#luftmensch

[lexotanmerlin]

Lex # 1459

Building DayDreams  Celtic Cottage by ainemari flanagan @ Fantasy Faire*Kismet* *K* Gramercy Scroll Table, iron by cierra anatine @ Fantasy Faire*Kismet* *K*  Gramercy Scroll Chandelier, Iron by cierra anatine @ Fantasy Faireluftmensch – cauldron by luftmenschshop @ Fantasy Faireluftmensch – censer by luftmenschshop @ Fantasy Faireluftmensch – chalice by luftmenschshop @ Fantasy FaireEccentric…

[literaryvein-reblogs]

A List of "Beautiful" Untranslatable Words

Acasă - [Romanian] Where you feel at home, safe, loved. It's the place where you feel like you belong and that you miss when you're away.

Boketto - [Japanese] gazing vacantly into the distance without thinking of anything specific; daydreaming

Ciğerpare - [Turkish] has Persian origins and literally means ‘liver part’. It refers to someone that you love as much as your own body.

Clagarnach - [Irish] the sound of heavy rain on a rooftop

Commuovere - [Italian] often taken to mean “heartwarming,” but directly refers to a story that moved you to tears

Dauwtrappen - [Dutch] to walk barefoot through morning grass

Dustsceawung - [Old English] the thought that dust used to be other things, and realisation that everything will ultimately end up as dust

Elvágyódás - [Hungarian] Some compare it to wanderlust, but it’s a much broader concept. The word doesn’t just refer to the desire to travel or go to another country, but also to another time in our life, or even a different era. It expresses wanting to escape reality and looking for something undefined.

Encebre - [Galician] something authentic, characteristic, rooted into the culture and specific for a certain region, impossible to find anywhere else

Fernweh - [German] “far sickness”; the feeling of longing for a place you’ve never been to

Fika - [Swedish] enjoying a nice chat over a cup of coffee or tea.

Flâner - [French] aimlessly wandering without any destination, just to enjoy the views

Gluggaveður - [Icelandic] weather that looks beautiful but is unpleasant to be in

Gökotta - [Swedish] waking up early to hear the first birds sing

Heimat - [German] the roots that shape who you are as a person

Hiányérzet - [Hungarian] the feeling that something is missing, but we just can’t put a finger on it

Iktsuarpok - [Inuit] the feeling of anticipation that leads you to keep looking outside to see if anyone is coming

Kairós - [Greek] the perfect, most opportune time for something to happen

Komorebi - [Japanese] sunlight that filters between the leaves on a tree

L’appel du vide - [French] “the call of the void” or the sudden desire to jump when you’re standing high up

Luftmensch - [Yiddish] someone who is a bit of a dreamer

Luscofusco - [Galician] the moment when day fades into the night and all light disappears, leaving everything looking like shadows

Mångata - [Swedish] the trail created by the moon’s reflection on water

Mangomoment - [Dutch] small acts of affection occurring during regular everyday activities. They can be almost unnoticeable, like someone asking how you’re feeling or offering to share their snack with you.

Merak - [Serbian] the feeling you get from simple pleasures that adds up to a sense of happiness and fulfillment

Peiskos - [Norwegian] the experience of sitting in front of a crackling fireplace enjoying the warmth

Querencia - [Spanish] somewhere you feel the most at home

Retrouvailles - [French] a reunion with a loved one after a long time of not seeing each other

Saudade - [Portuguese] the longing for something beautiful that’s now gone

Symatisk - [Danish] to have a good feeling about someone we don’t know very well

Torschlusspanik - [German] The realisation that you need to do something with your life because the time is running and you’re not getting any younger. It can hit you at any age, so one could call it a universal equivalent to the mid-life crisis.

Toska - [Russian] a mixture of pining, restlessness, yearning, nostalgia, melancholy, and depression; a concept embracing the feelings of nostalgia, missing, being sad, even the beginnings of depression

Tsundoku - [Japanese] buying a book and leaving it unread, usually surrounded by a lot of other unread books

Uitwaaien - [Dutch] to go out in windy weather, particularly into nature or a park, in order to refresh and clear one’s mind

Utepils - [Norwegian] sitting outside on a sunny day and enjoying a beer

Vedriti - [Slovenian] to shelter from the rain, either literally or metaphorically, such as when you’re in a bad mood and you’re waiting for the negative emotions to pass

Waldeinsamkeit - [German] the feeling of solitude, being alone in the woods, and a connectedness to nature

Weltschmerz – [German] satirist, Jean Paul, originally known as Johann Paul Friedrich Richter, came up with this word that literally means “world pain.” When you feel that the world is in a deplorable state, Weltschmerz can describe your anguish.

Won - [Korean] reluctance to let go of an illusion

Żal - [Polish] grief, sadness, regret - can be related to both our actions and the actions of others, as well as losing something or missing someone

Sources: 1 2 3 4 5 6 ⚜ More: Lists of Beautiful Words ⚜ Word Lists

[mariacallous]

In 1986, Mikhail Gorbachev initiated an era of political reform in the Soviet Union by liberating political prisoners and internal exiles, including the Nobel Prize-winning physicist Andrei Sakharov. During the next three years, Sakharov presided as the moral leader of the democratic opposition in Moscow and spoke his mind from the rostrum of the Congress of People’s Deputies. On the eve of a major debate, he told his wife, “Tomorrow there will be a battle.” He went to his study to take a nap and never woke up. Sakharov had died of natural causes, a free man in a fleeting era of hope.

In 2020, Vladimir Putin set out to crush popular dissent in Russia once and for all, ordering his secret police to hunt down his nemesis Alexei Navalny, the eventual winner of the European Parliament’s Sakharov Prize for Freedom of Thought. For nearly a decade, Navalny had driven Putin to distraction, denouncing his regime as a “party of crooks and thieves.” He campaigned for high public office and employed open-source reporting techniques to uncover the gaudy corruption of the regime: the yachts, the planes, the villas, the billions stashed abroad.

Agents of the F.S.B. trailed Navalny to Siberia. They broke into his hotel room and, in a plot that might have been scripted by Gogol, spiked his underwear with Novichok, a deadly nerve agent. Navalny wore the poisoned garment aboard his flight home to Moscow and, sitting in seat 13-A, he soon found himself howling in agony, as his body began to shut down. The plane made an emergency landing in the city of Omsk. Somehow, Navalny survived. He was eventually flown to Germany and, with his wife, Yulia Navalnaya, at his side, he came out of a medically induced coma and steadily regained his strength. But he declined permanent refuge in the West. Do not be afraid, do not give up, was his constant refrain, and he refused to betray his own counsel and principles. In January, 2021, Navalny boarded a flight to Moscow, knowing full well that his moral prestige represented an intolerable threat to the regime. Putin had him arrested at the airport.

At his trial, Navalny showed that he was worthy of the Russian dissidents of the past, men and women who risked everything to tell the truth, whether it was at show trials where the verdict was never in question or in samizdat manuscripts that were passed hand to hand. But Navalny, who preferred to see himself as a politician, was also distinctly modern. Rather than attack his persecutor in court with high-flown metaphors and allusions, he referred to Putin plainly, comically, as “this thieving little man in his bunker,” as “Vladimir, the Poisoner of Underpants.”

Part of Navalny’s appeal was that he evolved over time. He set aside the crude nationalism of his early rhetoric and learned to deploy both his courage and his humor. He came off not as a luftmensch, an ethereal intellectual, but as a grounded member of a hopeful generation: interested in freedom and prosperity. He even spoke of “happiness”––hardly a common term in the Soviet and post-Soviet political lexicon. His methods were entirely new. One of his earliest ventures into protest was as an activist shareholder; he used his small investments to uncover the ways some of the biggest Russian companies illegally enriched their Kremlin patrons.

Navalny knew how to talk to people on their level. He consumed many of the Russian classics and prison memoirs, but he also spoke of his affection for “Harry Potter” and “Rick and Morty.” In a letter written to his friend Sergey Parkhomenko shortly before his death, Navalny referred not only to the portrait of despair in Chekhov’s story “In the Ravine” but also to the no less gloomy late-Soviet landscape depicted in the popular film by Aleksei Balabanov, “Cargo 200.”

Last week, forty miles north of the Arctic Circle, at a prison camp known as Polar Wolf, Navalny was pronounced dead. Or, to call things by their proper name, he was murdered. The cause provided by the local prison authorities—“sudden-death syndrome”––was just an additional form of contempt and violence.

Speculative history can be hollow, and a country in need of martyrs and saints is not to be envied, and yet it is hard to overstate the loss of Navalny. Imagine the course of South African history had Nelson Mandela been killed on Robben Island. Or the fate of Czechoslovakia had Václav Havel been poisoned in his cell at Ruzyne Prison, near the Prague airport. Navalny was fearless, and a man of faith. When his friend Yevgenia Albats confided that she feared dying in exile, he told her, “There is no death.” And yet, as Albats said the other day, the loss is devastating: for now, at least, “hope is lost.”

In this moment, Putin’s self-possession can only be outsized. He is a few weeks away from winning another phony election. He senses that the war in Ukraine, which just entered its third year, is going his way and that the Republican Party and its standard-bearer have little interest in resisting that dark trend. Putin has every reason to think he is secure. Cruelty is his ultimate protection. There are hundreds more political prisoners languishing in his jails, including Vladimir Kara-Murza (who has been poisoned twice) and the Wall Street Journal’s Evan Gershkovich.

Certain reactions in the United States to Navalny’s death have been clarifying. Tucker Carlson, freshly returned from a Moscow grocery store and Putin’s knee, hustled to express Russia’s allure to Glenn Beck. Donald Trump went on Truth Social not to send his condolences but to compare his self-inflicted troubles to Navalny’s killing. President Biden, for his part, was admirably direct in his response: he squarely blamed Putin for Navalny’s death, met with his widow and his daughter in San Francisco, and announced a package of further sanctions as punishment for the murder and for Russia’s invasion of Ukraine.

In 2007, Putin went to the Munich Security Conference in order to unburden himself of his resentments against the West and to make it clear that he would carry out a politics based on that fury. Now, seventeen years later, at the same conference, Yulia Navalnaya exemplified the courage of the husband she had just lost and took the same stage. She stood tall. She refused despair. There will come a day, she insisted, that Putin will be called to account for what he has done to her family, for what he has done to Russia. “And that day,” she said, “will come very soon.” ♦

[anoiseofgloriousdisdain]

dick gansey, über luftmensch.

[dubalai]

LE VÉLO DE BRIGITTE (CHABEUIL, DRÔME) EST AUSSI UNE BELLE OEUVRE D’ART BRUT.

D’ordinaire, Brigitte roule en vélo dans Chabeuil (Drôme) sur la drôle de machine, qu’on voit ici, compliquée et très ornementée. J’ai dû lui demander d’en descendre pour en tirer le portrait ; Brigitte a accepté en souriant, de très bonne gr��ce.

Brigitte roule au pas, vraiment lentement, et ne quitte pas le centre ville et ses maigres pistes réservées, le plus souvent étroites et accidentées ; ce jour-là, elle allait faire ses courses au super marché, sur la grande route de Valence, encore un peu dans le village. Faut faire gaffe tout de même, ça roule vite...Mais Brigitte va toujours au pas...

Sa machine est belle et bien tenue, pleine de peluches et de gri-gris, hérissée de rétroviseurs aux effets miroitants et éclairée par une imposante lampe à piles attachée sous le panier d’avant. Pas difficile : ‘faut tout démonter pour changer les piles...C’est un jeune du village qui me l’a installée...’ Sur ce panier, elle peut rabattre une planchette taillée à la mesure : une sorte de tablette, très astucieuse. L’auvent qui protège Brigitte de la pluie ou du soleil est formé d’un plastique alvéolé, léger mais rigide, qui couvre l’ensemble du véhicule jusqu’à l’aplomb de la roue avant. Trois parois bâchées encadrent la selle et l’arrière est orné de splendides bandes réfléchissantes de sécurité, rouges et blanches , disposées sur toute la hauteur de la machine. L’ensemble, posé et fixé sur une plate forme arrière, forme un abri, une hutte confortable, une guérite qui se déplace avec précaution, complète et rassurante, protégée du monde extérieur et peut-être aussi des voitures, par ses fétiches.

Brigitte est active dans la ville : elle aide à la distribution des nombreux colis d’entraide que distribue une association locale dévouée à soulager les difficultés des pauvres  à Chabeuil et alentours. Aussi elle participe avec assiduité à un atelier de peinture amateure et je connais deux collectionneurs chabeuillois qui lui ont acheté de petites toiles très bien composées, et qui les exposent en bonne place chez eux.

L’expression n’est guère satisfaisante, et sujette à bien des incompréhensions, mais les toiles de Brigitte, tout comme son vélo, c’est de l’’art brut’. De l’art à part entière qu’on appelle aussi l’art des outsiders tant sont perceptibles les difficultés existentielles de leurs auteurs. Ces artistes ont un grand musée, très beau et intriguant, à Lausanne, et un autre à Montpellier, où on peut admirer leurs oeuvres étranges, rêveuses (ou cauchemardesques) ou torturées, où on trouve justement ces oeuvres ‘brutes’ qui, d’ailleurs, montrent très souvent des avions, des locomotives, des voitures, et des vélos, toute sorte de machines. Bref, l’art brut s’occupe beaucoup de transport (et aussi d’armements, de plans de ville, d’architecture...), une sous spécialité, en somme, qui semble occuper beaucoup ces ‘outsiders’ qui composent comme mécaniquement leur oeuvre de détails et d’obsessions...

Dans cette chronique dédiée aux ‘luftmensch’ (si toutefois ces mots : ‘gens de l’air’... permet de mieux comprendre ce qu’ils sont...), j’ai déjà montré de ces vélos à la fois surchargés de vie et pleins de légèreté, un à Crémone en Italie, et deux autres à Valence. Voici donc maintenant celui de Brigitte, un croquis de fantaisie, amicalement brossé pour lui recommander encore une fois d’être prudente...On comprend en effet trop bien que les automobilistes chabeuillois ne sont pas tous sensibles à l’art brut, pas assez en tous cas pour passer au large du beau vélo de Brigitte......

[chilenthailandtravel]

Metallic by Luftmensch (Best Song Collections)

[lovelylexis]

Luftmensch

an impractical dreamer with no business sense; one with their head in the clouds

[avaxgfx]

Download 3D Model for Print - LuftMensch Studio - Mannoroth - STL 3D Model

[aeonix-posts]

My partner isn't too fond of Elita so I figured that I might as well use it to my advantage

"So? That's it? You're leaving me, for him? The gladiator? Orion, he's a *murderer*, a ***slave!*** He's barely worth anything! You're nothing but a *luftmensch*, Orion— you've got your helm in the clouds! You can't possibly think he's your lacuna, and no way in hell will he ever be worthy to be your *Conjunx Endura*."

Elita screamed, she hated the idea of Megatronus and Orion getting together. Megatronus was nothing more than a *slave* to her; someone expendable.

"That's *enough* Elita-1, we're over. That's that, please just stop with your shouting— I've grown rather marcid of this conversation."

Orion bent down and picked up his luggage, heading for the door of their apartment suite. He stopped and looked back at her, feeling pity for the poor femme.

"I don't regret loving you, Elita, but we aren't compatible and this clearly isn't working; *we* aren't working."

Elita's stance became stiff, and she looked dead inside with her gaze. Her optics pierced through Orion's armor, her stare sharp and resentful.

"Nothing is compatible with you, *nothing* is enough for you. That sentence would've been better tacenda, Orion Pax."

Orion turned his helm back to the door and twisted the knob, he felt maudlin— razbliuto even. He knew it wouldn't work out, but he tried.

"I never meant to abaeile you, but I think this conversation is best whelved."

And that was that, Orion walked out of the suite. His footsteps fading into the background as he got further from it. And Elita was left there, staring at the open door, stuck in her own miserable, quab, lonely thoughts.

[psychoticauthor]

Words

I’ve gotten into finding cool words and their definitions, so here yall go. Onism

(n.) the awareness of how little of the world you’ll experience

Eunoia

(n.) beautiful thinking; a well mind

Luftmensch

(n.) an impractical dreamer

Serendipity

(n.) finding something beautiful without looking for it

Logolepsy

(n.) an obsession with words

[oh-shit-we-forgot-adam]

This makes me feel some type of way.

Like I should be in a flowy white floral dress, dancing in circles in a forest at dusk, with clouds darkening the sun. When everything’s in slow motion and there’s mist in the air. Like I’m discovering myself for the first time.

[inlovewithjournals]

Art in old journals🌼

[nguoikhongkhi]

" Cuộc sống này thật chẳng dễ dàng gì đối với chúng ta "

Này cậu, có phải bây giờ cậu đang cảm thấy rất mệt mỏi phải không ? Mọi sự cố gắng, nỗ lực của cậu không được công nhận. Họ chỉ chạy theo tán dương, ngưỡng mộ hoặc ghen tị với những gì cậu có thôi. Sao lạ thế nhỉ ? Ừm, đó là lẽ thường mà. Cậu phải hiểu và thích nghi với điều đó. Cũng có nhiều lần, có rất nhiều người coi thường sự cố gắng của cậu, họ nói : " Cái đồ vô dụng như mày làm được gì chứ ! Bỏ cuộc đi ! ". Họ đã tiêm nhiễm vào cậu một loại thuốc độc mang tên " hoài nghi bản thân ". Vậy mà cậu không nhận ra, cứ ngây thơ tin vào những gì họ nói để rồi một lần nữa tự đẩy mình xuống vực thẳm tăm tối, không một tia hy vọng le lói dưới đó. Thế là cậu tự kết liễu cuộc đời mình bằng lời nói nhận xét của người khác.

Cậu thấy điều đó có đáng không ? Nếu cả bản thân cậu, cậu còn không tin tưởng thì còn ai có thể khiến cậu tin tưởng nữa chứ. Ừm, có lúc mình cũng giống cậu, luôn hoài nghi về bản thân, tiêu cực hóa mọi thứ lên. Và luôn cố bám víu vào mấy lời nhận xét không đúng sự thật từ phía người khác. Mình đã đặt sai lòng tin rồi cậu à ! Mình tự giết dần giết mòn chính mình theo từng ngày trong lời nói của người khác. Họ khinh thường, xem mình là đứa khác biệt, lập dị. Những ước mơ, hoài bão của mình được thả vào chiếc khinh khí cầu năm đó giờ chẳng còn gì cả, bởi vì mình đã tự tay phá hủy nó để làm hài lòng người khác. Bây giờ nhìn lại mình cảm thấy mình thật ngu ngốc, dại dột vì đã không nắm lấy chiếc khinh khí cầu mà buông tay vụt biến mất trong phút chốc.

Và kể từ giây phút đó, mình tự hứa với bản thân không quan tâm quá nhiều lời nói của người khác về điều mình làm nữa. Hôm nay, mình sẵn sàng vượt muôn trùng ngọn núi cao, nghìn dặm khu rừng sâu để đón nhận, khám phá trải nghiệm nhiều điều mới lạ. Mình học cách tự phấn đấu nỗ lực kể cả không có sự ủng hộ, tán thưởng từ bất kỳ ai. Mình đấu tranh cho cuộc sống, sở thích ước mơ chính mình. Với tất cả tình yêu thương của gia đình mình tin chắc bản thân sẽ làm được. Dù chỉ là sự cố gắng chút ít nhưng vẫn hơn là chúng ta tự dậm chân tại chỗ. Liệu rằng bạn có muốn mãi tụt lùi về phía sau trong khi thế giới này ngày càng phát triển hơn không ? Mình nghĩ chắc chắn là không.

Mỗi chúng ta sinh ra với sự cố gắng nỗ lực phi thường khác nhau. Chúng ta đều có một vài ước mơ nhỏ nhoi, ấp ủ từ thuở bé đến trưởng thành khao khát được hoàn thành nó. Tất cả mọi sự vật trên đời chẳng gì là không phấn đấu, học hỏi lẫn nhau cả. Cũng nhờ việc chúng ta không ngừng nuôi dưỡng ước mơ, khát vọng của bản thân, nó sẽ là đòn bẩy cho bước phát triển lớn lao . Năm tháng sau này, khi cây xanh về cội, lá vàng rơi rớt đánh rơi tuổi trẻ nồng nhiệt, rực rỡ vĩ đại của ta. Đó có lẽ là lúc tay chân đau nhức, gió trở lạnh khiến cả cơ thể khóc thét. Và cũng là lúc trái tim ngừng đập, nhịp thở ngưng mãi mãi dưới lớp đất khô cằn. Rồi chợt ngẫm nghĩ lại bạn đã từng sống hết mình với cuộc đời này chưa ? Nối tiếp dài thêm vài năm đau thương, tiếc nuối vì thời gian đã trôi mau trong hư vô.

Mong bạn cố gắng hoàn thiện chính mình, hoàn thành ước mơ, đam mê cháy bỏng trong tâm hồn bạn. Mong bạn khi còn tồn tại trên cõi đời này thì hãy làm một đóa bồ công anh tự do, bay đi khắp nơi khám phá nhiều thứ mới mẻ, nhưng không quên mình là một đóa sen trắng ngần, thanh khiết tâm thanh thản không vướng bận chuyện thế thái. Bạn làm được, chúng ta nhất định làm được. Phải không ?

[aromantic-self]

No sé qué estoy haciendo

[chilenthailandtravel]

'Emotional by Luftmensch feat Halyn Best Song Collections (Best Song Co...

[yarikeartstudio]

Luftmensch Definition Print, Yiddish Culture Art (digital download) is available to buy on my Etsy shop – ‘YarikeArtStudio’ 💕💙

Definition: An impractical dreamer, literally an air person, someone with her head in the clouds

https://www.etsy.com/listing/975320075/luftmensch-definition-print-yiddish