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thejusticewarrior · 3 years

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The Book Club - Non-Fiction

The Non-Fiction Book Club TBR list:

100 Nasty Women of History by Hannah Jewell

101 Essays That Will Change The Way You Think by Brianna Wiest

13 Things Mentally Strong People Don't Do by Amy Morin

21 Lessons For The 21st Century by Yuval Noah Haran

A New Earth by Eckhart Tolle

Are Prisons Obsolete? by Angela Y. Davis

Atlantis: The Antediluvian World by Ignatius L. Donnelly

Becoming Supernatural by Dr. Joe Dispenza

Between The World And Me by Ta-Neisi Coates

Beyond The Pill by Jolene Brighten

Boundaries In Dating by Dr. Henry Cloud & Dr. John Townsend

Calm The F**k Down by Sarah Knight

Caste: The Origins Of Our Discontents by Isabel Wilkerson

Come As You Are by Emily Nagoski

Confessions Of A Political Hitman by Stephen Marks

Confessions Of A Sex Kitten by Eartha Kitt

Declutter Your Mind by S.J. Scott & Barrie Davenport

Decoded by Jay-Z

Devil In The Grove by Gilbert King

Fear by Thich Nhat Hanh

Feminists Don't Wear Pink And Other Lies by Scarlett Curtis

first, we make the beast beautiful by Sarah Wilson

Girl, was your face by Rachel Hollis

Heal Thyself For Health And Longevity by Queen Afua

Homo Deus: A Brief History Of Tomorrow by Yuval Noah Haran

Hormonal by Martie Haselton

Hormonal by Eleanor Morgan

How The Pill Changes Everything by Sarah E. Hill

How To Be Single And Happy by Jennifer L. Taitz

How To Love by Thich Nhat Hanh

I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings by Maya Angelou

Lies My Teacher Told Me by James W. Loewen

Man's Search For Meaning by Viktor E. Frankl

Maybe It's You by Lauren Handel Zander

Men Are From Mars, Women Are From Venus by John Gray

Milk And Honey by Rupi Kaur

Misjustice: How British Law Is Failing Women by Helena Kennedy

Moody: A 21st Century Hormone Guide by Amy Thomson

Natives: Race And Class In The Ruins Of Empire by Akala

Nile Valley Contributions To Civilization by Anthony T. Browder

Persepolis by Marjane Satrapi

Pleasure Activism by adrienne maree brown

Red Notice by Bill Browder

Sacred Woman by Queen Afua

Sapiens: A Brief History Of Humankind by Yuval Noah Haran

Stolen Legacy by George G. M. James

Sweetening The Pill by Holly Grigg-Spall

The 48 Laws Of Power by Robert Greene

The 5 Love Languages by Gary Chapman

The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho

The Art Of Happiness by The Dalai Llama

The Art Of Living by Thich Nhat Hanh

The Autobiography Of Malcolm X by Malcolm X

The Body Is Not An Apology by Sonya Renee Taylor

The Chimp Paradox by Prof. Steve Peters

The Four Agreements by Miguel Ruiz

The Gifts Of Imperfection by Brené Brown

The Little Book Of Hygge by Meik Wiking

The Many-Headed Hydra by Peter Linebaugh & Marcus Rediker

The Miracle Of Mindfulness by Thich Nhat Hanh

The New Jim Crow by Michelle Alexander

The Power Of Now by Eckhart Tolle

The Second Sex by Simone de Beauvoir

The Silk Roads by Peter Frankopan

The Sixth Extinction by Elizabeth Kolbert

The Sun Does Shine by Anthony Ray Hinton

The Vagina Monologues by Eve Ensler

The Warmth Of Other Suns by Isabel Wilkerson

Thinking, Fast And Slow by Daniel Kahneman

This Is Going To Hurt by Adam Kay

Vilnius: City Of Strangers by Laimonas Briedis

When We Ruled by Robin Walker

White Tears/Brown Scars by Ruby Hamad

Why I'm No Longer Talking To White People About Race by Reni Eddo-Lodge

Womancode by Alisa Vitti

Women Who Love Too Much by Robin Norwood

Women Who Run With The Wolves by Clarissa Pinkola Estés

Women, Race And Class by Angela Y. Davis

A Massacre In Mexico by Anabel Hernandez

Putin's People by Catherine Belton

The Feminine Mystique by Betty Friedan

Hood Feminism by Mikki Kendall

Just Mercy by Bryan Stevenson

The Immortal Life Of Henrietta Lacks by Rebecca Skloot

The Good Immigrant by Nikesh Shukla et al.

When They Call You A Terrorist by Patrisse Khan-Cullon & Asha Bandele

It's Not About The Burqa by Mariam Khan

Afropean: Notes From Black Europe by Johny Pitts

Blueprint For Revolution by Srdja Popovic

Freedom Is A Constant Struggle by Angela Y. Davis

White Fragility by Robin Diangelo

The Health Gap by Michael Marmot

Fake Law: The Truth Abiut Justice In An Age Of Lies by The Secret Barrister

The Secret Barrister by The Secret Barrister

I Am Malala by Malala Yousafzai

No One Is Too Small To Make A Difference by Greta Thunberg

Our Final Warning: Six Degrees Of Climate Emergency by Mark Lynas

Underground by Haruki Murakami

The Jigsaw Man by Paul Britton

This Changes Everything: Capitalism vs. The Climate by Naomi Klein

Justice, Justice Thou Shalt Pursue by Ruth Bader Ginsburg

Bad Pharma by Ben Goldacre

Pharma by Gerald Posner

The Truth About The Drug Companies by Marcia Angell, M.D.

Selling Sickness by Ray Moynihan & Alan Cassels

Blood Feud by Kathleen Sharp

The Future We Choose by Christiana Gigueres & Tom Rivett Carnac

There Is No Planet B by Mike Berners-Lee

Invisible Women by Caroline Criado Perez

Society Must Be Defended by Michel Foucault

Discipline And Punish by Michel Foucault

Chernobyl Prayer by Svetlana Alexievich

We Should All Be Feminists by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie

Anne Frank: The Diary Of A Young Girl by Anne Frank

If They Come In The Morning by Angela Y. Davis

Tiny, Beautiful Things by Cheryl Strayed

The House of Government by Yuri Slezkine

The Body Keeps The Score by Bessel Van Der Kolk

Adult Children of Emotionally Immature Parents by Lindsay C. Gibson

Will I Ever Be Good Enough?: Healing The Daughters of Narcissistic Mothers by Karyl McBride

#tbrbooks #my tbr #reading #reading list #non fiction #feminist #social justice #blacklivesmatter #bookworm #bookshelves #books & libraries #autobiography #biography #learning #self healing #healing #growth #development

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arcane-offerings · 4 years

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Hanns Heinz Ewers, The Sorcerer's Apprentice, translated by Ludwig Lewisohn and Joe E. Bandel (Newcastle Upon Tyne: Side Real Press, 2019). Edition is limited to 350 numbered copies, of which this is number 282. https://www.ebay.com/itm/254644826389

#hanns heinz ewers #ewers #the sorcerer's apprentice #weird fiction #horror fiction #occult #magic #out of print #side real press #limited edition #bookseller #occult bookseller

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anarchistbanjo · 6 years

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The Strangling Hand Ch 1 Pg 13-16

The Strangling Hand by Karl Hans Strobl translated by Joe E. Bandel Copyright Joe E. Bandel The Strangling Hand Ch 1 pg 13-16

With a long last glance Eleagabal Kuperus parted from his souvenirs of the dead and turned to a table, which stood in the middle of the room covered with strange instruments, beakers and retorts. The wrapped head of the poet lay between sparking knives, lancets and clamps, so sharp and precise that it gave certain evidence of its reality, even though Emma knew that it had been left behind on the marble table in the domed hall. But she didn’t have time to think about it, how it could have gotten here, before the old man picked up the package with soft tenderness and began to unwrap it. As the head of her beloved appeared, a sharp pain began to climb out of the deeps, as she saw that it had begun to decompose. The eyes lay deeper, the mouth gaped open and was covered with a dull foam. Gory blood stuck to the severed surface of the neck. Under the equalizing power of death the head had lost its freshness and now showed a dull humanity, which a richer and finer spirit had once struggled to overcome.

The scrupulous finger of Kuperus lifted the lids from the eyes of the dead. The spouse, who had done the work of washing the corpse herself, watched the moderate hands work with strong emotion which she sensed as almost a rape, as this man held it as a friend cuddles what was dearest to herself.

“You are welcome here poet, far more welcome than any of the others who would despise my work. Now you are restored,” and after a short thought, Eleagabal Kuperus added a short sentence from out of the Book of the Dead. “Even the greatest is only a cobblestone for the roads of the public to destroy.”

The spouse stood there astonished: “You know his words.”

“I don’t live in the world, yet I live with it. Should I tell you something similar? The eternal point remains unmoving, where equal forces cross each other, which are striving in opposite directions. It also exists in all streams and takes on different aspects as it flows. I live in this point called the present moment, and pour myself into every possibility. Yet the best and finest thing is to rest in peace. Everything comes to me, and I merge more deeply with the world.”

He raised his hand. “Go my dear friend. You brought a stream of beauty and love. My most diligent skill will maintain the memory of your spouse for you. You must never carry any guilt about this, because immortality can only be preserved with hands of love.”

He reached into the marble wall and hastily lifted the network of vines up to allow the Frau to step back into the domed hall, where the servant with the wolf’s face waited, in order to escort her out of the house.

She stood quietly before the door for a short time and looked over at the Cathedral, whose immense weight, seemed to have increased in the night and the heavy, unmoving fog, pushing it down into the hill upon which it stood. Tired and flickering gas lanterns fought the darkness which crawled up to the foot of the Cathedral and pulled itself up the walls, as if the ground was seeking to pull it in. She was seized with the thought that she might be singled out for attack by a drunk in these empty streets, and even more by the notion that she was afraid of the sinking Cathedral. She didn’t dare leave the door of Eleagabal Kuperus.

Through the uncomfortable play of the darkness and the gloomy lights a stone face magically appeared on the front of the Cathedral with a broad talkative, but now closed mouth. There was a broken balcony and above the high arched windows appeared two mismatched silent and stubby towers. They were so misshapen and alien that they grew out of the massive structure like a finger that springs out from a head. After the impression of harmonious peace and wisdom, which Emma had sensed in the domed hall and the museum of Eleagabal Kuperus, this Cathedral across from his house appeared to her like a lurking monster of stone. One with a scornful, contorted smile that leered at the hand over the door, prepared to strike some fearful, murderous blow if it had the chance.

In the same way that the meerschaum mask of a warrior, the terrifying painted shield with the head of Medusa on its polished armor, or the locked visor of a helmet bewitched at the sight, so did this sinking Cathedral in the darkness. The friendly gestures of hospitality, which greeted the oppressed during the daylight, transformed during the night into a procession of unquiet, murmuring voices filled with a malicious joy that spread fear and terror.

And now – ever more clear, came a sad and unrelenting melody from out of the confusion of voices, rising up – a sad and unrelenting melody. A long, drawn out, dreary song, which lingered on a few notes, climbing up and down as if it were sounding a warning. Something wasted and bleak lay within it, like a breath, which comes from over infinite planes, which has uprooted all life from out of a magical world, something poisonous and offensive, like the wind that blows over a field of slaughter. This song, this unbearable, monotonous tune seemed to come from out of the solidly closed mouth of the Cathedral, as if it was searching for some way to escape. The wailing of this monotonous hum rose and died, and when it finally lost itself in the whispers of the fog, it never left the trembling Frau for a moment.

She knew that this was all related to her past life, when she was younger and had suffered under this same song, but she was not capable of finding her way free of it, and could not really say what was reality and what was dream. She just stood at the threshold of Eleagabal Kuperus and held on to the iron ring which protruded out from the carved wooden door. Some superstition and fear had her convinced that she would fall under the power of an enemy if she stepped onto the courtyard in front of the Cathedral.

Slow steps came from out of the darkness, which echoed dully and repeated against the walls of the houses. The night had produced feet and wandered across the courtyard in front of the Cathedral. But it was only a watchman, who came through the fog with heavy legs, tired from long service, and his movements were like those of a drunken sleepwalker. In the thick fog his movement appeared aimless like the movement of a ship that has lost its direction. He came up to the Frau, looked sharply into her face with a penetrating glance, was about to say something about single women walking the streets at night, but then turned and walked back up the street, stopping under a street light. He stayed there, prepared to perform the duty of his office if needed. The tip of his helmet began to glimmer under a ray of light, as if it carried a little blue flame.

His appearance broke through the spell of this place. Then Emma once more gathered her courage. She let go of the ring, whose coldness had frozen her fingers, and walked across the courtyard, between the two ill tempered saints of stone, around whose raised arms the thick fog collected and she climbed back down into the city. The cold, leering eyes of the saints and the echoing footsteps of the watchman followed her.

I am currently translating this book a few pages at a time. I will be posting them as I translate them. If you enjoy this story and type of literature please support me and become a patron. Translation is hard work and takes a lot of time. Consider donating $1 a month to help out. This book is over 500 pages long! You can donate at my website: http://thelastrosicrucian.is/wp/ or my Patreon link: https://www.patreon.com/anarchistbanjo Comments are welcome!

#life #blog #fiction #literature #adventure

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vinayv224 · 4 years

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Vox Sentences: Weinstein wants to settle (again)

NurPhoto via Getty Images

Weinstein’s latest attempt to settle; Netanyahu to resign from minister positions while Israel goes for third election.

Vox Sentences is your daily digest for what’s happening in the world. Sign up for the Vox Sentences newsletter, delivered straight to your inbox Monday through Friday, or view the Vox Sentences archive for past editions.

Weinstein’s settlement offends victims and activists

Harvey Weinstein looks to make a deal settling the accusations against him for a relatively unimpressive sum of $47 million. [LA Times / Stacy Perman]

Tales of sexual abuse and assault perpetrated by Weinstein first broke in 2017 with a New York Times article that detailed nearly two decades of women’s stories. The discovery of his crimes helped galvanize the Me Too movement. [New York Times / Jodi Kantor and Megan Twohey]

A new study suggests that in the wake of Me Too, sex crimes are being reported more than in the past. [Vox / Anna North]

While the settlement, with only $25 million going directly to his victims, awaits approval from a bankruptcy court in Delaware and federal judge, it does not resolve the New York criminal sex-crime charges against Weinstein. If convicted, he could face up to a year in prison. [Washington Post / Travis M. Andrews and Deanna Paul]

This settlement offer is criticized as low, given the experiences of the victims. In previous settlement announcements, only up to $30 million would have gone to accusers. [NPR / Richard Gonzales]

“We reject the notion that this was the best settlement that could have been achieved on behalf of the victims,” said Douglas Wigdor, a lawyer representing a victim who turned down the terms of Weinstein’s deal. [NBC News]

Refinery29’s Leah Carroll writes that Weinstein’s possible attempts to garner sympathy with a walker will be unsuccessful due to the severity of his crimes. [Refinery29 / Leah Carroll]

Netanyahu promises to relinquish minister posts

Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu informed the Israeli High Court of Justice that he will resign from all of his ministerial positions. [Haaretz / Netael Bandel]

Facing corruption and bribery charges, Netanyahu will step down from his role as minister of agriculture, diaspora, health, and welfare, but maintains his position as prime minister. [Al Jazeera]

This decision is interpreted as a potential position of weakness for the Likud leader as he enters a historic third election, following his and his opponents’ inability to form a government. [Wall Street Journal / Felicia Schwartz]

While polls predict a repeat of the past two electoral outcomes, the election is a relief from Netanyahu’s legal proceedings and a chance to make his case for immunity. [AP News / Josef Federman]

Miscellaneous

Former US officials helped the United Arab Emirates create their own secret cyber surveillance unit. [Reuters / Joel Schectman and Christopher Bing]

Another E. coli outbreak reveals the lack of regulatory oversight in food safety. [Wall Street Journal / Annie Gasparro]

Stigmas and double standards that face autistic girls are especially clear in the attacks on Greta Thunberg. [Vox / Anna North]

Jeff Bezos’s space company enjoyed another successful launch on Wednesday. [Associated Press / Marcia Dunn]

A Somali hotel attacked by al-Shabab gunmen saw the battle between the attackers and police for over six hours. [Al Jazeera]

Verbatim

“We’re encouraged that China and the United States seem on the verge of a breakthrough on the phase one negotiations. If accurate, it would be a positive first step in improving our commercial relationship at a time of great uncertainty.” [Executive vice president of the US Chamber of Commerce Myron Brilliant said of a possible US-China trade deal despite clashes with the Trump administration and Chinese officials]

Watch this: Why German spies blew up this US island

How German spies blew up this American island. [YouTube / Coleman Lowndes and Phil Edwards]

India just redefined its citizenship criteria to exclude Muslims

Artificial intelligence will help determine if you get your next job

The turf war between Trump’s top 2 health care officials, explained

Joe Biden’s immigration plan, explained

“Wall Street Pete”: Progressive protesters crash Buttigieg fundraiser

from Vox - All https://ift.tt/38xGAuX from Blogger https://ift.tt/35fFi5C via IFTTT

#IFTTT #Blogger

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architectnews · 4 years

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Missouri Architecture: St Louis Buildings

Missouri Architecture, St. Louis Building, Architects, Designs, United States of America

Missouri Buildings : Architecture

Key American Property + Architectural Developments – Built Environment USA

post updated Aug 21, 2020

Missouri Architecture

Missouri Architecture News

Oct 13, 2018 Gateway Arch in St. Louis Wins Grant photo © Joe Lekas

Eleven new grants include the famous Gateway Arch in St. Louis, Missouri:

Getty Foundation 2018 Keeping it Modern Grants News

Oct 9, 2018 Artery Residence, Kansas City Architects: Hufft photo : Michael Robinson Photography New Residence in Kansas City This new home is for leading contemporary art collectors. The focus of the property is the art collection and how it flows through the building by way of a main ‘artery’.

Sep 28, 2018 Lee’s Summit School District R-7 – Missouri Innovation Campus Design: Gould Evans ; Associate Architects: DLR Group image courtesy of Chicago Athenaeum Missouri Innovation Campus Building The MIC program is the result of a unique partnership among Lee’s Summit School District, Metropolitan Community College, and the University of Central Missouri.

Sep 19, 2018 Weatherby Lake House, Platte County Design: KEM STUDIO, Architects photo : Bob Greenspan Weatherby Lake House The house is created from two simple platonic forms, one resting on the other, pulled apart to create an aperture to the lake. The view is revealed once you enter the house, leaving the city behind and immersing yourself in lake living.

Sep 1, 2018 Reeds Spring Middle School, Southfield Architects: Dake Wells Architecture image courtesy of Chicago Athenaeum Reeds Spring Middle School Building The design approach for the Reeds Spring Middle School denies the conventional act of scraping the site clean, flattening the hilltops and destroying the natural character of the site.

Aug 10, 2018 Waldo Complex , Waldo, south Kansas City Architects: El Dorado Inc. and Kansas State University Design+Make Studio) photo : Mike Sinclair Waldo Complex Missouri Waldo is a diverse and dynamic neighborhood in southern Kansas City. Once the southern extent of the city’s former streetcar line, Waldo doesn’t play by the rules of conventional urbanism or City Beautiful urban planning, but has flourished nonetheless.

May 19, 2018 Museum at the Gateway Arch, St. Louis Design: James Carpenter Design Associates photo © Earthcam/Gateway Arch Park Foundation Museum at the Gateway Arch in St. Louis As part of Michael Van Valkenburgh Associates (MVVA) team that won the 2010 City+Arch+River international design competition, Cooper Robertson and James Carpenter Design Associates (JCDA) with Trivers Associates have designed the significant expansion and renovation of the Eero Saarinen-designed Museum of Westward Expansion, located directly below the iconic Gateway Arch.

Dec 26, 2016 Heavy Metal House, Joplin Design: Hufft Projects photos : Matthew Hufft / Andrew Fabin House in Joplin Aptly named, Heavy Metal is a steel clad private residence that sits on eight acres of heavily wooded terrain.

Oct 28, 2016 Gary M. Sumers Recreation Center at Washington University in St. Louis Design: Bohlin Cywinski Jackson, architects photo : Daniel Lee/Bohlin Cywinski Jackson Gary M. Sumers Recreation Center at Washington University in St. Louis The new Gary M. Sumers Recreation Center at Washington University in St. Louis, designed by well-known architecture firm Bohlin Cywinski Jackson, opens its doors today during a campus celebration and ribbon cutting ceremony. The new facility, which reimagines the University’s historic Francis Gymnasium, adds 66,000-square-feet and creates a new gateway to a comprehensive recreation and sports complex.

Aug 22, 2016 Green Air installation at Contemporary Art Museum of Saint Louis Design: Nomad Studio, landscape architecture photograph : Alise O’Brien Photography Green Air, Contemporary Art Museum of Saint Louis Designed by landscape architecture firm Nomad Studio, Green Air is the second installation of a play in two acts at the Contemporary Art Museum of Saint Louis. Green Air is a sculptural aerial garden that creates a dialogue in form, material, time, and space with the previous intervention, Green Varnish.

Jul 15, 2013 Place is the Space is Unprecedented Collaboration with Museum Architect Brad Cloepfil On View Sep 6 – Dec 29, 2013 Jill Dowen’s piece entitled Beauty Mark: photograph : Contemporary Art Museum St. Louis (CAM) Contemporary Art Museum St. Louis CAM celebrates the tenth anniversary of its critically acclaimed building. Place is the Space is a curatorial collaboration between the architect Brad Cloepfil and curator Dominic Molon.

Missouri Building Photos

St. Louis photos copyright Joe Lekas, 2010

The Gateway Arch (third photo at the top of this post):

St. Louis Arch and Courthouse with fountain:

St. Louis Arch at night with spotlights:

The Gateway Arch, aka Gateway to the West Date built: 1947 Architect: Eero Saarinen ; Engineer: Hannskarl Bandel

Part of the Jefferson National Expansion Memorial in St. Louis, Missouri. 630 ft (192 m) wide, base 630 ft (192 m) tall The tallest man-made monument in the United States

Construction:1963-65

The Gateway to the West opened to the public on July 10, 1967

The St. Louis Arch was designed as a weighted or flattened Catenary arch.

Missouri Architectural Designs

e-architect select the key examples of Missouri Buildings, USA. The focus is on contemporary buildings and designs.

Major Missouri Building Designs, alphabetical:

Nelson Atkins Museum of Art – Extension, Kansas (included here as its just over the border) 2002-07 Steven Holl Architects photo : Andy Ryan Nelson Atkins Museum of Art building The Bloch Building is one of the largest US commissions received by this New york architecture office.

Saint Louis Art Museum Expansion 2007- Design: David Chipperfield Architects image courtesy of the Saint Louis Art Museum Saint Louis Art Museum

The new 200,000-sqft East Building sits alongside the existing building from 1904 designed by Cass Gilbert. The expansion increases gallery and public space by 30 percent, allowing the institution to celebrate fully the richness and variety of its encyclopedic collection.

Major Missouri Building Developments, no images, alphabetical:

Pulitzer Foundation for the Arts, St. Louis 2001 Tadao Ando Architect & Associates

Sam Fox School of Design & Visual Arts, Washington University, St Louis 2006 Maki And Associates

Washington University School of Engineering & Applied Science, St. Louis 2008 RMJM Hillier Washington University Building

More Missouri Buildings projects online soon

Location: Missouri, USA

US Architecture

Contemporary Architecture in USA

American Architecture Design – chronological list

Missouri Architects – Kansas City

Kansas City Architecture

Kansas City Architecture Event

Kansas City Design Week

Developments in Neighbouring States

Arkansas Architecture

Illinois Buildings

Iowa Buildings

Kansas Buildings

Kentucky Buildings

Nebraska Buildings

Oklahoma Buildings

Tennessee Architecture

Major contemporary Architects Offices

Steven Holl Architects

Tadao Ando Architect

Maki And Associates

Comments / photos for the Missouri Architecture page welcome

Website: Missouri USA

The post Missouri Architecture: St Louis Buildings appeared first on e-architect.

#e-architect

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anarchistbanjo · 6 years

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The Strangling Hand Ch 1 Pg 1-4

The Strangling Hand by Karl Hans Strobl translated by Joe E. Bandel Copyright Joe E. Bandel

The Strangling Hand

Behind the Cathedral, where the roofs of little houses pressed around a narrow courtyard, the little alleyways lost their direction and disappeared, crowding up against the fronts of old gray buildings, or suddenly turning to the side around protruding corners, going up and down stairways, until they ended in some corner at one of the surrounding houses. The modern times with its expanding circle of industrial development had still not changed this innermost core of the city. And under the dark arches, in dusty niches, and in front of the blackened statues of saints lit with trembling little lamps cowered the past.

The stairs which climbed up and down around the houses had many steps which had become worn smooth and slippery, so that in the winter time the old women could only timidly and with choking prayers dare go to the Cathedral. Such joys and sorrows were carried over these stairs. There were holes worn into the granite steps, in which little pools of water stood after the summer rains and in the winter everything was covered with crackling ice. Thoughtful and sometimes sullen faces looked out the little windows of the old houses at the few people who carefully made their way over the rough concrete, and urgently and uncomfortably rushed past the mountainous Cathedral as if it held no power over them.

You could see many old people. Life appeared on these quiet and crooked little streets that stretched out in all directions. On Sunday you could see all these old men and women walking to the Cathedral, as if it were a treasured memory, haunted by the shadows of what it had once been. Yet the youth lived in the midst of these old people, rude, irrepressible and noisy in the present moment as they clambered over the stairs among the gray houses to play in the sunshine and enjoy the energy of youth.

The old people looked at them and smiled, because here the past and the present was not yet in conflict. These old people loved their green plants and white gardens, and many green window boxes protruded from the many paned windows. In the summer blood red fuchsia blossoms nodded above the wooden window boxes and sturdy wide leafed geraniums stood in the background. There were also entire windows full of blooming hyacinth, boasting all colors and in one arched window frame that was topped with the figures of animals and birds, you could see the foliage of exotic plants and wondrous orchids, which captivated all the children. They were compelled to stand in front of the window and push against the glass with their fingers. During the greatest summer holidays that was where the passion flowers were placed, the beautiful and sad blossoms which carried all the marks of the martyred Christ, the nails and the hammer and even the terrible thorn of crowns.

Here the people still celebrated the holidays. They put decorations on the doors and even the houses transformed their faces for Easter, Pentecost and Corpus Christi day. That was when a procession came through the narrow streets, when the bells rang out and the white clouds of incense swam above the heads of the priests. That was when rows of candles flickered in the windows and the statues of the saints looked out of sleepy eyes at the many lights. During Pentecost boughs of green birch were placed on all the doors, so that it seemed as if springtime had placed an ostrich plume on the face of every house. That was when things seemed so bright and cheerful in the world, so cheerful that people almost didn’t believe, how many other stories hid behind the old brown doors and slept inside the little windows. Familiar stories and strange stories, which awoke on sad days and during the long winter nights.

Near the main entrance to the Cathedral, guarded by the cold empty eyes of the stone saints, stood a house, around which many such stories were told. That was where Eleagabal Kuperus lived, of whom the people in the houses around the Cathedral told the most remarkable things. Of whom the youth told fantastic and mysterious stories and whom the old women were so careful to avoid, if he crossed their path on the way to the Cathedral.

His house was certainly the oldest anywhere around and had a slate gable roof on its wrinkled brown face that sat there like an old hat. In dry weather it’s front appeared dusty and furrowed , but when the rain beat against its walls, ancient images appeared on its surfaces: the sacrifice of Isaac, the judgment of Solomon, the passage of the Jews through the Red Sea and many others, of which the people up here on the hill knew nothing about. Like a secret ink that is activated by the sun or the water, these images appeared from out of the moisture, stretching themselves along all the walls, between the windows and showing themselves, down below intertwined with vines of plants and animals bound together with words written in an unreadable language.

But over the richly carved door that was bound with iron bands, a figure became visible, which stood there in the garments of a distant time, in one hand a sword and holding a key in the other. From out of its mouth came a ribbon on which was written in ancient letters: “Believe in miracles”. The strangest thing about this figure and about this house was, that the hand which held the key extended from out of the wall in a real and graspable form. This hand, with its curled fingers, sinews and perfectly formed veins appeared so much like the living hand of a human that you had to marvel at the artistic skill of its creator. After the rain coursed through the furrows and turned into a trickle the sun once more dried the walls and then the figure and letters disappeared, and only the hand remained holding the key above the door, as if it grew from out of the wall and wanted to show that the passage was locked and could only be opened by it alone.

And even the door – was a terrifying puzzle which the children could never solve. It was a carving of Saul and his visit to the witch of Endor. Misshapen bodies with hideous grimaces surrounded the hero. Up above, a wingless dragon spewed fire from out of its mouth, and down below Leviathan swam in an ocean of enormous pointed waves and blasted mighty streams of water from out of its nostrils. Of all the people that told stories about Eleagabal Kuperus, it was old Frau Swoboda who told the strangest ones. She was the one who lit slender candles in the Cathedral for all the souls in purgatory. She was the one who had seen on one moonlit night, how a finger of the hand over the door had released the key and straightened out, exactly like the finger of a human hand that wants to relieve a cramp. And she was the one, who at the crack of dawn on one foggy winter day had seen clearly how the dragons and the monsters on the carved door had swarmed together, and how Saul had raised his arm to banish her. Ever since then she swore that Eleagabal Kuperus was a sorcerer, and a legion of old women stood behind her maintaining the same thing.

But even the men, who just laughed at this gossip, shunned the old man in the mysterious house, and when they encountered him in the twilight of a dimly lit street, gladly crossed over to the other side. Only rarely did anyone ring the bell under the hand with the key, and it was always a stranger, someone from the bustling city down below, who visited Eleagabal Kuperus in his castle.

The Frau, who surrounded by a heavy mist filled with mysterious voices, climbed up the large stairs one winter evening and slowly crossed the little space in front of the Cathedral, hesitated a moment in front of the door to the house in which Kuperus lived. Here on the top of the hill only a few little lights glowed, and one of them stood unmoving like a staring eye in the forehead of this house. Frau Swoboda, who had just came from out of the sanctuary of the Cathedral, saw, how a dark figure in front of the door of Kuperus reached to ring the bell, and with a shudder sent a short prayer for the salvation of this poor soul that was in the clutches of evil, and entrusted its soul to heaven. As she rounded the corner of the alley, she heard the shriek of the bell, and freezing, yet happy in the kindness of God’s grace, wrapped herself more tightly in her large shawl.

****

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#literature #fantasy #writing #life #adventure

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anarchistbanjo · 6 years

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The Order Of Anarchistic Knights

Organic Gnosticism is the magical movement for this new eon and the premiere source for self empowerment and soul development. These are some of the main features of this path:

Individualistic Anarchy as described by German author Max Stirner almost two hundred years ago. The Order of Anarchistic Knights is a loose union of like minded and like spirited people joined together for mutual advantage. As such each member must own and take possession of their own place within this group as their ability allows. There is nothing held to be sacred and each concept is proven through experience.

A strong ego and strong self esteem are vitally important for spiritual, mental, emotional and physical health. These can best be developed through the development of survival skills, self defense skills and emergency first aid skills.

Tantric practice is held to be the fastest and most effective method for the development of the soul and its powers through the mutual exchange of all levels of male and female energies between magical partners. This energetic exchange primarily takes place at the astral level and is magical in nature.

Duality is seen as the mutual balance and interplay between expansive male and formative female energies. The purpose of life is to explore all possibilities, good and bad; and to become more complex. This path is beyond such concepts as good and evil.

Organic Gnosticism is based upon the modern science of Chaos Theory and the Reciprocal Field Theory of Dewey Larson. As such it integrates modern science into a metaphysical paradigm of working magic and soul development that can be experienced and proven.

It is also based upon the Objectivism philosophy of Neo-Tech and modern psychology. The basic principles of Neo-Tech being that mysticism is a disease that must be eradicated from the face of the earth and that the use of coercive force against an individual can never be justified. In this regard Organic Gnosticism is purely magical in nature according to the laws of science. The soul and the astral planes have an objective reality behind their subjective appearance. Organic Gnosticism teaches how to achieve things magically and is not political or socially active in achieving its aims.

Organic Gnosticism has its roots in early Rosicrucianism, tantric practices and German Satanism as practiced and proclaimed by authors Stanislaw Przybyszewski and Hanns Heinz Ewers. It’s goal is the development of the Androgynous Soul as a balance of male and female essence.

Founder Joe E. Bandel, aka anarchistbanjo, aka Frater OAK F.R.C. :. :., is a Rosicrucian Master and Elder in the Rosicrucian tradition having completed the 12th degree studies of AMORC, and is a member of their spiritual hierarchy. He was also initiated into the Martinist Order; into the OTO 3rd degree; into the York Rite of Freemasonry and a researcher of Early Masonic history including the Scottish Rite of Freemasonry and of the Golden Dawn magical order. Further research and personal experience has made him familiar with NLP or Neuro Linguistic Programming; the writings of Julius Evola; Mantak Chia, and the western mystery tradition in general. This places him in a unique position to modernize the old western mystery tradition and bring the magic back! Organic Gnosticism is the synthesis of a new path for a new humanity!

Most importantly he speaks from personal achievement and experience in walking both the right hand path and the left hand path to their natural conclusions. There is nothing theoretical about Organic Gnosticism!

#life #blog #thoughts #self improvement #spirituality

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anarchistbanjo · 6 years

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The Strangling Hand Ch 1 Pg 25-32

The Strangling Hand by Karl Hans Strobl translated by Joe E. Bandel Copyright Joe E. Bandel The Strangling Hand Ch 1 pg 25-32

He appeared entirely absorbed in himself, unapproachable, unmoving like the statue of a god, behind whose stone face wild lechery lurked and whose body was completely filled with a tense power. Out of the rich treasures portrayed in the works of the poet which she had inherited, was an image that seemed to attach itself to this man, this emissary. It was the image of the Asian despot, ruler over millions of slaves as he crowded them closely together in order to transport them.

The curtain moved a little, the stranger glanced in her direction and without embarrassment gave up his comfortable posture and stood up.

“I was not announced, gracious Frau, my name is Rudolph Hainx.”

Frau Emma forced herself to nod, and then with a smile in which the corners of his mouth only lifted a little, he continued:

“I am not a journalist. I must say that first, and when I found a gentleman from the press here I immediately took the opportunity to get rid of him so he would not bother you any more. For that service I must ask you to hear me out.”

“I am prepared to listen to you.”

In the most privileged quarter of our city, there, right where the countryside presses against the city, stands a large garden and villa, one filled with every luxury that there is. The steps are made of Paris marble, and rambling Goldilocks climb upon the walls. The furniture is designed by Riemer-Schmidt and delivered from workshops in the United States. The glasses in the credenza are from Tiffany’s in New York.

In a small room, whose window shimmers with all the colors of the rainbow, you will find a chest, whose drawers protect jewelry created by Lalique. A front room, which is like an atrium, a quadrangle cut from the heavens, is cooled in the summer by one of Hermann Obrist’s elaborate fountains. Now, I know that you love paintings, so I must not forget to say that scattered through separate chambers are paintings by Bocklin, Thoma, Manet and Leibl. The stairs and front hall are filled with acrylics, and one room is decorated with original Hokusai paintings which you love so much. And for evening twilight, to inspire your dreams, is a cabinet with portraits and etchings of genuine Rembrandts.

All of the great arts are allowed to stream through this princely home. You will find a music room and a rich library with rare printings and incunables. There is an ancient Roman bath and a horse stable with English and Arabian race horses. You would not exhaust the riches of this house in an entire year. There are other collections as well that I can’t forget to mention, a weapon collection in one hall and a well organized collection of postage stamps in another.

When you go through a flight of chambers, it is like wandering through the styles and cultures of all times, from ancient Assyrian to the Epoch of Biedermeier, and I will add that the furniture and appliances in this house are not copies, but original working pieces. The gardens around the house consist of individual partitions, in which you will be enchanted by gardening arts of the past. You will find replicas of the hanging gardens of Semiramis and the intricately interlaced and precious Bosketts of Trianon. A crowd of servants will fulfill your every wish.”

“I have listened to you; why are you telling me all of this?”

“On an island in the Adriatic ocean, which has never known winter, is another house which contains all the wonders and hot freedom of paradise, built in the Grecian style. From the columned entrance you can see the ocean, which is more beautiful there than anywhere else, more moody, more moving, with many sleepy colors that awaken to play in the morning and evening. A balcony, high above the rustling tree tops, gives a free view in all directions, and the most difficult and urgent longings will find wings and become more easy and joy filled there. Nothing prevents you from living there in luxurious solitude or reveling with good friends in a Hellenistic kingdom. There in view of the ocean and the heavens you can once more find undespairing joy and build a new radiant temple over the ruins of the past. A boat floats in a little harbor, and reddish purple sails shimmer through the tips of the pines. This boat is similar to the grandness of the ship Agrippa, and like it contains rare luxuries collected together in the smallest spaces.

“Why are you telling me all this?”

“Because I come to offer you this house in the city and the one on the island.”

Frau Emma reeled under the thought, in which she appeared to fall to ruin, torn by blind and senseless forces from the solid stronghold of her newly made plans. What kind of image was this? How could this confusion of colors and brilliance be her future? Really, the description of this magnificence was dangerous. And this offer was not a joke, she could see the seriousness in the unmoving mask of this man, as he now pulled a long paper out of his breast pocket and laid it out on the writing desk.

“It goes without saying, that I would not make this offer without being prepared to also offer you the money needed for all possible trivialities that would allow you to live such a life without a care. Just name an amount, which you think will suffice, and don’t be shy. My offer has only one limit down below, but none above. Speak your fantasy, to arrange a fairy tale of gold. I am authorized to make this check out for any sum which you name.”

“You offer me an immense treasure. I must admit that this has me all confused. What do you want of me? You speak of a contract. What is this contract? Look around you , and you will see my past. What do I have to offer that is worth such a future? Is your offer a gift? Whose gift? And what ... My God!...”

“You can call my offer a gift. What is needed is so simple, that there shouldn’t be any problem. Many others would not even stop to consider it, if they were offered millions upon millions. Before I tell you what is needed, I will give you something else to think about. Do the memorials of our past depend upon objects, real things, or rather much more upon tender and incontrovertible memories of real life experiences that can’t be erased?

If Caesar had lost his fame as a warrior, would his glorious past be extinguished; if the manuscript of his memoirs over the Gaullish war had been destroyed in fire; if a thief had stolen the suit of armor, which the commander had worn in the battle against Vercingetorix? Would Tamerlane’s career have been altered, would he have not won as many victories, if the skulls of his demoralized enemies had been allowed to fall from the spear tips, decay and turn to dust?”

“Be silent, be silent, I sense...”

“You have promised to hear me out. I know from the newspapers, that your husband’s will contained a strange order concerning his head. I also know that Eleagabal Kuperus has the capability of fulfilling this wish of the dead. My offer stands therein, to offer you all of these things, which I have previously made an effort to describe to you, in exchange for that head.”

The trembling fingers of Emma played around the heavy bronze sphinx, which lay upon the writing desk. But the eyes of Rudolph Hainx suddenly lit up like flaming stars and forced her glance back down. She didn’t dare look him in the eyes anymore and allowed him to sit back down at the writing desk, pick up the quill and prepare to write. The quill, with which a poet had once written a difficult sonnet, now stood at a steep angle in the hand of this stranger.

Emma had never seen such a hand. It was a cold, scrawny hand, whose sinews suddenly sprang out from the wrist as if they could not wait to elongate into fingers and transmit their command. The fingers were crooked and pointed, and on the wrist, clusters of hair grew in rocky fissures of the wrinkled skin down to the yellow knuckles. It was a gentleman’s hand, that was soft and delicate, with beautiful rounded curves , yet without the gentle swelling of fat that would hinder its grip. It was the hand of a master that lay upon the paper, which stretched tautly, prepared to write down an endless series of numbers. Evil eyes burned like perishing stars over this decisive moment.

“You say that you are making this proposal for someone else. Won’t you tell me who this contract belongs to?” “I see that it is important for you to know this. You should know that my client has the power to fulfil his promise, but also, that it stands in his power to make being disobedient to his wishes very taxing. He has commanded me to reveal his name in only the most exceptional case. I show you the honor of realizing that your reluctance is so heavy that this exceptional case is needed.”

“– Herr Bezug has sent me to you.”

At that the Frau sprang up to the messenger, tore the quill from out of his hand and threw it to the floor with such violence that it remained stuck upright in a black splotch.

“Get out!” She screamed, “Get out!”

And now she dared look him in the eyes; now he had no more power over her. Rudolph Hainx took his dusty gray gloves from the chair and picked up his hat.

“You will regret this!”

Frau Emma looked around, as if searching for a weapon to use against him. Then she ran to the door of the courtyard and leaned against the iron railing that sagged beneath her weight. She appeared prepared to call the entire house for help against the messenger, to set all the neighbors against him. Rudolph Hainx stepped past without her seeing, an envoy whose deal had been broken, and went forth in order to declare a war. His smooth, immaculate elegance framed the dirty walls of the stairs for a moment as he climbed down, only to once more come into view before crossing the courtyard down below and disappearing out the wide mouth of the main house door.

#adventure #fiction #translation #literature

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vinayv224 · 4 years

Link

NurPhoto via Getty Images

Weinstein’s latest attempt to settle; Netanyahu to resign from minister positions while Israel goes for third election.

Weinstein’s settlement offends victims and activists

Harvey Weinstein looks to make a deal settling the accusations against him for a relatively unimpressive sum of $47 million. [LA Times / Stacy Perman]

A new study suggests that in the wake of Me Too, sex crimes are being reported more than in the past. [Vox / Anna North]

This settlement offer is criticized as low, given the experiences of the victims. In previous settlement announcements, only up to $30 million would have gone to accusers. [NPR / Richard Gonzales]

Refinery29’s Leah Carroll writes that Weinstein’s possible attempts to garner sympathy with a walker will be unsuccessful due to the severity of his crimes. [Refinery29 / Leah Carroll]

Netanyahu promises to relinquish minister posts

Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu informed the Israeli High Court of Justice that he will resign from all of his ministerial positions. [Haaretz / Netael Bandel]

Facing corruption and bribery charges, Netanyahu will step down from his role as minister of agriculture, diaspora, health, and welfare, but maintains his position as prime minister. [Al Jazeera]

While polls predict a repeat of the past two electoral outcomes, the election is a relief from Netanyahu’s legal proceedings and a chance to make his case for immunity. [AP News / Josef Federman]

Miscellaneous

Former US officials helped the United Arab Emirates create their own secret cyber surveillance unit. [Reuters / Joel Schectman and Christopher Bing]

Another E. coli outbreak reveals the lack of regulatory oversight in food safety. [Wall Street Journal / Annie Gasparro]

Stigmas and double standards that face autistic girls are especially clear in the attacks on Greta Thunberg. [Vox / Anna North]

Jeff Bezos’s space company enjoyed another successful launch on Wednesday. [Associated Press / Marcia Dunn]

A Somali hotel attacked by al-Shabab gunmen saw the battle between the attackers and police for over six hours. [Al Jazeera]

Verbatim

Watch this: Why German spies blew up this US island

How German spies blew up this American island. [YouTube / Coleman Lowndes and Phil Edwards]

India just redefined its citizenship criteria to exclude Muslims

Artificial intelligence will help determine if you get your next job

The turf war between Trump’s top 2 health care officials, explained

Joe Biden’s immigration plan, explained

“Wall Street Pete”: Progressive protesters crash Buttigieg fundraiser

from Vox - All https://ift.tt/38xGAuX

#IFTTT #Blogger

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anarchistbanjo · 6 years

Text

The Strangling Hand Ch 2 Pg 33-36

The Strangling Hand by Karl Hans Strobl translated by Joe E. Bandel Copyright Joe E. Bandel The Strangling Hand Ch 1 pg 33-36

Chapter 2 The Forest People

Andreas Semilasso lived among people for half a century before renouncing them. His habits ran counter to the laws of the common interest so much that his life was a constant battle. He really enjoyed this battle, even though a few tried to tell him that the will of the people was stronger and would always win. The powers were too unevenly distributed, and it was impossible for even the strongest personality to go against the written law and custom. So the people laughed at the foolishness of Andreas Semilasso and shook their heads over his eccentrics, until they began to recognize the dangerousness of his example and their smiles transformed into frowns of scorn.

They finally recognized that such resistance against society could not be allowed to go unpunished, and that such a person, who only lived for his own wild and untamed nature, could lead the herd into a revolution and uprising against customs. It was as if a beautiful, untamed beast ran around free, with its fangs and claws, and its unbounded power was an immense threat to the peaceful citizen. At first the law good naturedly overlooked the little trespasses of Andreas Semilasso, but when he threw a tax collector out the door so violently that his leg was broken, it was too much and they stuck him behind secure walls for a while.

After Andreas Semilasso was set free, public opinion turned against him. It was certain that people who had once considered him formidable were now inclined against him and decided to find ways to weaken his superior strength. But it was impossible for these crippled people, who had lost all their instincts, and their will to live. But he never again went out among them, never made friends with the students or public. He did what he should have done a long time ago. He gave up his dwelling place among people.

With his few bits and pieces, which he loaded onto a donkey, he left the city, wearing a large gray smock belted with a cord around his body and with sandals on his feet. On his head, for protection against the sun, was a broad straw hat, the remnant of a Panama hat, from which he had removed the top part. His black straggly hair protruded out from the top of it and the yellow straw of the brim surrounded his head and grim face like a massive halo. He looked like a wandering apostle, warlike and the enemy of all luxury, as he marched through the streets of the city, followed by a crowd of jubilant urchins. Andreas Semilasso let them scream and bluster behind him, but when a beefy fellow confronted him just outside the city and shouted scornful words at him, he turned around and threw a stone at his head.

So he took his leave from civilization and moved into a cave in the forest, which he had discovered on one of his day long excursions. Now he had won his solitude; now they wouldn’t lock him up anymore; now he was free, to enjoy all things above and below the earth as he pleased. He transformed the front of his cave into a comfortable chamber with windows, a door and an oven, and the back of his cave opened out into a huge cathedral. From this cathedral, whose pointed arches bored high above into the darkness, branching passages led far beneath the rock. When harsh fires burned inside of him, Andreas Semilasso often sat there in complete darkness on a pile of rubble, which had been formed by falling stone. He listened to the voices of the deep. Somewhere down below, from a split in the limestone came the sound of water, like the song of the blood that flowed in his veins.

During the course of the year he explored his cave and named the two passages with names that sounded like those found in old chronicles. He named one “Justice”, which was long and winding, very extensive and always went in ever widening circles until one finally got lost in the darkness. The other he named “Injustice”. It was short and straight and led to a hole in the rock wall from which he could look out into a valley. There was also a little room which he called the chapel, because of the white stalactite formations and a glittering pillar. In the center lay a massive, heavy black block of stone which he named “the Deed”. There was also a black pool in the back of a distant grotto, which reflected the pointed flames of the torch he carried upon the cold waters of its ebony surface. Its waters were fed by some unknown spring from somewhere deep below, but the water overflowed and poured into an abyss which he named “the Insatiable”. In the spring the snow water also came streaming in, shutting off a portion of the cave and overflowing, so that Andreas Semilasso was more than once in danger of his life. That was why he loved this traitorous pool.

This was not some silly game that the hermit was playing. When a story came to his ear about someone who was repressed by the brutal law of the majority, in which some refined sensibility became choked under its force, then he went down the passage of Justice, to where the unexplored darkness began, extinguished his torch and waited until he heard laughter in the darkness. When he heard of a brave deed that opposed the desires of the crowd, he was led to the passage of Injustice and to the window, from which he waved out at the great valley. When he wanted to strengthen his will, he went to the chamber of the glittering pillar and laid his hands upon the wet black block of stone, drawing strength from it until his own power became greater and greater and he felt prepared for anything.

Everything that he thought was superficial and foolish, any dispensable equipment and the remains of his meals, he threw into “the Insatiable”. When he wanted to rid himself of tormenting thoughts, he banished them by imprisoning their spirits in stones, which he drowned in the black pool. One of his favorite wonders in this subterranean kingdom was a temporary flight up a stone chimney which he would search out when he wanted to lighten his spirits. The chimney was a narrow fissure that led to the surface world. Fir trees stood over its entrance, which slowly leaked drops of water. The rush of the wind in the branches created a wild bellowing of strange beauty and moving rhythm, like the ridiculous beating wings of the angel of creation, and the falling drops of water counted out the beats between this wonderful song of eternity with the silver ringing trickle of time.

Often Andreas Semilasso didn’t come out of his passages and grotto into the light for weeks. But when he did he was seized with the beauty of a sunset, the green of the trees in front of his door or the purple colors of the evening sky which he glimpsed from out of some fissure. These glimpses were so powerful that he would leave the underworld and give himself entirely to the wonders of the light. That was when his life in the forest began. There in the lonely hot mountain meadows, where he lay among high weeds between the forgotten tap roots of tree trunks, from out of whose cut surfaces sparkling resin dripped.

Andreas Semilasso would lay for hours among these tree trunks, which he called his brothers, so still, that the emerald lizards crawled over his hands and his shoulders, even to hesitatingly come near his face. He was familiar with the Morse code that the woodpecker beat into the bark, with the cries of the sparrow hawk and falcon, with the cooing of the forest pigeons, and the busy ants in war and peace with the thieving ground beetles kept no secrets from him. He often sat naked on a high limb and felt transformed by the sun and the light. Other times he placed himself under the falling water of a forest brook and let the drops spray over his body. Sometimes he lay on his belly watching the stupid water bugs at the edges of a pool and with long patience caught the slender Gobies in the hollow of his hand, only to fling them back out into the water.

In moonlit summer nights he searched over jagged blocks for a path from his grotto to the witches’ stone, where skewed placements of bursting rock tiles created wild adventures. Grim faces looked out from the wrinkled stone fissures. There were fortune hunters, sneering gallows birds, glum mountain spirits and even moon maidens. In the crevices tree roots lay like giant sleeping snakes, and mandrakes giggled beneath the moss. From here he could look out over the sleeping forest. At first only old hares watched him from behind the bushes and fir trees. But the shimmering things came forward on the ridge to listen to his stories, until the early morning dawn when they left him and hid themselves once more in their secret corners.

#life #adventure #spirituality #freedom

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anarchistbanjo · 6 years

Text

The Strangling Hand Ch 1 pg 21-24

The Strangling Hand by Karl Hans Strobl translated by Joe E. Bandel Copyright Joe E. Bandel The Strangling Hand Ch 1 pg 21-24

The mailman, who brought a single letter, looked at Frau Emma without attempting to say anything. What could he do other than share empty words of sympathy over the death of her husband? But hidden within the large envelope was a business card and a formal letter from a publisher, who had tried in vain to make an offer while her husband was living, and who was now once more inquiring after the estate of the dead. He had carefully prepared a contract to organize and publish the collected works of her husband. The widow was assured that she would receive enough in royalties to suffice for her needs.

Her joy at this unexpected development remained, but much stronger was the bitterness that this triumph came so late. Frau Emma decided to ask some friend of her husband for counsel, but she discarded every name that she called up, until she was only left with one, who had never known him while he was alive, yet had become a strong advocate now that he was dead, and in whom she had complete trust, Eleagabal Kuperus.

She was beginning to paint the particulars of her future, when Frau Fodermayr announced the arrival of a gentleman who wished to speak with her.

“Gracious Frau,” began the little, beardless man, who followed immediately behind the servant, as if he wanted to make a refusal impossible. “I already tried to search you out yesterday, but you were not at home, and that’s why I repeated my visit today. I am a press reporter.” He called out the name of a large magazine- “I’ve come to inquire about the sensational estate of your deceased husband. We would like to publish an article in the evening paper.”

Frau Emma stood silent and pale, and didn’t find it necessary at all to invite the questioner to sit. She sensed his forceful shamelessness, his words , which came from out of a large, nervous and smiling mouth, felt like blows. She felt how his own uncomfortableness, his hasty greed after sensational stories, endangered her own delicate balance. She was determined to throw this annoying fellow out, but would welcome the entry of anyone else that would spare her this difficulty.

In the meantime the journalist continued to press her with inquiries and his questions probed an open wound. Why had the deceased ordered that his head be preserved? How would the head be preserved? Had she already made arrangements to have it done? Did this strange desire of her husband originate from some disgusting reason or other form of weakness? Would she consider allowing a plaster cast to be made of the head?

Frau Emma looked solidly into the gray eyes of this short little man with the engaging smile who was leaning upon her husband’s writing table and everything else disappeared. She tried to meet his gaze with an unrelenting stare from across the room and force him to leave. It was like looking into a funnel, in which an ugly, confused life twisted.

The power, which this stranger served, arranged itself into a crowd of images before her, the bleak sound of stamping machines coming from out of subterranean rooms. This was where all the events of the times were painted into stories. All of the big stories were cut out from the forest of thoughts by the screaming saws of merciless midgets. The type sprang up like goblins, as black metal letters mixed together to chatter words of beauty, and staggered back down to form entire rows of sentences, which warped and arranged themselves to once more unite to form thoughts. Dirty hands with stubby fingers were visible between whirling wheels which grabbed after the fidgety letters and held them with a solid pressure to make them rigid, while endless rolls of paper were fed into them and disappeared. No stopping or pause interrupted the swarm of unending productivity. The columns of letters marched like armies of workers, one behind the other, ceaselessly spilling out from the surrounding machines, which pressed against the paper, imprinting the white masses with their own metallic lives.

The crazy hubbub became even more chaotic. Searching hands carefully folded the papers, grabbing at the tender and majestic words, tearing away the sense of the remote and giving it back to the crowd, driving the life out of the living, which was now confined on the paper as black on white. The machine spewed pressed sheets from out of its broad mouth, which piled into two mountains, two great pillars piling up, each containing thousands of repetitions of the same stock phrases and little reports, the same gossip and politically correct thoughts, the same murders and other unsolved crimes which threatened to choke the entire world. A crane reached down from above, whose iron claw clamped onto the bales and lifted them from out of the confused tunnel while the machines stamped on, and scarcely released from their iron framework, the letters were newly pressed into service like black spirits of the earth which a mighty sorcerer had made into slaves.

Her husband’s hatred of the industrious and busy body world of the newspaper burned in Frau Emma, who knew enough not to value or think of this interview as some kind of treasure. She suddenly turned away from the confused journalist in the middle of his questions and went into her bedroom, while she waved him away with a few jerking hand movements, like those she had so often seen her husband make.

In the easy chair she reflected over it, how it was that she had taken on the habits of her departed husband, like a shell that had been left behind and awaited a new core. Was it really true, as she had so often fantasized in the evening hours, that the deeds and actions of a person, all his words and little daily habits, remained behind after death, in a type of astral body, which remained behind and continued its life? It was invisible, like thoughts, woven from the astral substance of the soul, bodiless, yet with the finest nerves and tangible like magnetic lines of force or moonbeams, which remained in this world even after the crude form of the physical body had already gone away.

In the next room she heard the coughing of the journalist, who appeared determined to besiege her, until she gave in to his questions. But then in astonishment she heard words between him and another man’s voice. His words were soft and engaging. The other’s voice was muffled, yet hard and commanding at the same time. Just then a noisy truck rumbled past and rattled the front windows, so that the words were choked in the noise. But it seemed to Emma, as if the forceful commands of the other was forcing her beleaguer out of the room and after the truck had passed, the work room lay wrapped in silence.

Frau Emma stood up and walked over to the door. A strange man sat in front of her husband’s writing desk. He had one leg crossed over the other, with hands folded around one knee, and was observing the tip of his shoe as if there were nothing more interesting in this room than the round, immaculate top of his polished, shiny boot. The elegance of the English dandy, which extended from the difficult knot of his necktie down to the heavily creased suit, lay like a mask over his face. She knew that a far more dangerous opponent was sitting there, than the one which had just left.

#life #fiction #adventure #writing

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anarchistbanjo · 6 years

Text

The Strangling Hand Ch 1 Pg 5-8

The Strangling Hand by Karl Hans Strobl translated by Joe E. Bandel Copyright Joe E. Bandel The Strangling Hand Ch 1 pg 5-8

The Frau who wanted to visit Eleagabal Kuperus had to wait a while before the heavy door opened. The faint light from a nearby lantern engaged in battle with the fog and brought the carvings on the door into sharp relief, then slid across the hand with the key as it radiated out to the edge of the darkness that lay heavy over the end of the street. The portal slowly opened and a long passage led the Frau into the interior of the house as she walked silently over soft carpet. To her left and right were glowing letters that arranged themselves into words which were not recognizable, as well as hieroglyphics, cuneiform and glimmering symbols. They gave off so much light that in the dim twilight dark paintings and statues could be seen high above all along the entrance corridor. A fountain pattered a wistful melody in a red-lit room, in which a collection of paintings were hung on the walls. A servant waited there, whose hairy head, whose pointed little ears and whose evil glimmering eyes made him look like a wolf. He raised his hand in a silencing movement.

The Frau followed him down a narrow path between two walls of books, until he took a ball from out of a bowl and dropped it back in producing a silvery sound. From out of the folds of a curtain, a cool breeze blew against her hot face as she stepped beneath a glass dome that arched above a room of marble. It was like a temple with two rows of supporting columns, but the broad capitals of these columns were decorated with scrolls and animal heads that looked down on her and did not in any way support the dome. They apparently served no purpose except to divide the bottom portion of the chamber, while the dome itself remained unsupported and free above like a symbol of the infinity of heaven. There were all types of colorful marble collected in this chamber, from white fragments of Tyrolean marble to flaming , starry and miraculous colors of the rarest kind. Water trickled down a wall, as if a little stream of blood poured from out of some hidden opening above and silently slid down the flat surface. Nearby were tiles like those that maps were painted upon, but these showcased delicate ferns, moss or bush like veins encased within the stone, as well as blossoming corals that spread their branches out wide, as if they contained the power of unchained expansion. The impeccable surfaces of white, yellow and ivory colored marble glowed in ever changing displays of color.

This chamber presented lifeless stone, while at the same time radiating an intense sense of life and peace, which was driven by an infinite source. It was possibly like a head in which confused thoughts stormed, in which confused thoughts dwelled, and of which no one would dare speak or act upon in real life. Up above, the dome itself remained completely detached from the confusion, containing it so that none of it could escape; arched and glassy like the cornea of an eye, upon whose retina these most precious and wonderful colors played.

Eleagabal Kuperus sat at a marble table in the center, guarded by columns on the left and the right. His hand lay on the table, his finger traced some vein in the marble and his lips moved. Then he looked up and his gaze wrapped the Frau in a veil of questions. His questioning eyes lay deep inside a head that was just as much that of a patriarch as it was that of an old predator. A high forehead rose above them, furrowed with so many wrinkles that people would find it laughable in anyone else. Down below grew a wild beard that bushed out on all sides, yet remained forced down onto his chest. Beneath his mustache gaped the dark cavern of his mouth from which two canines protruded. The incisors were long lost, the canines of the upper skull had transformed into fangs through a rare power, and when Eleagabal Kuperus laughed, they crept out like daggers from their sheaths. Around his bald head lay a thin wreath of white hair, which stood out straight like bristles as if from an electric shock.

The Frau hesitated and then stepped up to him and laid a round package on the table in front of him which she had carried beneath her coat.

“You are welcome here," said Eleagabal Kuperus and he waved away the servant with the face of a wolf, who had been crouching like a predator behind the Frau. “You are welcome here,” said Eleagabal Kuperus once more, and the Frau felt how his gaze penetrated through her. Then he added, and his hand pointed to the round package: “You have brought me the head of your husband.”

A trembling came over the Frau, and the table, at which Eleagabal Kuperus sat, began to spin quickly around its axis, so quickly, that it seemed as if the man in front of her multiplied. Fainting, she grabbed at one of the columns for support, but she quickly pulled her fingers back, because the stone was so hot, that it almost burned her skin.

“Take it, just as it is. Death is a powerful master, almost as powerful as life itself, and often it seems as if it overcomes life. I honor your pain, and I want to fulfill your desire.”

“You know, what I want to do with it?”

I know. Your love is great, and I bow down before that love.”

Then the Frau broke out into tears and looked despairingly around her, because she felt so weak, ashamed that she had allowed herself to show weakness. Eleagabal Kuperus stood up and stepped over to her; he laid one arm around her shoulders. And then a strange thing happened, Frau Emma Rössler, despite her horror and fear of this notorious old man, this weird man she had come to, sobbed as she hid her head in the thick brush of his beard. They both stood completely still, and the silence crackled like a small blue flame. Then he led her to his chair at the marble table and asked her to sit down.

“Tell me about your husband, who was a poet and the things that shaped – his life.”

“It seems, that you knew him.”

– Eleagabal Kuperus smiled, and both fangs crept out of the hole of his mouth, while his hand motioned for her to continue –

“His name was in the mouths of all the people, and his future stood before him, brilliant and wonderful. But despite all of his promise and ability, his advancement remained bleak and gloomy. He didn’t understand how to market himself and his works with ostentatious boasting and self advertising.

People always gave him support along the way and recognized his talent., He didn’t have the proud consolation of being unrecognized. But they only bought enough of his books so that we could live in common comfort. Yet he thirsted after more, and his artistic moods continued to bring forth even more beautiful, unheard of things. But we were not rich enough to rise above the common folk, and not poor enough to give up poetic speech entirely.

He continued on indifferently, along a path that was neither difficult enough nor successful enough until in the end he became tired, and that was his life. He could not be called a fighter, but he was also no fortunate child, to whom the stars dropped fortune into his lap.

With calm, disciplined work he achieved enough to lead a life that was similar to that of a thousand others, until he sank without too much pain, without a trace of tragedy, except that a voice was silenced, which the fates should have established, and allowed his final wishes to be expressed.”

Eleagabal Kuperus stood in front of the Frau and listened to her, while he stroked his long beard with his hand like a gardener strokes his bushes. The furrows of his high forehead moved. It seemed as if his thoughts ran across them.

“His life and his death was not so bleak, as might appear to your love. His life was not allowed its full brilliance, and I know, that his power dissolved into a soft twilight. But it could have been richer and deeper, if he could have had your love. And that is why I tell you, that he did not understand how to achieve it. From out of the depths comes all happiness. Yet his death was not in vain, because of that which he was able to give to the world in the end.”

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#literature #novel #writing #life #fantasy

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