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#a brief primer for the hopeless days
soracities · 1 year
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Turning a Powerful Black Hole Collision into a Beautiful Symphony
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(phys.org)
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Jōichi Hoshi, The Milky Way Rhapsody (1970)
Sonification of the Cosmic Cliffs in the Carina Nebula, captured by NASA’s Webb Telescope (sound on).
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Laura Gilpin, "A Toast to the Alchemists", The Hocus Pocus of the Universe
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firstfullmoon · 4 years
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Any quotes that could help my existential crisis? What’s the point in anything if the world will blow up eventually? I’m terrified of death because I love life- it’s so beautiful and I want to see what the future holds, but equally I don’t.
the point is the present and the people and things you love and brief but meaningful moments of happiness (virginia woolf talks about “little daily miracles, illuminations, matches struck unexpectedly in the dark”) and kindness and empathy. whenever i’m heavy with doubt regarding the future i come back to mim’s primers for the hopeless days 1 (shall i grieve? shall i hope? i prefer to sing), 2 and 3 (which compiles the words that have made my heart the fullest). i would also recommend reading ross gay’s book of delights which help seeing everyday things in a different, more positive light
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tes-trash-blog · 5 years
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Mycosis, Or A Slightly More Scientific Take On How The Falmer Came To Be
(Alt title: I’m Never Eating Mushrooms Again)
Yep. This is happening.
Preface: This essay/rant/overanalysis is focusing only on the theoretical physical and biological aspects Falmer devolution. Expect a shorter rant on the spiritual aspect on a later date, thanks to oyarsas.
Part 1. Just Who Were The Falmer Anyway? A Brief Primer
According to the one surviving Snow Elf in Skyrim, the ancient Falmer were a wealthy and advanced race of Elves that occupied a portion of Skyrim during the Merethic Era. A few shenanigans, some unspeakable war crimes, and a genocide later, the remnants of this race fled underground into the waiting arms of the Dwemer. They laid it down in simple terms:
“Many of your people had perished under the roaring, snow-throated kings of Mora, and your wills were broken, and we heard you, and sent our machines against your enemies, to thereby take you under. Only by the grace of the Dwemer did your culture survive, and only by the fifteen-and-one tones did your new lives begin.”
(Fun fact: If you translate the Stone using Ayleid words, it’s actually a lot more sinister!)
This wasn’t out of the goodness of their hearts, as the Dwarves were, in objective terms, dicks. While they didn’t want tearful songs of gratitude or boot-licking, they weren’t about to let a bunch of homeless and traumatized Elves, y’know, recover. No, they wanted something.
“We only request you partake of the symbol of our bond, the fruit of the stones around us. And as your vision clouds, as the darkness sets in, fear not.”
That something was their sight, and their obedience. Given what very little we know about Snow Elven culture, this looked to have been a bit of a big deal. After all, all the Prelates at Auri-El’s wayshrines implement light and sight in their blessings, much of the surviving iconography depicts the sun and its radiance, and what few surviving accounts remain mention the “dread of night” and “blessed sun”.
This wasn’t a decision made lightly, is what I’m getting at. The fact they agreed at all surely meant the Dwarves could do what they wished. Seeing some of the more elaborate torture chambers and traps, we can safely assume they did.
The Blinding happened in the Late Merethic Era, some hundreds of years before the Dragon War and the beginning of the First Era. Now comes the fun part.
And by fun part, I mean gross part.
Part 2. Can’t We Just Wrap This Up And Blame The Dwarves?
It wouldn’t be an overanalysis if I did, now would it?
There are theories abound as to how the Dwarves corrupted them, or they were part of a failed experiment (Underkiing, Lord_Hoot). This essay is going to ignore these theories, and focus on the more biological aspects of the Falmer transformation. Starting with a quote from the last surviving Snow Elf:
“The blinding of my race was supposedly accomplished with a toxin. Certainly not enough to devolve them into the sad and twisted beings they've become.”
This is further supported with the poem The Betrayed:
“Thrown into the pitch black dread of night.
Living in fear as their minds become lost.
As their eyes began dimming the light.”
This lost book also points to the slow creeping of insanity among the Snow Elves, no doubt from the unspeakable horrors seen above ground and the fancy word that made me write this whole damn essay in the first place: Mycotoxin!
Mycotoxins are a broad name for the various types of poisons produced by the Fungi kingdom, specifically those that affect animals, humans, and in this case, Elves. From NCBI’s extensive article on Mycotoxins:
“The majority of mycotoxicoses, on the other hand, result from eating contaminated foods. Skin contact with mold-infested substrates and inhalation of spore-borne toxins are also important sources of exposure. Except for supportive therapy (e.g., diet, hydration), there are almost no treatments for mycotoxin exposure”
“[...] Acute toxicity generally has a rapid onset and an obvious toxic response, while chronic toxicity is characterized by low-dose exposure over a long time period, resulting in cancers and other generally irreversible effects.”
That sounds… bad.
So, there are few if any treatments for mycotoxin exposure, and the Dwarves were not ones to use magic, so the only feasible treatment for the mass-poisoning would have been a good diet and hydration, but something tells me the Dwarves were not keen on giving their slaves either of those. From the Diary of Faire Agarwen, we can reasonably deduce that conditions were cramped, dark, and damp even among those who had political clout:
“Seventh Marking, Tenth Kulniir
[...] Often the surroundings make it impossible to dwell on any happiness. We have been locked together in such close quarters for so long.”
Keep in mind here that a kulniir was a notched basin that functioned as a simple time keeper, using drops of water. The diary also mentions there’s no real natural light, so we see the combination of dark, damp, and cramped. This was from a woman who held some social capital. We can assume that conditions for your average Joe and Sally were much worse.
Even among the best of conditions, the Snow Elves were kept in were prime real estate for molds and fungi to thrive. There is (thankfully) no evidence to support my next claim, but it’s also not exactly a stretch of the imagination.
The Falmer: A Study makes clear that the blinding was a multi-generational effort. Within perhaps two or three generations, the Snow Elves were eternally blind. Adding to the permanent blindness, there very well could have been the more unpleasant, unwanted, and unplanned changes.
I’m talking about mutagens.
To pull a real life example, Fumonisin B1 can cause neural tube defects in utero, which means that the toxin affects the development of the brain and spinal cord, as well as the central nervous system. In extreme, chronic cases of fumonisin poisoning, it can keep the brain from forming into a viable state, causing stillbirths. In a universe where dragons fly around and singing plants can make poisons, it’s not too much of a stretch to say that there is something equally terrifying growing in Blackreach. Already blinded, chronically ill, and hopeless, the next generation of Snow Elves were doomed to an ever lower standard of living without even the knowledge that things could be better. Combine that with whatever mold infected whatever flora that grew underground, similar to how say, fumonisin blights grains and how black mold is generally Really Bad For You.. Well, we can assume that there was a more subtle force that guided them to their ferality than whatever the Dwarves did to them.
In the same way the lead pipes of Rome contributed to developmental problems among their populace, I can imagine the toxic spores creating more violent, more feral Falmer, until finally their very sentience was taken from them. Seeing as all of this culminated into a war that spanned decades, something tells me the Dwarves didn’t see that coming.
Part 3: So… CAN They Be Cured?
The short answer is no. From the words of the Knight Paladin himself:
“I'm afraid that they're well beyond a cure at this point. The twisted forms you've seen didn't occur overnight. It isn't a plague or a disease that ravaged our species. The dwarves may have stolen their sight, but it took many generations for them to become what they are today.”
And as found earlier, there are no effective cures for mycotoxin exposure, and I imagine even less for chronic, multi-generational poisonings like what happened to the Snow Elves of old. I’m assuming, but I really don’t want to ever see that tested in the field.
But not all is lost. Gelebor also notes that the modern Falmer have started to re-develop their intellect. This grabbed me, as the Forgotten Vale is vastly different than the caves and ruins you normally find Falmer in. There’s fresh air and cool breezes, and open spaces for those sad little gremlins to lurk about. In short, they’re away from the poisonous influences of those dark caves and toxic spores.
It’s entirely possible that the Falmer of the Vale are developing, and it’s in part because they’re no longer confined to the dark and damp that was their prison. It’s entirely possible that with enough time, and enough patience, the Falmer could slowly undo the effects of their chronic poisoning. Not enough to become the Snow Elves of legend, those days are long since past, but perhaps enough to break their chains, and finally put a voice to thousands of years of suffering.
Sources, inspirations, and tangentially related articles:
Mycotoxins, from the National Center for Biotechnology Information. A recommended primer on the nature of mycotoxins and their effects on more complex organisms.
Toxic effects of mycotoxins in humans, from the World Health Organization, another excellent starting point if you like reading about poisonous fungi.
Repeating Mistakes of the Past: Another Mycoherbicide Research Bill, a condemnation of using mycotoxins in of all things, drug control. This article also calls the use of mycotoxins against humans for what it is: Biowarfare. An interesting, insightful, and very depressing read.
A review of the toxic effects and mechanisms of action of fumonisin B1, from the journal Human and Experimental Toxicology. Behind a paywall, but the abstract sums it all up quite nicely.
A Wikipedia article on the Mexican Tetra, because I think they’re cute.
UESP, without which I would be even more of a babbling trash gremlin.
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penineteen · 4 years
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-a brief primer for the hopeless days.../:
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dweemeister · 7 years
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Dunkirk (2017)
In 1415, King Henry V led a vastly outnumbered English army to a shock victory against the French at Agincourt, located in Northern France, as part of the Hundred Years’ War. For centuries, Agincourt became a famous rallying point for the English, popularized in William Shakespeare’s 1599 historical play Henry V. More than a half-millennium later just north of Agincourt, British troops – with the union between England, Scotland, Wales, and Northern Ireland occurring since the Battle of Agincourt – found themselves yet again in a desperate situation on French soil. Their enemy this time would be Nazi Germany, and, like in 1415, the British would be seemingly hopeless, outnumbered. Along with the Belgians, French – or what was left of the French army – Dutch, Poles, and Indian troops, Dunkirk would be the final part of Allied Western Europe to fall to the Axis, and, following the evacuation of thousands of British troops across the English Channel, the beginning of the Battle of Britain.
For a summertime release these days, a historical drama war movie is a non-starter among major Hollywood studio producers opting for supposedly safer action/adventure and superhero franchises. But for better and for worse, Christopher Nolan (a director whose skills I admire, nothing more) is not your average filmmaker, as he – with the financial success of his Dark Knight trilogy and Inception (2010) – faces some of the least corporate resistance to any of his planned projects. Dunkirk might appear to be Nolan’s most conventional film, to date, without close inspection, but its triptych structure successfully integrates the director’s fracturing of time. Is Nolan’s time-bending necessary? I am not convinced that it is because these decisions complicate any viewer’s efforts to emotionally connect to the characters (Nolan’s defenders who say that emotional manipulation is antithetical to a movie’s success are rejecting a cornerstone of narrative cinema). But Nolan has pursued this path, and he does well in spite of one of the more calamitous film scores in Hans Zimmer’s career.
Dunkirk’s nonlinear structure is divided into three: by land, by sea, and by air. All of its characters are fictional. On land, a private named Tommy (Fionn Whitehead) has just barely escaped incoming Germans and found his way onto Dunkirk’s beaches. There, he meets a French soldier disguising himself as a British private named “Gibson” (Aneurin Barnard) and another private, Alex (Harry Styles). Commander Bolton (Kenneth Branagh, a composite character) and Colonel Winnants (James D’Arcy) are coordinating evacuations from the beach. By sea, the Royal Navy is commandeering civilian vessels across the English Channel to expedite the evacuation. Among those civilians are Mr. Dawson (Mark Rylance), his son Peter (Tom Glynn-Carney), and Peter’s friend George (Barry Keoghan). They will later pick up a soldier (Cillian Murphy, credited as “Shivering Soldier”). In the air, three Royal Air Force (RAF) pilots –Farrier (Tom Hardy; yet again in a role concealing his face and with minimal dialogue), Collins (Jack Lowden), and “Fortis Leader” (voiced by Michael Caine, never shown) are headed towards France to serve as air support.
It should be noted that these three sections are also given titles in the opening minutes. The first, by land, is entitled “The Mole”. “Mole”, in this case, refers to a lengthy solid barrier on a shore serving as pier or breakwater (it is not referring to a spy). This befuddled me for about the first twenty minutes, so I hope this clarifies things for anyone still confused about whether or not there was a German agent in Dunkirk. In another historical note, the Germans – though surrounding the Allied troops at Dunkirk – never moved in for the fatal blow. Historians dispute the reasons why the Germans halted their advance, but it appears that Hitler believed that, once the British fled from continental Europe, they would never dare mount a cross-Channel invasion.
Nolan, who wrote the screenplay, has longed tinkered with linearity – especially in Memento (2000). His editor, Lee Smith, has been collaborating with him since Batman Begins (2005). With the screenplay’s structure married to what needs to be a keen editing sense, Nolan becomes less interested in documenting the actual events and the historical intricacies than he is intensifying the suspense. This is not The Longest Day (1962) or Tora! Tora! Tora! (1970) where the filmmakers emphasize the decisions of generals while cross-cutting with frontline combat of the soldiers involved. This is not Saving Private Ryan (1998) or Wings (1927) where the focus is on individual, fully characterized soldiers bearing the horrific brunt of combat. Because of this, Dunkirk becomes less of a war film than it is a cross-stitch of the disaster and thriller subgenres. As fascinating as this approach is, it has its share of problems – even though Dunkirk is more understandable than most other Nolan films.
That lack of distinctive characters becomes irritating after a while. If you permit a brief aside, I am sometimes told by friends – of, like yours truly, Asian descent – that the statement that, “all Asians look the same” is offensive. My dirty secret is, I tend to agree that Asian people look the same as I live in an Asian-American plurality community (or maybe it’s because I’m terrible at faces, because I tend to think that a lot of white people look the same, too). The numerous, young white men with brown hair often wearing helmets or flight masks alongside their attractive cheekbones begin to merge into one after a while – with exceptions to Rylance and Branagh, because they are the most established actors working in this movie. With the exception of One Direction fans, can you tell the difference between Aneurin Barnard and Harry Styles in the provided pictures? If you can, maybe you should be a police detective. Having already been challenged by Nolan’s temporal experimentation – at least, within the confines of what a major Hollywood studio will permit – this is an unnecessary hindrance to understanding the event on-screen. I understand that Nolan intended these characters to be blank slates for the audience to project their thoughts onto the images onscreen.
Because of that, this movie will be playing quite differently to those who have a closer connection to the events surrounding World War II, as well as any type of military service. I profess to being a WWII movie buff, yet a pure war movie – this excludes war prison movies like The Great Escape (1963), wartime/post-war dramas like Grave of the Fireflies (1988, Japan), and war romances like Casablanca (1942) – has never moved me to tears. Perhaps that is because of my personal disconnect from military operations and culture. As such, that probably explains my muted reaction compared to others. I found myself flinching as bullets ricocheted or pierced through metal, as well as staring widely in terror at the screen during the flying sequences. But being stirred by the desperation and the events unfolding in the film? That has never happened (I trust my emotions enough to make such a judgment).
Water, fire, smoke, sand, foam, and clouds are all elements that Nolan and cinematographer Hoyte van Hoytema use to chilling effect. As the ensemble cast of characters immerse themselves into the action, they become lost into the overcast tinderbox of this operation, and one begins to sense the confusion that war brings. It is the fog of war, in other words, and the fear comes from what cannot be seen. Hoytema’s cinematography here – compared to almost every mainstream movie release audiences are bound to see this year – is frequently grounded in something or someone outside the frame. Perhaps it’s a plane, an enemy soldier (the only time Dunkirk depicts a German soldier is for a select few seconds in the final minute – this is not a film interested in humanization on either side, really), an incoming torpedo. Not until recently have Nolan’s films been as visually interesting as they should be, and the decision to let the camera linger in moments is a long-delayed feature. Unfortunately, this strategy only shows how terribly small this production is compared to past epics – when Commander Bolton proclaims there are tens of thousands of soldiers on the beaches of Dunkirk, we can clearly see that is not the case. The numbers are not convincing, perhaps more appropriate for a film about long lines and crowds at an amusement park than one of the largest evacuations in human history.
Dunkirk was intended for an IMAX screen, and, at the height of the film’s release, thirty-one theaters in North America showed Dunkirk in its intended IMAX 70mm release (for a primer to the screen aspect ratios of industry standard films, 70mm film, and IMAX 70mm, consult this guide – warning: not every IMAX theater is “true IMAX”). With three-quarters of Dunkirk shot in IMAX 70mm, the widest shots will seem constricting because of the blocky shape of the print. When reverting to regular 70mm film, Dunkirk is letterboxed in a format familiar to those who have seen the select few films that have been shot in 70mm: Ben-Hur (1959), My Fair Lady (1964), The Sound of Music (1965), Patton (1970), The Hateful Eight (2015), and others.
Dunkirk was also shot on traditional film, not with digital cameras that has become the industry standard worldwide – film is considered more “prestigious” and “weighty” than the cleanliness of the digital format, analogous to the reasons why music aficionados might prefer to listen to vinyl records rather than compact discs and digital formats. So that means, in theatrical screenings, the print will have crackles of black spots that appear across the screen for a split-second at a time and there will be a faint flickering effect present. Film – due to its very imperfections – also tends to make any CGI effects (which were minimized for Dunkirk as real war ships and airplanes were used) appear to be practical effects.
Not nearly as practical, perhaps even painful, is composer Hans Zimmer’s thunderous, pathetic film score – which I have to spend more time writing about than I would like to, but alas. His compositions, largely based on Nolan’s ticking pocket watch, are attuned to the urgency of the situation and how the director manipulates time. Zimmer and his music production company, Remote Control Productions, have almost monopolized film scores to major studio productions, leading to the epidemic of melody-less music and harmonic shallowness – could you sing five themes from action/adventure and superhero movies in the last ten years? – in favor of rhythm and an integration with the sound mix. Zimmer’s music is a screaming, aggressive, extended masturbatory reflex of tension without resolution. It is a thoroughly unpleasant experience, as most evident in “Supermarine” – which plays over the dogfights in the air. Sounds crash together, the stopwatch’s ticking reverts to a synthesized metronome set to explode your ear drums, and somehow it’s the second-best cue in the film. The score is played ad nauseam, to the point where one has to ask: “Can so-and-so scene operate better if there was no music at all?” My unfortunate answer to that rhetorical question is that, in too many moments, the music was not necessary to build tension (where Nolan is lacking in conveying the lethal speed of the airplanes, he certainly portrays the instantaneous dangers of these battles), and too often is a distracting blare in a beautifully-crafted movie.
The best cue in the film is not even written by Zimmer, but arranged by one of his ghostwriters, Benjamin Wallfisch, and taken so shamelessly from Sir Edward Elgar’s “Nimrod” from the Enigma Variations, that it makes little sense why Elgar’s composition could have been presented without electronic modification. The cue is entitled, “Variation 15″, as if this score wasn’t recklessly ballsy enough and as respectful as DJ Tiesto’s take of Samuel Barber’s “Adagio for Strings”. For the British, Elgar’s pieces are fixtures of their culture. Elgar’s Enigma Variations – “Nimrod” in particular – is played during national holidays, celebrations (the 2012 Summer Olympics Opening Ceremony) Remembrance Sunday (the British Commonwealth’s equivalent to the United States’ Veterans Day), and state funerals and memorial services. When “Nimrod” appears in the concluding minutes of Dunkirk, it comes as a shocking relief when following the electronic madness of what followed before it.
It is a composer’s job to craft a score that services a film and, with luck, that score will have a life of its own outside the context of the film. That is not the case here on at least the latter count, and the music that emanates from Dunkirk is partly Hans Zimmer’s responsibility. Christopher Nolan is dually responsible. After several collaborations with Zimmer, I am beginning to believe that Nolan doesn’t understand what music (recognizable melodies, complicated harmonies of various voices – not just rhythms) can do for his movies – how it can enthrall, move hearts and minds, and allow audiences to understand otherwise inaccessible characters and ideas. Those directors aspiring to be the next Christopher Nolan are emulating their hero. Zimmer, with his music production company, is a fixture of mainstream Hollywood now. The many composers – uncredited ghostwriters and otherwise – working under Zimmer have, like those directors looking up to Nolan, mimicked his rejection of melodic themes and his experimentation with time and sound mixing. Dunkirk’s film score is an attempt at musical innovation that is instead deafening tommyrot.
Within Dunkirk’s two-hour runtime is a linear narrative that wants to enrapture audiences in emotions other than excitement or the frequent flinching after a gunshot or bombing. Even with Hans Zimmer’s score, this is as crisply-made as a war movie can be. Christopher Nolan is a fine director in his own right, but he can only appeal to the enormity of things – evasive maneuvers in the wild blue yonder, fleets of ships to the rescue, sequences of extras that visually recall the greatest silent films (especially 1928′s The Crowd) ever made. When it comes the privacy of what individuals are thinking and how they feel in times distressed and desperate, he is lost at sea.
My rating: 8.5/10
^ Based on my personal imdb rating. Half-points are always rounded down. My interpretation of that ratings system can be found here.
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menloveshortshorts · 4 years
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Compilation kickflip
a brief primer for the hopeless days, pt. III:
“It all matters. That someone turns out the lamp, picks up the windblown wrapper, says hello to the invalid, pays at the unattended lot, listens to the repeated tale, folds the abandoned laundry, plays the game fairly, tells the story honestly, acknowledges help, gives credit, says good night, resists temptation, wipes the counter, waits at the yellow, makes the bed, tips the maid, remembers the illness, congratulates the victor, accepts the consequences, takes a stand, steps up, offers a hand, goes first, goes last, chooses the small portion, teaches the child, tends to the dying, comforts the grieving, removes the splinter, wipes the tear, directs the lost, touches the lonely, is the whole thing. What is most beautiful is least acknowledged. What is worth dying for is barely noticed.”
— Laura McBride, We Are Called to Rise
— Sandra Cisneros, A House of My Own
“I have a memory which I want to share with you. It’s about a secret practice of women, men, old people, children. We become aware of this practice obliquely, it’s not something we’re looking for, and very quickly we take it for granted [...] Consider human lives, their every-minute, every-day lives! Their lives depend upon an agreed regularity to which each contributes. Maintaining this regularity is the forgotten practice I’m talking about. It explains the arrival of the fruit in the market each day, the lights on the street at night, the letters slipped under the front door, the matches in a match box all pointing in the same direction, music heard on the radio, smiles exchanged between strangers. The regularity has a beat, very distant, often inaudible, and at the same time similar to a heartbeat. No place for illusions here. The beat doesn’t stop solitude, it doesn’t cure pain, you can’t telephone it—it’s simply a reminder that you belong to a shared story.”
— John Berger, From A to X: A Story in Letters
— Danusha Leméris, “Small Kindnesses”
“No, somebody always needs to go first. I know this. I go first.”
— Jenny Slate, Little Weirds
“I’ve never told you this,” she said. “But there’s something about taking the cart back instead of leaving it in the parking lot. I don’t know when this came to me; it was a few years ago. There’s a difference between leaving it where you empty it and taking it back to the front of the store. It’s significant.” “Because somebody has to take them in.” “Yes. And if you know that, and you do it for that one guy, you do something else. You join the world...You move out of your isolation and become universal.”
— Andre Dubus, “Out of the Snow”, Dancing After Hours
— Ross Gay, The Book of Delights
“I've never managed to get used to seeing people die. That's all I know. Yet after all—" Rieux fell silent and sat down. He felt his mouth dry. "After all—?" Tarrou prompted softly. "After all," the doctor repeated, then hesitated again, fixing his eyes on Tarrou, "it's something that a man of your sort can understand most likely, but, since the order of the world is shaped by death, mightn't it be better for God if we refuse to believe in Him and struggle with all our might against death, without raising our eyes toward the heaven where He sits in silence." Tarrou nodded. "Yes. But your victories will never be lasting; that's all." Rieux's face darkened. "Yes, I know that. But it's no reason for giving up the struggle."
— Albert Camus, The Plague
— Charles Schulz, Peanuts, May 11, 1956
— Philip Larkin, “An Arundel Tomb”
Post taken from  soracities
https://soracities.tumblr.com/post/612570016167182336/a-brief-primer-for-the-hopeless-days-pt-iii-it
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frodoncitation-blog · 5 years
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soracities · 2 years
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brief primer for the hopeless days, pt. IV
"I felt I should embrace him and tell him not to suffer; that he wasn't alone, that I was his friend and we were living on the same planet, at the same time, in the same country; that now the two of us were in the same park, on the same bench; that human beings should talk to each other, be aware of each other, and love each other; that each man who passes by offers us the chance for companionship and warmth."
Josefina Vicens, The Empty Book (tr. David Lauer)
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[James Baldwin & Friends, Istanbul. ph. Sedat Pakay]
"On love: always the great gestures, or that it is incompatible with ambition and individuality. Rarely the small gestures, rarely that these make the other accomplishments possible. A work in progress. A chain of kindnesses fashioned a link at a time. Clumsy effort, but effort nonetheless."
Katie Ward, Girl Reading
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Paul Eluard, “Gabriel Péri” tr. Gilbert Brown
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[Two old men hand in hand rush for taking place for prayer time in the Yeni Cami mosque in Istanbul. ph. Marco Vacca]
"We find comfort only in another beauty, in others' music, in the poetry of others. Salvation lies with others, though solitude may taste like opium. Other people aren't hell if you glimpse them at dawn, when their brows are clean, rinsed by dreams."
Adam Zagajewski, “Another Beauty”, tr. Clare Cavanagh
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"We are sun and moon, dear friend; we are sea and land. It is not our purpose to become each other; it is to recognize each other, to learn to see the other and honor him for what he is: each the other’s opposite and complement."
Hermann Hesse, Narcissus & Goldmund
"Down the road there is an old man who sits in a chair under the porch of his front door to enjoy the sun. He is very old. In fact, he is dying. And because I know this, every time I pass him I pass the time of day with him. I tell him he is getting brown in the sun. Or he asks me about the price of the vegetables in my shopping bag – once he lived in the country – and I answer him at length and with great warmth. Why do I do this? It is a natural reaction. Soon he will die [and] I want him between now and then, and perhaps even at the moment of dying, to have good thoughts, not of me personally, but of the living, of the world he leaves. I want to give him reason for thinking the best possible thoughts."
John Berger, A Painter of Our Time
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[waves of handprints dating between 7,300 BC & 700 AD, Cueva de las Manos (Cave of Hands), Santa Cruz, Argentina. ph. Pablo A. Gimenez]
“Something strange happens when people are in a small boat, something that rarely happens with people in a car or an elevator, in a train or even a boat large enough to say that you are on it instead of in it. What they experience is the sense of solitude. There are only a few thin boards keeping them from being totally engulfed by the surrounding deep sea. They are lonely, but it’s not an isolated loneliness, because they feel lonesome together, together with others in the boat. This is why a temporary bond forms between people in a small boat. They only have each other, the deep sea is frightening, and small boats are very fragile. Therefore, each one of them becomes the other’s lifebuoy. If you’re not afraid, then neither am I, so we shouldn’t scare each other, and we ought to be nice to each other as long as the water surrounds us.”
Stig Dagerman, A Moth to a Flame (Burnt Child), tr. Benjamin Mier-Cruz
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["The Ride Home", submitted by slyburger13 r/AccidentalRenaissance]
"I tried to focus on something small, the smallest thing I could think of. Someone once made this pew I’m sitting on, I thought. Someone sanded the wood and varnished it. Someone carried it into the church. Someone laid the tiles on the floor, someone fitted the windows. Each brick was placed by human hands, each hinge fitted on each door, every road surface outside, every bulb in every streetlight. And even things built by machines were really built by human beings, who built the machines initially. And human beings themselves, made by other humans, struggling to create happy children and families. Me, all the clothing I wear, all the language I know. Who put me here in this church, thinking these thoughts? Other people, some I know very well and others I have never met. Am I myself, or am I them? Is this me, Frances? No, it is not me. It is the others. Do I sometimes hurt and harm myself, do I abuse the unearned cultural privilege of whiteness, do I take the labor of others for granted, have I sometimes exploited a reductive iteration of gender theory to avoid serious moral engagement, do I have a troubled relationship with my body, yes. Do I want to be free of pain and therefore demand that others also live free of pain, the pain that is mine and therefore also theirs, yes, yes.”
Sally Rooney, Conversations With Friends
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[”Pale Blue Dot”: photo of Earth taken by the Voyager 1 space probe]
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[anonymous, Jan. 15, 2022]
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Alain de Botton, Essays in Love
"A single stranger sleeps next to me and I feel like a whole crowd has come in with him. He hasn’t said anything to me, I haven’t said anything to him, but I feel I have nothing else to say to him, nor to hide from him."
Mihail Sebastian, For Two Thousand Years (tr. Philip Ó Ceallaigh)
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[tiktok @ shanrizwan]
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Michael Onyebuchi Eze, Intellectual History in Contemporary South Africa
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[”A full bottle of wine just rolled out from under a subway seat and now these 2 strangers popped it open & are drinking it. This is peak NYC”, ph. Colleen Hagerty]
"Nobody can claim that humanity is in the process of decay without having observed the same putrid symptoms in himself. Nobody can say that humanity is evil without he himself having been part of evil deeds. There is no such thing as unshackled observation. He who lives is the life-long prisoner of humanity and contributes, willingly or unwillingly, to an increase or decrease of the human inventory of happiness and misfortune, greatness and humiliation, hope and despondence […] the fate of humanity is at stake everywhere and at all times, and the responsibility of one life for another is immeasurable."
Stig Dagerman, "Do We Have Faith in Humankind?"
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soracities · 2 years
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I’m sure you’ve been asked this a million times but do you have a master list of all the different tags you use for posts? Possible to share?
i have been asked— so many times— but never gotten the chance to sit down and compile them all, so hopefully this will do for now:
basics
#photography:
#shadow play   /   #still life   /   #light
#hands   /   #bodies
#people
#places   /   #views
#black and white
#quotes:
#poetry (excerpts)   /   #poems (poetry posted in full)
#reading
#quotes about x
#poetry recs   /   #book recs   /   #book talks
#art:
#art detail   /   #flesh and bone
themed tags
intimacy, love, affection, connection etc.
#you are my sun and moon and all my stars
#the topography of love
#the lovers
#a country of two
#with your love as my witness
#infinitely and inexpressibly
#here and where you are
#to the point of invention
#one more kiss before we turn the lights off
#the world is ending and i love you
#two solitudes   /   #relation without relation
#it was you i drank (new tag)
#in this life and the next
#carnal appetites
#the aftermath of love
#the shadow side of love  /   #liebestod  /   #koschei
#dolor ante lucem
#a heart is a heavy burden  /   #foul rag and bone shop of the heart
#i love you like a cold river
#a lexicon of love
#variations on desire
#variations on a kiss (old tag, to be updated)
#i slithered here from eden
#bread is love among strangers
#anam cara
on literature, art, writing etc.,
#sanctum
#on poetry   /   #on writing /   #notes on an art form /   #art and the visual / #notes on the canon
#portrait of the artist
#on narrative /   #on books and reading   /   #language
#die Grenzen meiner Sprache—die Grenzen meiner Welt
themes / specific topics (literature and visual tags, some are both)
#the woods are lovely dark and deep
#mother of otherness eat me
#deep sea dreaming (visual)   /  #wine dark
#a beast is pulsing in my heart
#if i show you the roses will you follow?   /   #gulistan
#eyes exist in the savage state
#tongues of flame
#touch is a sacred language   /   #the imprints of our hands will merge
#this too sullied flesh   /   #the body electric
#fragments of selfhood   /   #echoes of the other   /  #diaspora blues
#sing me down into the dark   /   #notes on the human condition
#um unter den Wissenden zu sein oder allein  /   #i wandered lonely as a cloud
#the futility of speech   /   #the limits of understanding
#nocturnes   /    #only the moon and i  /   #astral hymn (visual)   /   #a softness came from the starlight
#we are but ghosts tonight (visual)  /   #where ghosts and shades do tread /    #beyond the river lethe there is memory healed
#the persistence of faith   /   #divinities   /   #old gods
#on culture /   #of war and violence   /   #dispatches from the revolution (no longer active)
#notes on a haunting   /   #the witching hour is upon us (visual)
#monster theory   /    #wolf song
#the book of women /   #she; portraiture
#a whisper from times past (visual)
#home fires
#what the water gave me   /   #a dream of water
#the new romantics   /   #the mystic   /   #the dreamer   /   #the scholar
#girl reading
#glimpses
seasonal tags
#the bone bare season   /    #winter (visual)
#autumn dreaming 
#sing me a song of summer
comfort and hope, etc.
#on earth we're briefly gorgeous
#the wide wide world
#hope is the thing with feathers  /   #its not that we have hope we shelter it
#without tenderness we are in hell
#who is my neighbour? my neighbour is all mankind
#devotionals  /   #moments
#humanity i love you
#and still i rise
#life everlasting  /   #i was a bride married to amazement  /   #all these wonders still to be ours
#a brief primer for the hopeless days
#in the dark times there will be singing
#at the end of the world we learn to dance
specific asks compilation
#the road is long and we have time
#the kids will be alright
#notes from elsewhere
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soracities · 4 years
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a brief primer for the hopeless days, pt. III:
“It all matters. That someone turns out the lamp, picks up the windblown wrapper, says hello to the invalid, pays at the unattended lot, listens to the repeated tale, folds the abandoned laundry, plays the game fairly, tells the story honestly, acknowledges help, gives credit, says good night, resists temptation, wipes the counter, waits at the yellow, makes the bed, tips the maid, remembers the illness, congratulates the victor, accepts the consequences, takes a stand, steps up, offers a hand, goes first, goes last, chooses the small portion, teaches the child, tends to the dying, comforts the grieving, removes the splinter, wipes the tear, directs the lost, touches the lonely, is the whole thing. What is most beautiful is least acknowledged. What is worth dying for is barely noticed.”
— Laura McBride, We Are Called to Rise
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— Sandra Cisneros, A House of My Own
“I have a memory which I want to share with you. It’s about a secret practice of women, men, old people, children. We become aware of this practice obliquely, it’s not something we’re looking for, and very quickly we take it for granted [...] Consider human lives, their every-minute, every-day lives! Their lives depend upon an agreed regularity to which each contributes. Maintaining this regularity is the forgotten practice I’m talking about. It explains the arrival of the fruit in the market each day, the lights on the street at night, the letters slipped under the front door, the matches in a match box all pointing in the same direction, music heard on the radio, smiles exchanged between strangers. The regularity has a beat, very distant, often inaudible, and at the same time similar to a heartbeat. No place for illusions here. The beat doesn’t stop solitude, it doesn’t cure pain, you can’t telephone it—it’s simply a reminder that you belong to a shared story.”
— John Berger, From A to X: A Story in Letters
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— Danusha Leméris, “Small Kindnesses”
“No, somebody always needs to go first. I know this. I go first.”
— Jenny Slate, Little Weirds
“I’ve never told you this,” she said. “But there’s something about taking the cart back instead of leaving it in the parking lot. I don’t know when this came to me; it was a few years ago. There’s a difference between leaving it where you empty it and taking it back to the front of the store. It’s significant.” “Because somebody has to take them in.” “Yes. And if you know that, and you do it for that one guy, you do something else. You join the world...You move out of your isolation and become universal.”
— Andre Dubus, “Out of the Snow”, Dancing After Hours
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— Ross Gay, The Book of Delights
“I've never managed to get used to seeing people die. That's all I know. Yet after all—" Rieux fell silent and sat down. He felt his mouth dry. "After all—?" Tarrou prompted softly. "After all," the doctor repeated, then hesitated again, fixing his eyes on Tarrou, "it's something that a man of your sort can understand most likely, but, since the order of the world is shaped by death, mightn't it be better for God if we refuse to believe in Him and struggle with all our might against death, without raising our eyes toward the heaven where He sits in silence." Tarrou nodded. "Yes. But your victories will never be lasting; that's all." Rieux's face darkened. "Yes, I know that. But it's no reason for giving up the struggle."
— Albert Camus, The Plague
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— Charles Schulz, Peanuts, May 11, 1956
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— Philip Larkin, “An Arundel Tomb”
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soracities · 4 years
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“We’ll dance a little, you and me.” “Do we have time?” ”We have time. Always.”
“Summer school students of Miss Margaret Morris rehearse on the beach, 1934,” ph. Kent Walmert
Gregory Orr, Concerning the Book That is the Body of the Beloved
“Rock ‘n Roll sur les Quais de Paris (Rock 'n Roll under the quays in Paris - detail),” ca. 1955, ph. Paul Almasy
Jack Gilbert, “Ovid in Tears”
William Shakespeare, The Winter’s Tale
“Couple at a dance, 1960 (detail)″, ph. Diane Arbus
Albert Camus, Algerian Chronicles
Wendell Berry, “Horses”
Mediterraneo, (dir. Gabriele Salvatores, 1991).
Awa Yoshikono chant, from the Awa Odori dance festival, Japan
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soracities · 5 years
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a brief primer for the hopeless days, part 2:
Rabindranath Tagore, Stray Birds (167) | Bertolt Brecht, ‘Motto’ | Anne Lamott, Bird by Bird  | Gregory Orr, Concerning the Book of the Body That Is the Beloved | Leonard Cohen, ‘Chelsea Hotel No. 2′
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soracities · 5 years
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a brief primer for the hopeless days
Adonis, ‘I Imagine a Poet’ (tr. Khaled Mattawa) | Jack Gilbert. ‘Horses at Midnight Without a Moon’ 
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