arsenal? Most of the silos are in uninhabited red states, Montana, the Dakotas, Wyoming, so they would hold all the cards; some general could declare himself king and hold the world hostage, though the navy would maintain control of all the nuclear submarines out of Hawaii and Georgia. I doubt there would be equitable distribution of nukes to all post-America states, it would be every militia for themselves.

Who would the European Union do business with? There are twelve federal reserve banks, New York's having the most assets, and four mints in Philadelphia, Denver, San Francisco, and West Point, but they only produce coins. The Bureau of Engraving and Printing makes paper money, and they only have two facilities, one in DC and one in Texas. I don't know enough about economics to understand the implications there, but I could expect competing dollars, with multiple post-America states claiming it as their currency and printing their own, which could lead to hyperinflation.

Any post-America state would undoubtedly base its constitution on the existing one, which is a mistake because it is full of holes. There isn't enough substance baked into it, so we've had to spackle over the holes with legislation and Supreme Court decisions to try and stretch the existing text to apply in situations it wasn't intended for. It weighs us down because it is static; it needs to change to keep up with society as it evolves over time. The United States is the only country that still uses an 18th century document, and we act like that's some major achievement, like it's something to be proud of. We're not allowed to criticize the constitution or we're labeled traitors and "communists," it's held up as some infallible God-given text when it was written by very much fallible old white dudes for specific political purposes (there are a lot of compromises built in, like a disproportional senate to appease the small states). It's a mess.

I'm not a state-builder or a nation-builder, I don't know what needs to be done, I just have opinions and a limited audience who sometimes like it when I yell into the abyss. I've been thinking a lot about the future of American politics, and the pressure has been rising for decades now. Things are going to boil over very soon, and I don't want to be caught off guard when the shit hits the fan. If and when the new world is built, I'm not gonna be in the room where it happens, I won't have any voice in the matter, it'll all be done by the same rich elites who run things now. We will learn nothing, change nothing, and fall victim to the same economic and social divisions that are threatening to tear us apart today. How granular can we get? If the US breaks apart, what's keeping the states from breaking apart even further? Region against region, city against city, counties waging war for supremacy, it never ends. The American Experiment is failing because of disagreements over diversity; one side accepts and embraces diversity, the other side rejects it and wants homogeneity. America is diverse by design, everyone is welcome, the constitution for all its failures is nominally built on the idea of liberty and justice for all, all men are created equal, the 14th Amendment interpreted in a vacuum should see to that, but in practice a minority of hateful and bigoted conservatives are doing their best to tear the county apart at the seams because they want to have all the power for themselves. Just them, their in-group, nobody else, homogenous, singular, "pure."

This post has really gone off the rails. I started it as a fun piece of world building for an alternate history story, but then it devolved into a long winded and aimless soapbox. I don't know what I'm saying, I don't know what I'm doing, I just know how I feel and how I think the world should be. It'll never be the way I want it to be, and none of the other people who want it to be that way have the power to make it so. We are all trapped in a system of false hierarchies, where a few people in suits control our entire lives and sic their hired goons on anyone who tries to stand up against them. We can't just burn it all down because millions of people would suffer from the lost infrastructure, so there are no simple solutions that benefit everybody. One side is willing to sacrifice people to maintain their idea world, "gotta break a couple eggs," and I just can't abide by that. Every life has value, we can't just write off large swathes of the population in the name of "progress" or "the greater good." Any new system would need to be proven before implemented, which means it would need to start small and build up so everyone is acclimated to it.

TLDR I'm no revolutionary, and I have too much moral fiber to get into conventional politics, so I just want to opt out

It feels like we can't change it for the better, only for the worse, so the only winning move is not to play. I want to live in a shack in the woods to be as far away from the government as possible, but I have no skills and a crippling dependence of electronic media. I am a failure as a citizen, totally disengaged from the national discourse. I just want things to be good for as many people as possible, but I'm afraid that's too much to ask.

#usa #long rant #long post #tldr #la revolucion #the revolution #revolution #statecraft #nation building #state building #politics #political #America #United States #constitution #us constitution #the constitution #divided states #divided states of america

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kedreeva · 5 years

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Hi! I have a question. What do you think about the "real miracle" line from the Church scene? (No, I'm still not over the Church scene.) Is it Crowley telling Aziraphale to save them both and he just saves the books later? Or do they each save themselves? Is it so that Aziraphale can explain the miracle to Heaven as "I had to save myself from the bombs falling over London" rather than "I had to save myself from my own moronic plan backfiring"? I just never fully got the writer's intention...

I think we’re seeing a little bit of the effect Falling really had on the angels that Fell- they’ve lost the ability to perform real Miracles.

Think of it this way- both sides have the ability to do magic. Crowley can use his magic to influence reality a bit. He can nudge people to do things in his favor (like redirecting the bombs), or cause people not to notice him (like in Paris when they’re standing in the cell still and no one notices them, or when they’re walking out of the convent through police that are arresting everyone and no one stops them), or to do little things like turn off the light Aziraphale conjured or fix the broken headlamp of his car, or even protect the books by making the rubble not quite fall on the bag. This sort of magic, while still very magical and oft can be used to do powerful things, is a lesser form of magic than a true Miracle.

Because a real Miracle takes reality and reshapes it entirely. It is something that there is no explanation for except divine intervention. RE: the above, Maybe the planes just got mixed up in their directions. Maybe no one noticed them in paris or at the convent because things were hectic. Maybe she hadn’t hit the headlamp to break it, maybe there hadn’t been a light in the darkness, maybe the rubble didn’t quite bury the books. But for two humans (or humanoid forms) to survive a direct impact from a bomb? No, that can’t be explained any other way. That’s a real miracle.

Alternately, and please don’t tell Greenberg I told you this, but I believe that demons may have lost some of their healing/protective abilities in the Fall, too. I know in the book, Crowley is the one to bring the dove back to life after the birthday party shenanigans, but in the series he’s not, and Crowley repeatedly shows he has an exceptional hatred for the 14th century- which was right around when the plague went rampant and was killing all manner of people. With no healing abilities, I think that would have been quite the bad time to be around. So, I think that protective and healing abilities may have been taken away from demons, meaning he could not have saved them in the Church- he might have been able to prevent the destruction of an object (the books) but not a living thing (them). He had to rely on an angel to do a real miracle for that.

Which, you know. Means that he went into that church ready to die.

He’d just, 80 years ago, had a big fight with Aziraphale, and likely not seen him since. He has no idea how Aziraphale is going to react to him turning up again. He has no idea if Aziraphale will be willing to save both of them (he knows, but he doesn’t KNOW, you know?). He trusts that he will. Trusts Aziraphale with his entire life, and he waltzes in and tells Aziraphale “You got yourself into trouble and I’ve come to be in trouble with you and brought along MORE trouble to take care of the first trouble, but you’re going to have to keep us both safe through it” and Aziraphale does, the same way he put his wing up over Crowley at the start of all things.

#good omens #asks #karuvapatta

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tinyshe · 4 years

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Classical Catholic Education

Please note: I am copy-n-paste/sharing for personal use. I am not endorsing nor have I explored this site in its entirety but have it here as a point of interest (so don’t yell at me if you don’t like it but if their is something heretical then please let me know exactly where/what. Thanks! Please read their preface near the bottom of the post.

Understanding Classical Catholic Education

Note: If you are here after requesting a free PDF copy of the book, check your email for a link. If you’d like to read online, continue below.

Preface (below)

Introduction As we begin our study of the classical liberal arts, we will first consider the philosophy behind this ancient system of learning. We will see that modern educational philosophies are not alternatives to the ancient system but errors leading men away from sound philosophy and ultimately, true happiness.

The Arts in Ancient Israel In this second lesson we will connect two important points in the history of the classical liberal arts curriculum. We will consider the development of the arts after Moses up to the time of the development of the famous Greek schools.

The Arts in Ancient Greece In this third lesson we will consider the liberal arts curriculum as it continues to develop among the Greeks, demonstrating that the wisdom of the Greeks was in their honoring the ancient wisdom of Egypt and Israel. We must begin by recalling the testimony of Scripture that Solomon’s wisdom filled the nations. We will see that, while many modern scholars admire the Greeks yet despise the ancient religious traditions, the Greeks were themselves eager to preserve and practice the wisdom of the ancients.

The Arts in Ancient Rome In this fourth lesson we will consider the liberal arts curriculum as it continues to develop among the Romans, demonstrating that the Romans added the language of the curriculum and the art of Rhetoric. Once again, the essence of the liberal arts curriculum (the goal of which is true Wisdom) is not changed, but the beauty of the program is enhanced and the systematizing of yet another part is completed.

The Arts in the Hellenistic World In this fifth lesson, we consider the inter-testamental history so as to rightly understand the relationship between classical liberal arts education and Jewish society around the time of the life of Our Lord.

The Arts in the First Century In this lesson, we continue to follow the development of the classical liberal arts in the early Christian Church, and see the foundation of classical Catholic education.

The Arts in the Early Middle Ages In this lesson we will consider the next important page in the history of the classical liberal arts: education in the medieval world.

The Arts in the High Middle Ages Between the 5th and 9th centuries, Boethius, Cassiodorus, Alcuin and others gathered and preserved the wisdom of the Patristic age, but also sowed the seeds that would give birth to the age to come. The developments of this era were caused not so much by the conscious effort of the period’s scholars to bring in something new, but were forced upon them by the new challenges of the spread of Christianity through Europe. Most importantly, they highlighted the centrality of Dialectic in Christian education and set the stage for the flowering of Scholasticism.

The Renaissance & Reformation In this lesson, we will jump ahead to the first great assault made on classical Catholic education. This assault took place over a period of time, from the 14th through the 17th centuries and is contained within two events identified by historians as the Renaissance and the Reformation.

The Scientific Revolution In this lesson, we will look at the Scientific Revolution, which like the Protestant Reformation, is another manifestation of the dark side of the Renaissance. In this lesson we will get at the core principles of the Scientific Revolution, which have caused great confusion in the Church, have provided for several embarrassing moments in Church history and continue to cripple Christian people today.

American Public Education After the establishment of a federal government in the United States, the ability to collect taxes gave educators and lawmakers a means of ramping up this mission. In Europe, the increase in secular power that followed the Reformation inspired rulers to create public school systems for the indoctrination of children in the interest of social obedience.

The Dawn of Modern Education In this lesson we will look deeper into the philosophical and historical context of the American public school system to understand how it evolved from a Protestant endeavor to create an anti-Catholic American citizenry into a secular machine for cultural change.

Catholic Schools in America The history of Catholic schools in America is only understood when we consider the schools in light of the history and experiences of the Church in America.

The Classical Liberal Arts Academy In this course, we have covered the history of education from the ancient Egyptians through to the Catholic schools of the 20th century. In this lesson we will look at the misguided efforts some have made to “repair the ruins” and the founding of the Classical Liberal Arts Academy.

The Goal of Classical Catholic Education What you should realize at this point is that our challenge in the Classical Liberal Arts Academy is not one of discovery or invention, but a challenge of restoring what was lost. Nevertheless, we must begin with a careful examination of the goal of the classical liberal arts curriculum.

The Means to True Happiness We learned that this true happiness is available to all human beings, but is available in heaven, not necessarily on earth. On earth, we have four objectives to focus on that will enable us to enjoy God forever in heaven.

Order a printed copy of this book($10)

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Preface

We live at an amazing moment in history. Society is violently divided and bring driven further apart by political controversies. Technology is making schooling and publishing obsolete. Catholic schools are closing, parishes are being consolidated, religious communities are selling their empty facilities, families are failing to raise children who remain in the Church. Yet, in the midst of this decline, the restoration of classical Catholic education has begun in the Classical Liberal Arts Academy.

I was an ex-Catholic teenager who felt the distress of being left to the world. I knew that the teachers and religious leaders around me were not sincerely interested in my happiness, and that I needed to find answers for myself. I had a girl I wanted to marry, but I had no idea how to do anything as a Christian adult.

Christian churches, schools and families, are not supposed to produce lost teenagers like me, and Christian children cannot afford to learn the way I did—most of them never will. The problem modern Christian teenagers face is not a joke, or “just the way it is”. It is a systemic failure of Christian society.

My long and expensive search for answers led me to classical Catholic education. I’ve been working on this research, all day, every day, for over 25 years. In this book, I’m sharing lessons I wrote for a course for Christian parents in 2009—and I am sharing this book with Christian parents who want to save their children’s souls.

Classical Catholic Education

The greatest challenge Christian parents face today is that they have no access to the history that I share in this book. This ignorance has left them vulnerable to false teaching by a “classical education” movement that is a living example of sophistry—pretending to be wise to get money. We have to see through this and move forward with real, classical Catholic education.

We can fix these problems. We don’t need to become experts or earn degrees to to give our children the education they need. Parents don’t need to become teachers because the teachers have already given us what we need. We need to work together, as parents, to help our own children learn the truth, which their souls will recognize. Let’s get that work started—there’s no time to lose.

God bless,

William C. Michael Classical Liberal Arts Academy www.classicalliberalarts.com

#catholic #classical education

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sky-chau · 5 years

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Singular They

(This was an essay I wrote for COMP 101, be nice.)

In recent years the singular they has been under fire by the public and grammar nuts who claim the new usage of the word they is grammatically incorrect. As of 2019 most major style guides such as the MLA style manual, The Associated Press and the APA style manual all vouch for the singular they in formal writing (“What Is the Singular They, and Why Should I Use It?”). Many may be shocked to know that the history of the singular they dates back several centuries.

Language is a very fluid thing that changes over time, and definitions of words change to best describe the way people currently use them, even if the new definition veers off drastically from the old one. There are a few people in the language community who insist that the dictionary definitions of words should dictate how people use them (“What Is the Singular They, and Why Should I Use It?”). It’s become a chicken or the egg debate, the only difference being that we know for a fact that when it comes to language, not once in the history of ever has, the written word came before the spoken language, thus debunking language prescriptivists.

The first recorded use of they as a singular third person pronoun, according to the Oxford Dictionary, dates back to 1375 where it was featured in William and The Werewolf a medieval romance novel. The Oxford Dictionary also points out “Since forms may exist in speech long before they’re written down, it’s likely that singular they was common even before the late fourteenth century. That makes an old form even older.” (“A Brief History of Singular 'They'.”).

Another old and noteable use of the singular they was in Shakespeare's A Comedy of Errors, in which the word their was used as a singular third person pronoun for another man: “As if I were their well-acquainted friend” (“Language Log.”). Which again implies that the singular they was already commonly used prior to the play being written.

Funnily enough the singular they predates the word girl as we know it today. While the word they being used in the singular didn’t occur in writing until the 14th century. According to Maddie Crum of the Huffington Post, the word girl was used to refer to all children regardless of gender up until the 16th century when it transitioned into being the word for female children specifically (Crum). That’s two whole centuries before girl meant girl.

The common complaint with using they as a singular third person pronoun is that the word they is most commonly used in the plural and would make communication confusing. However, english speakers have already had this conversation about the word you (“A Brief History of Singular 'They'.”). Many early texts consider the word you to be a plural word. If one has been paying attention, today it’s the complete opposite and english speakers struggle to find a classy replacement for the now extinct plural you. There's actually a rather interesting debate going on in the depths of the language caverns over “y’all” and “yous” centered around whether or not their utility should outweigh their uneducated sound.

The first sign of caution against the word they being used in the singular was was written in the 18th century by language prescriptivists obsessing over an unimportant bit of semantics. It didn’t see a resurgence until sometime in the 70s and 80s when memebers of the queer community began to find themselves falling outside of the gender binary. The singular they was suddenly very controvercial as it the queer community used it to reffer to people whos assigned sex is known, using only they them pronouns for themselves as a personal rejection of the role they were assigned.

Even the strongest opponents of the singular they can be heard using they to refer to a hypothetical or unknown person. These little slips leave the implication that their complaint with the singular they was never gramatical concern, so much as it was bigotry coated in academic language. A tactic to excuse them from using ones correct pronouns, without tainting their image with the stench of transphobia.

And clearly if ones hatred of the singular they is purely grammatical, said person would accept an alternate set of pronouns the queer linguists have made from scratch. Neo-Pronouns are exactly that, queer linguists came up with a variety of pronouns that exist outside of he or she, such as ve/ver or zim/zir. Ve and zir are very clean replacements for him and her, without all the baggage of the gendered pronouns (“What Is the Singular They, and Why Should I Use It?”).

The truth is the rules of language only describe the way society uses the construct. It’s documentation of the larger social phenomenon for those who can’t keep up. As the world requires words to serve a new function the rules change to accommodate it. Words are silly and so are people. If enough people use a word incorrectly, it will be the words new definition within a decade. The singular they is not new, and even if it was, that does not necessarily mean it’s incorrect.

WORKS CITED

“A Brief History of Singular 'They'.” Oxford English Dictionary, 29 Mar. 2019, https://public.oed.com/blog/a-brief-history-of-singular-they/.

Crum, Maddie. “Hey, Girl, The History Of The Word 'Girl' Is Actually Crazy.” HuffPost, HuffPost, 26 Aug. 2016, https://www.huffpost.com/entry/history-of-the-word-girl_n_57bb6915e4b0b51733a53195?guccounter=1&guce_referrer=aHR0cHM6Ly93d3cuZ29vZ2xlLmNvbS8&guce_referrer_sig=AQAAAMrDOh9p59LK2cidcm0YuIjBbBctOZTQtMk5KhKqdafhvJtUB8pnVcqPyyPRxXrZBcBV0yBdbKe6VFubCpiX40tKc9WTR2_fYRDFtvhIR7JX1m7L1lYAjIOziCQiEjKs4JvaLXXn9GQQnENKXtRAhhVo4QndxQLmpJyeEjoztXy7.

“Language Log.” Language Log: Shakespeare Used They with Singular Antecedents so There, http://itre.cis.upenn.edu/~myl/languagelog/archives/002748.html.

“What Is the Singular They, and Why Should I Use It?” Grammarly, 5 June 2019, https://www.grammarly.com/blog/use-the-singular-they/.

#lgbtq #lgbtqpia #trans #nb #sky writes #history of the singular they

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drmedicsgamesurgery · 5 years

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Danganronpa Togami Volume 3 Part 3 (Summary)

Short chapter so short summary today! Thanks for reading!

Thanks to @enoshima-pyon @shockersalvage @jinjojess @hopeymchope for helping out!

CHAPTER 12- Regarding the Metaphorical Replacement for Proximity

“All in all, it’s really whimsical,” said the heir to the Ketouin Conglomerate, Hiroyuki Ketouin, “It’s amazing really, a great record. The world record holder of holding your breath, 22 minutes and 30 seconds, is Goran Colak. [1] I can’t compare to this kind of guy. First of all, I’d need to be in the car under the water..."

I didn’t listen to Hiroyuki’s jokes. I leaned on the back seat of the car and stared out the window, putting the flowing scenery into my vision: the unchanging landscape, only the forest on the horizon. But the railroad tracks have disappeared. Although I really want to know where I am, I’m too tired to use Borges.

"Miss, you look listless."

"Because Byakuya-sama is gone..."

"Cheers for Goran Korak!" Hiroyuki took a Pilsner beer out of the dashboard's storage box. "So has the young master contacted you?"

"No."

"He should have managed to escape."

"If that’s the case, why didn’t he contact me?"

"Maybe he was worried about leaking his location to an outsider like me."

"You are not serious, are you?"

"You don't have to think about what my real identity is."

"The Imposter said something similar. It’s ridiculous, only the right one is the most important."

Since I arrived in the Czech Republic, I have encountered many copies and imposters, over and over. Those people shouted that they were the real deal, but the glittering coats they wore were stripped by others, or they were uncovered, one by one exposing their identity as counterfeit, or they just simply died. Or disappeared. Or killed. I am me, I am a Togami, I have a clear and accurate understanding of this, but on the contrary, everything else seems suspicious. What if this place is actually not the Czech Republic, but a virtual space. I am actually sleeping in bed with VR glasses. Even if it was such a disappointing ending, I would probably not be surprised. Having said that, I don't want to write any lies in the biography of Byakuya-sama... "Journey Under The Midnight Sun", so even if this reality I see is all false, I can't erase this adventure. I want to write down the original reality, and neither hope nor despair can interfere. This description is like warehousing management. Some people may feel uninterested. However, this is the essence of biography. If you add fuel to your story, it is no different from fiction. It is already in a state of completion, and there is no need to add, delete or modify anything.

Hiroyuki takes a sip of beer before saying that Shinobu looks as if she is out of the mud, but just because she is the SHSL Secretary doesn’t mean she is perfect.

"I don't think anyone else can accurately distinguish between true and false like me, though."

"What was your first favorite book?"

"What do you mean?"

"Don't worry so much, just answer. What was your first favorite book?"

“Small Pig.”

Shinobu thinks about the Author, Arnold Lobel, and how the version she had was a translated version of the original english story into japanese. It was something of a bedtime story for her.

Hiroyuki and Shinobu then start to discuss how translations in novels can end up being quite different to what the original work was intending, and that texts should always be read in the language they were produced in for the full effect. [2]

“Of course, there will be some subtle differences in meaning, but the degree of meaning would be very slight, right?”

"Well take for example a voice actor gets changed, someone will quarrel and say: 'It’s totally wrong! This is a fake!' If that happens, then you must read the original book when reading, don’t run from it, don’t be afraid either, you must be brave when facing the original text."

Shinobu wonders about how meaning behind text can be viewed differently by different observers, and how that would affect the outcome of how a work is observed. In this case, a translation of a text could change the meaning of a work to something completely different, and possibly much less profound in nature, without the intricacies of the original text. [2]

Borges then brings up a few quotes (#23232300), from people who are regretting getting into the translation business.

Hiroyuki brings up the story of a man who didn’t want to translate a prolific buddhist work into japanese, because the meaning wouldn’t be the same. Because you don’t know what the original story is, you would have no idea what changes would have been made by the translator to suit the language. Or alternately what parts of the story have been altered or fabricated.

He talks about how people who write in Sanskrit or Czech would never know the true story of “The Tale Of Genji” [3] because in truth, the versions translated into those languages was merely an abridged version of the story. A summary, if you will. This “light novel” version is inferior to the original product by its very nature in not being the original work itself.

Comparing modern language translation with light novel adaptation, I can’t help but admire this arrogant opinion. Indeed, this isn’t just as simple as moving a tray of food from plate to plate, but because of the different personalities and intentions of the writers and translators... or making bold explanations or making large-scale changes... There will be considerable changes in the content, which is quite different from what I have pursued in my biography. The biography I want to write is a true transcript. I only transfer the real things to the transcripts on paper. Even the consciousness of myself, the author, should be excluded. This is a perfect copy, which is what I wish to pursue. Due to the existence of the author, modern language translation and light novel adaptation will change the content. The shamelessness of this behavior is comparable to the dumping of organic garbage at a crime scene. In this sense, perhaps no book can serve as a model for “Journey Under The Midnight Sun”. It seems that what I want to do may really fall into the category of quantum mechanics. That's just what I think, at least-

"By the way… Where are we going?"

"There is a nearby town, the name is written on the navigation system. Hey, but how should this be read? Czech is really difficult to understand... Karlovy...Vary?"

"Ah, I know this place. It is a famous hot spring resort."

"A Spa," Hiroyuki turned his head despite being driving "You said hot spring, right!? The next volume of this book must be the pink bookmark route!! I can't help but get excited!"

"Oh no, it’s a drinking cure spring."

"Oh?"

“It’s not a hot spring, but a drinking cure spring to make your body healthier. The Czech Republic has this custom.”

"...I haven't been so disappointed for a long time.”

Hiroyuki exclaims that he hasn’t been so disappointed since learning secrets about various other topics, and hopes that Europeans will one day be able to understand the beauty of japanese style hot springs. Shinobu thinks about how every countries hot springs are different because their values are different. People who say things like "Only the Japanese can understand this kind of beauty" when visiting buddhist temples are self-righteous. She thinks about how big the world is and how even with common and uncommon sense, the world will never change. She is unlucky to have met so many fakes, imposters and counterfeits in the Czech Republic, and even though Hiroyuki is alive, Byakuya is still missing.

"It really is a whimsical world."

Hiroyuki commented this way, but it seems to me that "unreal world" is more accurate. Impossible things, unimaginable things, incredible things are appearing before me, but no matter how much I complain, the problems at hand will not be resolved by myself. Escape from this ridiculous world, or be swallowed up by this ridiculous world. To all of this insanity, I can only say one thing.

"I’m hungry."

Shinobu and Hiroyuki drop off by a KFC. Even though it’s not Christmas time just yet, they still decided to eat there anyway. [4] They stuffed themselves, and Shinobu continued to eat in the car, and Hiroyuki cracks a joke that falls flat on its head and is so not funny I'm not translating it.

The Mercedes is now driving to largest resort in the Czech Republic. The Karlovy Vary Spa began in the 14th century, when Carl IV discovered the source of the hot springs here; however, the style of the spa area seems to be internationally shared, and it is reminiscent of the streetscape of the Noboribetsu Onsen and Ikaho Onsen. [5] [6]

"It seems that it’s still open," Hiroyuki looked out through the window. "That said, I can't take you sightseeing."

"How can they still be open in this situation?"

"Well KFC is still open."

“By the way, the spa in the Czech Republic is one person at a time according to the instructions. So please don’t have any strange expectations.”

“Oh yeah, why are you so familiar with this place anyway?"

"I... I did some investigation beforehand because I wanted to come to the hot springs with Byakuya-sama!"

"........."

"I have been looking forward to this trip."

Moving on from the subject, Hiroyuki thinks that Byakuya might have used the Kudan, though Shinobu points that no matter what happens Byakuya wouldn’t do it. Even when faced with absolute despair. Granted, she doesn’t know why he would seal it away either. To that, Hiroyuki believes that perhaps the re-assurance of it being sealed was better than than using the Kudan.

When they arrive at the hotel next to the drinking spring, Shinobu does a quick search with Borges. Apparently it’s a very luxurious hotel which accommodated many important historical figures such as Goethe and Beethoven. [7][8] But something seemed off. Even though the Czech government declared a state of emergency, many people who looked like tourists were in the hotel lobby. Hiroyuki comes back to Shinobu and says that he has booked a room on the top floor of the hotel.

She covers her face to avoid any assassin’s on the lookout, and they then head to the room. As soon as they open the door, Shinobu lays on the bed and falls asleep saying that she hasn’t slept properly since they came to Prague.

"It's good to get a good night's rest, helps you wake up more clear minded," Hiroyuki's voice entered my mind. "The most important thing about an article is not its writing, but the study beforehand."

She wakes up all sweaty and with messy hair, so she decides to take a bath. While she is doing that, she thinks about where could Byakuya be and she remembers what he said.

“Wait for me.”

She still doesn’t understand what he meant, but she decides to have faith in Byakuya and just wait as he said. She didn’t want to put back on her old sweaty clothes, but she didn’t want to wear the bathrobe either. When she comes out of the bathroom, she finds Hiroyuki eating a Czech meal.

"Oh, Hello, Miss Beautiful."

Hiroyuki still made me feel more uncomfortable.

He asks her to sit down and eat, and even though she is not hungry (thanks to eating KFC) she still agrees. They start with some small talk, about different cultural cuisines, such as Roman, Slovakian and Czech, but they decide to get on with it.

It seems that if I want to continue the topic, I’d have to sit down with him. With a sigh, I sat down opposite of Mr. Hiroyuki Ketouin. There are many foods on the table that look like Czech food, although I don't know if it is. Roasted chicken with fat, and sour pickles next to it, mushroom soup, stir-fried pork with horseradish and spicy sauce, wrapped in a thin layer of fried squid, with aroma of charcoal. Lamb chops, oiled cheese, oyster steak, sour cream yak meat, mineral water, and his beer is still Pilsner beer. These meaty dishes are those of this country on lockdown. Surprisingly, looking at them, my stomach is hungry again. This made me realize that I am still alive.

Hiroyuki poured beer into a huge wide-mouth cup and called out: "Cheers!" raising the cup. I poured the mineral water into a classic glass and took a bite of cheese. In the suite where the sunlight shone through the large window at the rear, I enjoyed the food. If the person sitting across from me was Byakuya-sama, this would be a wonderful scene.

Translations notes:

[1] Goran Colak is a Croation freediver who currently holds the world record for holding breath underwater. His record is now at 23:01.

[2] Bruh, I am trying ok.

[3] The Tale Of Genji is a classic work of Japanese literature written by the noblewoman and lady-in-waiting Murasaki Shikibu in the early years of the 11th century. The original manuscript no longer exists. It was made in "concertina" or orihon style: several sheets of paper pasted together and folded alternately in one direction then the other, around the peak of the Heian period. The work is a unique depiction of the lifestyles of high courtiers during the Heian period, written in archaic language and a poetic and confusing style that makes it unreadable to the average Japanese without dedicated study. It was not until the early 20th century that Genji was translated into modern Japanese, by the poet Akiko Yosano. The first English translation was attempted in 1882, but was of poor quality and incomplete.

[4] From December 1974, KFC Japan began to promote fried chicken as a Christmas meal, with its long running "Kentucky for Christmas" or "Kentucky Christmas" advertising campaign. Eating KFC food as a Christmas meal has since become a widely practised custom in Japan. As of 2019, in Japan, Christmas sales of KFC made around Christmas Eve account for nearly five per cent of annual revenue.

[5] Noboribetsu Onsen is Hokkaido's most famous hot spring resort, offering as many as eleven different kinds of thermal waters, that are considered among Japan's best and most effective. The resort town consists of numerous (mostly large sized) ryokan and hotels with hot spring baths. Several of them open their baths during daytime to non-staying guests for typically 700 to 2000 yen. In addition, there is one public bath house located in the center of town.

[6] Ikaho Onsen is a hot spring town located on the eastern slopes of Mount Haruna. Known for its reddish brown, iron-laden thermal waters, Ikaho Onsen joins Kusatsu, Minakami and Shima Onsen as the four most famous hot spring resorts of Gunma Prefecture. The atmospheric old town area of Ikaho centers around the 300 meter long stone stairs which lead up through the middle of town and are lined by ryokan, old fashioned game arcades and shops. A few kilometers outside of Ikaho stands Mizusawa Kannon, a popular temple, well known for the udon noodles sold at restaurants along its approach. Mount Haruna with its beautiful caldera lake can also be easily combined with a visit to Ikaho.

[7] Johann Wolfgang von Goethe was a German writer and statesman. His works include: four novels; epic and lyric poetry; prose and verse dramas; memoirs; an autobiography; literary and aesthetic criticism; and treatises on botany, anatomy, and colour. In addition, numerous literary and scientific fragments, more than 10,000 letters, and nearly 3,000 drawings by him have survived.

[8] Ludwig van Beethoven was a German composer and pianist. A crucial figure in the transition between the classical and romantic eras in classical music, he is considered to be one of the greatest composers of all time. Beethoven was born in Bonn, the capital of the Electorate of Cologne, and part of the Holy Roman Empire. He displayed his musical talents at an early age and was vigorously taught by his father Johann van Beethoven, and was later taught by composer and conductor Christian Gottlob Neefe. At age 21, he moved to Vienna and studied composition with Joseph Haydn. Beethoven then gained a reputation as a virtuoso pianist, and was soon courted by Karl Alois, Prince Lichnowsky for compositions, which resulted in Opus 1 in 1795. The piece was a great critical and commercial success, and was followed by Symphony No. 1 in 1800. This composition was distinguished for its frequent use of sforzandi, as well as sudden shifts in tonal centers that were uncommon for traditional symphonic form, and the prominent, more independent use of wind instruments. In 1801, he also gained notoriety for his six String Quartets and for the ballet The Creatures of Prometheus. During this period, his hearing began to deteriorate, but he continued to conduct, premiering his third and fifth symphonies in 1804 and 1808, respectively. His condition worsened to almost complete deafness by 1811, and he then gave up performing and appearing in public.

To Be Continued.

https://drmedicsgamesurgery.tumblr.com/GameSurgeryDRTranslations

#Danganronpa #Danganronpa:Togami #Danganronpa Togami #DRT3 Summary #Danganronpa: Togami #Part 3

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inexpensiveprogress · 5 years

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Paul Nash at Avebury

Avebury is a Neolithic henge monument containing three stone circles. The Village of Avebury in Wiltshire was built around them and now bisect the circle with a High Street. Avebury contains the largest megalithic stone circle in the world. Constructed over several hundred years in the Third Millennium BC, during the Neolithic, or New Stone Age, the monument comprises a large henge (a bank and a ditch) with a large outer stone circle and two separate smaller stone circles situated inside the centre of the monument.

Paul Nash - Avebury, 1936

When England was converted to Christianity, Avebury was considered a non-Christian monument. At some point in the early 14th century, villagers began to demolish the monument by pulling down the large standing stones and burying them in ready-dug pits at the side. During the toppling of the stones, one of them (which was 3 metres tall and weighed 13 tons), collapsed on top of one of the men pulling it down, fracturing his pelvis and breaking his neck, crushing him to death. Trapped in the hole that had been dug for the falling stone he was found by archaeologists in 1938. They found that he had been carrying a leather pouch, in which was found three silver coins dated to around 1320–25, as well as a pair of iron scissors and a lancet.

In the latter part of the 17th and then the 18th centuries, destruction at Avebury reached its peak. The majority of the standing stones that had been a part of the monument for thousands of years were smashed up to be used as building material for the local area. This was achieved in a method that involved lighting a fire to heat the sarsen, then pouring cold water on it to create weaknesses in the rock, and finally smashing at these weak points with a sledgehammer.

In the 1920s Marconi wanted to build a radio station on the hills above Avebury and the Air Ministry wanted to close Wayland Smithy area with standing stones as a bombing range in the 1930s . †

Paul Nash - Avebury, Personage, 1933

In July 1933 the ailing Nash went on holiday to Marlborough with his friend Ruth Clark. From there they made a day trip to nearby Avebury. ‡

Paul Nash - Avebury Stone (Double Exposure), 1933

The epiphany that Paul Nash had to use he standing stones artistically, seems to have come with an interest in the Neolithic period in publishing with the British Public. It is an era where Paganism has become popular, as many alternative religions did after the First World War. In trying to make sense of the carnage and brutality of the War the public looked for ancient wisdom and this maybe why we have to tolerate people smothering themselves over Stonehenge every solstice.

In these paintings and photographs Nash was also documenting an interest that other artists such as Henry Moore had in the primitive. Moore looked towards early Peruvian pottery and flints for organic shapes and old works made by early man. These monuments are the few examples of art that survive. Even in the medieval period the only arts to survive in Britain of the common man would be the carvings of bench-ends in churches, pottery or other folk art.

Paul Nash - Landscape of the Megaliths, 1934

Margaret Nash said this was Paul’s first painting of the Avebury stones, which he saw in August 1933. Nash himself gave the following description of Avebury in ‘Picture History’ The preoccupation of the stones has always been a separate pursuit and interest aside from that of object personages. My interest began with the discovery of Avebury megaliths when I was staying at Marlborough in the Summer of 1933. The great stones were then in their wild state, so to speak. Some were half covered by the grass, others stood up in the cornfields were entangled and overgrown in the copses, some were buried under the turf. But they were always wonderful and disquieting, and, as I saw them then, I shall always remember them . . . Their colouring and pattern, their patina of golden lichen, all enhanced their strange forms and mystical significance. Thereafter, I hunted stones, by the seashore, on the downs, in the furrows. ♣

Paul Nash - The Nest of Wild Stones, 1937

I found my first nest of wild stones on looking closely into a drawing I had made of some bleached objects on the Swanage Downs. It lay just below the level of my consciousness, slightly out of focus. But there was no mistaking its lineaments a moment later when I moved the dry thoughts to one side. ♠

Below Paul Nash writes of the effect of Avebury on his work. That he wasn’t only painting the stones themselves but placing ordinary stones he found in a picture as if they were large monuments.

In most instances, the pictures coming out of this preoccupation were concerned with stones seen solely as objects in relation to the landscape. But later certain stone personages evolved, such as the stone birds in the ‘Nest of Wild Stones’ and the more ‘abstract’ forms in ‘Encounter in the Afternoon’. ♣

Many of these works may be down to another external influence, Eileen Agar. Nash had met and fallen in love with Agar, who was a surrealist artist and using stones and found objects in her works around the same time.

Paul Nash - Photograph of Stones in his Studio, 1936

Paul Nash - Encounter in the Afternoon, 1936

Paul Nash - Landscape of Bleached Objects, 1934

Paul Nash - Circle Of The Monoliths, 1937-8

In the painting above (Circle of the Monoliths) is the stepped hill what is likely Silbury Hill. The construction of the hill in the Late Neolithic period was originally stepped, then filled in. Silbury Hill is very close to Avebury.

When the artist Paul Nash first visited Avebury in 1933 he was amazed by the scale of Silbury Hill and by the ancient circle of megaliths, the great glacial boulders that had been dragged from the Downs in prehistoric times. ♥

Paul Nash - Silbury Hill, 1938

Paul Nash - Silbury Hill, c1937

All Nash’s other statements about Avebury and stones are much more direct, it is almost as if he contrived to intellectualise his ideas simply to be provocative, but in face the Landscape of the Megaliths Nash does resolve the equation. The picture shows the adventure of stones receding away from the spectator, in the foreground in the convolvulus curls round a snake which rises upwards. ♦

Paul Nash - Avebury Stone, 1933

The stones at Avebury come up again when Nash was asked to illustrate a cover to the magazine Countrygoing. Though I think it was commissioned in 1938 it was published in 1945.

A Paul Nash Cover to Countrygoing, 1945

Paul Nash - Circle Of The Monoliths, 1937-8

Above is the finished painting of Circle Of The Monoliths. Below is the study for the work that was found painted on the back of The Two Serpents c 1937.

Paul Nash - Circle of the Monoliths, 1937-1938

Nash’s abstraction of stones in the 1930s went on with his distortions of landscapes, found stones and the real Neolithic stones. In we see Mên-an-Tol and the stone ring there placed in the top right corner in front of more found stones. To the right is a grid that can only be echoing Encounter in the Afternoon and Circle Of The Monoliths.

Paul Nash - Nocturnal Landscape, 1938

Below we see the same Avebury stone used on the cover to Countrygoing with the wedge shaped cut in the side.

Paul Nash - Druid Landscape, 1938

Initially, using a No.1A pocket Kodak series 2 camera, Nash captured images so that he could refer to them in the creation of his paintings. Increasingly, however, he saw his photographs, not as aids or sketches, but as artworks in their own right.

Here Nash depicts one of the Avebury Sentinels, and his choice of subject matter is characteristic. Nash was always interested in landscapes and aspects of the natural world, not for their historical or aesthetic interest per se, but more because he thought that certain places as he called them (see Biography) had about them a mystical importance, a genius loci; which lent the place, the stone, the tree, an importance which transcended its apparent properties. As he wrote there are places whose relationship of parts creates a mystery, an enchantment. It is this mystery, this enchantment, which Nash tries to capture in his photographs. ◊

Paul Nash - Avebury, Sentinel, 1933

Some of the quote below may be a repeat of what has been read about Nash, but I featured it for the Convolvulus park that features in Landscape of the Megaliths. In the background of the watercolour and lithograph below are two hills, both likely to be a Neolithic Sidbury Hill and how it looks today.

Last summer I walked in a field near Avebury where two rough monoliths stand up … miraculously patterned with black and orange lichen, remnants of the avenue of stones which led to the Great Circle. In the hedge, at hand, the white trumpet of a convolvulus turns from its spiral stem, following the sun. In my art I would solve such an equation Paul Nash, “Contribution to Unit One”, in Andrew Causey (ed.), Paul Nash: Writings on Art (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000), 107–110.

Paul Nash - Landscape of the Megaliths - Watercolour, 1937

Some time ago I made a blog post on Paul Nash and the process of colour layers used to make the lithograph below.

Paul Nash - Landscape of the Megaliths - Lithograph, 1937

The photographs below are dated 1942 by the Tate. I don’t know is Nash went back to Avebury or if they are catalogued wrongly. But I thought it was worth including them with the car by the roadside.

Paul Nash - Avebury, 1942

Paul Nash - Avebury, Sentinel, 1942

Paul Nash - Avebury, Sentinel, 1944

Paul Nash - Avebury, 1944

† Joanne Parker - Written on Stone: The Cultural Reception of British Prehistoric, 2009 ‡ David Boyd Haycock - Paul Nash, p54, 2002 ♠ Andrew Causey - Paul Nash: Writings on Art - Page 142 ♣ Paul Nash - Paintings and Watercolours Exhibition Catalogue, Tate, 1975 ♥ Julius Bryant - The English Grand Tour, p16, 2005 ♦ Paul Nash, Places, South Bank Centre, 1989 ◊ Art Republic

#Paul Nash #neolithic #Avebury

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curationstationdc · 5 years

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Woodcuts in suburbia: melancholy, nostalgia, and resistance

I associate woodcuts with a particular aesthetic: they loom from their perch on the bookshelf in the den, next to a collection of Hans Christian Andersen tales, whose worn buckram binding is effusing that sapid antique book aroma which pairs so well with coffee and cake. In the corner of the room, above a worn black leather chair designated for tv-watching and reading, a pathos dangles from its pot, fed by gentle streams of light emanating from the canopy of shade sheltering the backyard garden. On weekends and special occasions, the clinking of cake forks against china is punctuated only by an occasional “delicious!” — direct and accurate. This orchestration produces a distinctly Germanic affect, and one that I associate with the elderly; the particular family room I’m recalling belonged to my next-door neighbors growing up, former members of the Danish anti-Nazi resistance who had emigrated in the early 1960s. While I can’t be sure there was any deeper meaning behind their affinity for the humble woodcut, I do recall the medium’s prominence in their home. For me, something as benign as a flock of geese is represented with a degree of melancholy in these prints' impenetrable black shadows — an inevitability in this generation’s Weltanschauung, that everything beautiful carries with it a degree of pain, a nostalgia for the idea of a more civil world.

These beloved octogenarians were my first choice of role models, and I insisted on seeing them almost every day for the first 8 or 9 years of my life. They were old-school Democrats (or at least, that’s how their values system translated into American) in a largely Republican suburb of a mid-sized Upper Midwestern city. I can still place myself their 1950′s minimal traditional home: running my hands along their walnut furniture with polished nickel handles, greeted by a different antique clock in every room, tick-tocking at various registers, my slippered feet shuffling along a dull, greenish-blue carpet so typical of that era. Nothing in that home was remotely as paired down as today’s sanitized mid-century throwback, and the old neighborhood still retained a smidgen of character unlike contemporary expressions of manifest destiny. Lovingly tended beds of roses, pansies, and bleeding hearts flourished under the shade of maples, walnuts, and red oak.

A young family admires their new home. Between 1950 and 1970, America’s suburban population nearly doubled to 74 million Camerique Archive / Archive Photos / Getty Images

For my neighbors, woodcuts seemed to be a culturally relevant way of displaying eerie alternative landscapes: a flock of geese, a school of fish, a sunset laden with a certain degree of subconsciously expressed Weltschmerz. For me, these woodcuts were inextricably linked to their stories of brazen defiance in the face of terror, which they seldom shared, always with a degree of pain and even embarrassment. Their democratic ideals to which they so proudly clung were the real source of their identity; it was from them that I learned it was OK to be gay, that everyone deserved a home and access to healthcare, that one lives like a society like a neighbor rather than just an individual. But it wasn’t until years after their deaths that I detected any degree of paradox in their suburban American existence, was able to chuckle at their nostalgia for the old country as expressed in their grocery cart (tubs of frozen Coolwhip to be served generously with home-baked apple cake, slices of summer sausage or cucumbers served on squares of cocktail rye, a far cry from the bakeries and delicatessens of northern Europe.)

A woman and a boy visiting a man in hospital. Woodcut by Käthe Kollwitz, 1929. Credit: Wellcome Collection. CC BY

While I may associate woodcuts with the interior design choices of an immigrant family in the middle of the last century, its origins predate my concept of history. Woodcutting is thought to be the earliest print technique, originating in 9th-century China, arriving in Europe sometime in the 14th century. Woodcut has been a staple medium for prominent Northern European artists like Dürer since the 16th century. To produce a print, artists carve their image into a block of wood, along the grain, removing the parts that will not carry ink. The surface is then rolled over with a brayer and the image transferred to a sheet of paper through a press. The result in works like Käthe Kollwitz’s Selbstbildness von vorn (1922-1923), pictured above, is nothing short of haunting — well-suited to the violently introspective tone of German Expressionism. If you’re curious about the process, here’s a short demonstration:

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Phil Sanders, Director of the Robert Blackburn Printmaking Workshop, demonstrates the pressure + ink relief process

Woodcutting became a popular tool of activists in the 1910′s, when thinkers like Ernst Barlach were beginning to use reductionist, anti-naturalist figures to express their dejection at the rise of an alien world. In the case of Barlach, his art was often placed alongside politically charged writing in order to provoke emotional reactions to the realities of uprootedness, inequality, and disaffection in industrialized, urban Europe. It is Barlach’s rather proletariat answer to the questions of modernity, inspired in part by a kind of political realism emerging in Russia, that inspired German artist Käthe Kollwitz to take up the humble woodcut.

Ernst Barlach, from an East German stamp, 1970. Would he have been pleased with his legacy?

I remember receiving a story on the couch in my neighbors’ den — I was about 10 or 11 — regarding the final days of the war: a fellow member of the resistance had suggested replacing the Dannebrog with the flag of the Danish Communist Party, the DKP, an idea that had shaken my neighbor to his core. For him, resistance had been an act of preservation, a defense of the right to be distinctly Danish, and all that it entailed, in an increasingly international world. How the inability to return to a Denmark before the crimes of Nazism must have felt, I can only attempt to imagine. To this day, I am astounded by my neighbors’ apparent lack of burnout in light of what they sacrificed, their resilience in living out their ideals and inherited melancholia with me under an umbrella on the patio. It seemed that, for them, past and present far outweighed considerations for the future.

My copy of Korsbæk Tidende (Korsbæk Official Journal), an educational accompaniment to the popular Danish 1970′s and 1980′s tv-series “Matador” about a fictionalized Danish town between 1929 and 1947. I inherited this collection of real newspaper clips that informed events on the show from my neighbor — I assume he loved the show.

To an extent, I have inherited their idealism, an obsession with a bleak past used to check the present, an index of unwavering values to be accessed at any time. It is only through a sense of history that I’m able to make sense of the communicative power of images today, how calculated distortions of reality made ubiquitous through mass production can make us more empathetic, braver in the face of a not-so-distant future. It's a future that cannot be understood with the tools we have been given, that will almost upend our perceptions and unsettle us, a future that demands our bravery. More than ever my beloved neighbors ever could have fathomed, the possibility that our sacrifices will be bastardized in the name of another cause is unparalleled in the digital age. And even more than they experienced, we have the incredible opportunity, and challenge, to transplant our ideologies across ecosystems, upending heir original contexts.

Simultaneous calls for universalism and individual freedom, the appeals of difference and homogeneity, the cogent argument of moral relativism against the call for a shared global narrative will, no doubt, continue to shake us in an era of unprecedented displacement and global climate change. Among other things, these challenges call for an art that, like the pervasive woodcut, infiltrates our purviews, and is attuned to the affect of contemporary life. It should carry with is a melancholic nostalgia, demand our empathy, blemish our idealized beauty.

If I limit myself to woodcuts, I'm reminded of the works of William Kentridge, Beatriz Milhazes, Leonard Baskin, Alison Saar, Irving Amen, Tony Bevan, Katsutoshi Yuasa, Assadour Bezdikian, Elizabeth Catlett, Lou Barlow, Leon Gilmour — I'm sure I'm missing countless others.

Retrospective Exhibitions on Käthe Kollwitz

Käthe Kollwitz, National Gallery of Art, Washington, D.C., 1992; Käthe Kollwitz: In Celebration of the 125th Anniversary of the Artist’s Birth, Galerie St. Etienne, New York City, 1992; Berner Kunstmuseum, Bern, Switzerland, 1946; Retrospective in honor of her 50th birthday at Paul Cassirer galleries, Berlin, 1917

Selected Bibliographies on Käthe Kollwitz

Knesebeck, Alexandra von dem. Käthe Kollwitz: Werkverzeichnis der Graphik. Band I & II. Bern: Kornfeld, 2002.

Prelinger, Elizabeth, ed. Käthe Kollwitz. Exh. cat. Washington, DC: National Gallery of Art, 1992.

Rix, Brenda D., and Jay A. Clarke. Käthe Kollwitz: The Art of Compassion. Exh. cat. Toronto: Art Gallery of Ontario, 2003.

Selected Bibliographies on Ernst Barlach

Laur, Elisabeth. Ernst Barlach: Sämtliche Werke, Werkverzeichnis I. Die Druckgraphik. Leipzig: E. A. Seemann, 2001.

Paret, Peter. An Artist Against the Third Reich: Ernst Barlach, 1933–38. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002.

Selected Bibliographies on Ernst Ludwig Kirnchner

Dube, Annemarie, and Wolf-Dieter Dube. Ernst Ludwig Kirchner: Das graphische Werk. 2 vols. Munich: Prestel, 1980.

Gercken, Günther, and Magdalena M. Moeller. Ernst Ludwig Kirchner: Farbige Druckgraphik. Exh. cat. Berlin: Brücke-Museum, 2008.

Krämer, Felix, ed. Ernst Ludwig Kirchner: Retrospective. Exh. cat. Frankfurt: Städel Museum, 2010.

Lloyd, Jill, and Magdalena M. Moeller, eds. Ernst Ludwig Kirchner, 1880–1938. Exh. cat. Washington, DC: National Gallery of Art, 2003.

Wye, Deborah. Kirchner and the Berlin Street. Exh. cat. New York: The Museum of Modern Art, 2008.

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