#this is also true of fjord for the record but fjord is even LESS at the mercy of the narrative and world | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

aurora-daily · 5 years

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A Beautiful Soul

Interview by Katharina Weiß for myp-magazine (August 19th, 2019).

Norwegian music artist Aurora jumped out of a natural fairytale into our urban world to spread her message of connectedness and love—in a unique and utterly beautiful way.

When Norwegian music artist Aurora Aksnes published her debut album, “All My Demons Greeting Me As Friends,” in 2016, the success was kind of overwhelming. From one day to another, her music has caught the eye of outsiders, light beings, nonbinary people and even mainstream audiences. The result: endless tours and TV appearances.

More noteworthy, however, are the encounters with her fans, who entrust everything to Aurora, bring her gifts wherever she is—from mobile phones to dead insects. In no time, she has been gathering “warriors and weirdos” around her and became a projection screen for so much.

With her third album, “A Different Kind Of Human – Step 2,” Aurora wants to empower every listener for the world we’re living in. Compared to her second record, “Infections Of A Different Kind – Step 1,” the sound became louder, more demanding, and more upright. While the melodies seem more carefree and pleasing, Aurora’s lyrics couldn’t be more pointed: She precisely describes us, our soul life and the way we treat ourselves.

Consuming that album is no less than looking in a mirror while being fully embraced. And meeting Aurora personally is an unusual experience: Her voice is as soft as a mountain spring and her sentences are as light as a natural drug trip. Let’s immerse in the thoughts of this beautiful soul!

"Humans are so diverse, but the world has forgotten that we have to embrace more than one kind.”

Katharina: In the past, you stated that your songs are “more a story of the world’s experiences”—rather than your own. What feelings are attached to that quote?

Aurora: It’s a very emotional world. But it’s not really made for humans like us, for quiet people and weird people. Humans are so diverse, but the world has forgotten that we have to embrace more than one kind. My musical world wants to be a safe place for people where everything is allowed, where you can just exist and be accepted.

“I feel that my followers and I are very equal and full of light.”

Katharina: You have a very strong community of passionate listeners who bring up a lot of personal stories in their comments and posts regarding you. How have you created this followership of “weirdos and warriors?”

Aurora: I did not create anything. It just happened. They did it themselves. I don’t know how we became so many. But now we are this big army of love. I think I try to speak to all of them at the same time and I meet many of them in person. And at my shows, I actually feel them emotionally through their energy. I try to signal them that I want every single one of them to be here with me for experiencing this exact moment, as perfect as it is. I think they know that I appreciate them. It’s magical: We have a very loving relationship. They understand when I am tired, and they respect it. I feel that my followers and I are very equal and full of light.

“It is easier to love yourself when you realize how important you are—and that you have a lot to do in this world.”

Katharina: We always read about people telling us to love ourselves, now it‘s you—but how can we deal with it when we’re failing that task?

Aurora: Failing is good. To embrace that is a very good approach for falling in love with the people around you as well: We are all kind of failures in the process of learning to love ourselves the way we really are. And this unites us. If you just imagine being old and lying on your deathbed, having spent your whole life trying to love yourself—that’s a bit sad, isn’t it? A human life is quite long these days and we have a lot of time to learn about. What can we change and what can we not change? But the most important thing is to learn acceptance. If you are not the way you hoped to be, you are the way you are anyway—don’t waste your valuable energy, spend it on beautiful things! It is easier to love yourself when you realize how important you are—and that you have a lot to do in this world.

"I am very excited for humankind to make itself proud again."

Katharina: You draw major inspiration from nature, so it is no wonder that you also speak up against environmental cruelty. Would you consider yourself an environmental activist?

Aurora: Absolutely. It is the responsibility of all of us to fix what the people before us have damaged—because they did not know what we know now. We have claimed that we are the most intelligent species on the planet. So it’s about time that we act that way. I am very excited for humankind to make itself proud again.

"If you have love in you, you need to share it.”

Katharina: You sound very passionate now. What else makes you so passionate?

Aurora: I am a very thirsty person. Among the many things that make me passionate, making music is the biggest one. When I am in this process, it feels like making love with something divine. Another important topic: respect. To treat all living things equal. No matter of gender or species. And of course: love. If you have love in you, you need to share it. And you should be allowed and proud to do so. We wasted so many years on establishing that only same-sex love is ok. But this worldview will lose in the end.

“When I was little, I was very inwards. I noticed people’s pain and when they tried to hide stories and vulnerability.”

Katharina: How can we imagine your upbringing? Was your environment always so politically aware?

Aurora: When I was little, I was very inwards. I noticed people’s pain and when they tried to hide stories and vulnerability. And I was always interested in the most intimate and personal emotions, especially my own. But I started looking outwards just after I finished my first album, “All My Demons Greeting Me as a Friend.” That was when I realized how big the world is. And that there is so much to support. There are issues beyond self-care that we have to fight for. And we have to hold on to our victories. Because some time a man or woman will gain power again and use it to make love and self-empowerment illegal again.

“Growing up in the forest makes you a philosopher."

Katharina: Very true. But back to the first part of the question: How did your childhood look like?

Aurora: I grew up in a very small town. I lived in a fjord. When you translate it, it is called “the fjord of light.” Sounds like a fairytale place, I know. I grew up there with my two sisters and my mum and dad. And we had many cats, they were all grey. We moved there when I was three and for me, it was a true gift. For my older sisters, it must have been a really difficult experience to change all their surroundings, but for me, it was just beautiful. Your eyes can linger and travel over the sea and the mountains when you look out of the window. And behind the house, there was a big forest. I used to play there every day until a big bell next to the house was rang by my parents to tell me that diner was ready. Growing up in the forest makes you a philosopher.

Katharina: Let’s take the time for a philosophical game then. All my next questions are about “last times” in your life. First question: When was the last time you got surprised?

Aurora: I did get surprised when we landed in Oslo recently. It was about packing your suitcase. I opened it and realized: I just packed things that looked good, colorwise. But when I unpacked it, I recognized that I have nothing useful with me. So I had to buy some new panties.

“One night I wrote a song in my dreams.”

Katharina: When was the last time you remembered a dream very well?

Aurora: This morning. I used to have a dream journal and I remember my dreams very well. One night I wrote a song in my dreams. It was the title track from my album “Infections Of A Different Kind – Step 1.” I woke up in the middle of the night and went down to my piano. I pushed the record button on my phone and played the melody. And then I went to bed again.

Katharina: When was the last time you experienced pleasure?

Aurora: This morning. When I masturbated in the hotel room.

Katharina: When was the last time you had to say goodbye to someone—or something?

Aurora: I am often traveling with my sisters. One of them is in town with me right now, but we had to say goodbye to the other one two days ago. It is always sad, even though we are only separated for a little while.

“My supporters are really attracted to me because they resonate with what I say.”

Katharina: When was the last time a listener of your music—I don’t like the word fan—really touched you?

Aurora: I feel this way too, fan sounds so cocky. I have a big issue with it. It is not a fair word to these amazing people. Maybe we can use supporter instead? My supporters are really attracted to me because they resonate with what I say. We are similar people in some ways. Many of them are extremely artistic. Sometimes when I meet a person, they are too excited to talk to me. They can’t say anything. We all know that struggle. But they give me their letters and their words are so poetic and creative. And often I am taken aback when reading it, just thinking: What a beautiful soul!

#aurora #aurora aksnes #interviews #ioadk #ioadk song

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therealvagabird · 6 years

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Omens of the Norse

Fantasy worldbuilding short by C. Christiansen. What horrific truths lie beyond the reaches of civilization? Magic and grim atmosphere await.

Scholar Cerise Raphaela—Supplementary Journal, Issue Minasburg University

Her Year 1251, 6th Age—under Calipha Shani Masuhun al-Iilha XXI

I finally have the opportunity to write once again, and I’m thankful to still be drawing breath! Less fortunate, though: my initial journal was taken from me. I was forward-thinking enough to bring a spare, but I’m not certain if I’ll get my first volume back.

If this ends up being the sole record, then I’ll recount my purpose and mission thus far. If this is the book that will return to the Empire, then it will have to suffice as a total summary in and of itself, even lacking the details. So regrettable.

My name is Cerise, scholar of the Minasburg College of Histories. On orders from the senior professors of the University, and with permissions and grants directly from the High Church in Deamid, I’ve undertaken a quest of study. I’ve been sent to the furthest northern lands reachable, so that I might observe and learn of the barbarian peoples who live there.

Missions like this have been undertaken before on behalf of the New Yahmian Caliphate (Census of Alexander Ildar, Lady Valcon’s Journals, etc.), but by my planning this was to be a study unprecedented in its execution, aimed at collecting the purest and most salient information yet gathered on the Norse tribes. With the support of the Church, I felt it reasonable to push limits in the name of knowledge. As such, my journeying party consists of a hand-selected group of my own peers whom I believe will both uphold the spirit of the study, and see it to its most satisfactory conclusion.

The research group consists of myself as chief scholar and communicator, Adept Lamya Al-Saab as cultural expert and secondary linguist, Adept Kara Demirci as recording artist, and Benton Schuler, a fellow of geographic studies and our secondary scribe. Our journey was uneventful in the brief period before we reached the northern peninsulae of the Empire’s territories, at which point we used our granted funds to hire three mercenary guards—landsknechts by the names of Adam, Viola, and Bruno. We then crossed the northern gap to the fjords of Skaeng, where we found and acquired our final member, a Kelgal (Norseman) trapper and guide by the name of Eadwulf “Red-Beard”.

As such, this leads into my explanation of the uniqueness of this journey. Former quests to study the barbarian civilizations beyond the borders of the Empire have been undertaken in secret and with a defensive disposition. I intended to break this hostility. My party was instructed to carry on them no articles of the Caliphate save for a single faithful token of their choosing (all chose their rosaries, as was expected), and my group contains no members of the clergy. As well, though we’d taken steps to move in as unassuming a manner as possible to avoid the predations of the most savage of the Northerners, I made it a policy to always tell the truth of our mission when asked. We come bearing no swords or icons of crusading faith—we are to be the outstretched hand of understanding and learning. I’m of the taqadam denominational school of thought—a believer in the most loving and embracing aspects of the Goddess. I feel it is through this approach that we’ll receive the most detailed information on Kelgal culture yet recorded.

That is my summary, in as brief a restatement as I can make it. And I maintain: my hopes and ideals were held true for most of our journey to the far North! There were times we came close to conflict, and one where we were attacked outright by bandits, but overall the Norse showed little hostility. Coldness, perhaps, as is their way, but in each village we stopped we were able to make fantastic recordings on Kelgal aesthetics, community practices, and both utilitarian and religious culture. It seems as though the mannerisms of the barbarian peoples vary much from tribe to tribe, despite what culture joins them together. They are a diverse people, in spirit if not in appearance (in that sense there are near all pale, robust, and hirsute).

It was when we reached the Far North, where the forests have grown the thickest and the settlements are few and so very far between, that we encountered our first major obstacle. We were waylaid by a roving band, and quickly overpowered for the sheer numbers and ferocity of these folk. We put up little resistance, and so were taken captive. Our possessions were taken, and we were bound and blinded after I explained our mission. Not even Eadwulf was spared. As I write this, I’m locked within a small room in what I expect is a large log hut. I don’t know what tribe this is, or how far they have taken us, but it seems we have stumbled onto lands we are not so free to roam on.

I don’t know where the others are being held. Nor am I sure where we are. We’d been relying on Eadwulf’s guidance more than our traditional maps, lacking as they were. The thought did occur to me that this might have been a plot by Red-Beard, but he was as surprised as the rest of us, and he didn’t seem the most sinister or duplicitous of barbarians. I’ve overheard fragments of speech from outside my room at several points, and it’s not any dialect of Kelgalish I’ve yet encountered. It seems to hold more Eastern tones, like the Steppe tribes. As such, I would guess we’ve moved eastward as well as northward, to the hybrid tribes of the Steppe-Skaeng hinterlands. What this means for us I can only guess at. The Easterlings—the Torb and such—have even more fearsome reputations than the Kelgal. I shall remain optimistic. Tracking the time as best I could, lacking a view of the sky, I believe I’ve been held captive here for not more than a night. The return of my possessions, or what parts the tribesmen saw fit to return, bodes well for me.

I’ll resume my writings at the next convenient opportunity—I hear talking and movement. Hope remains for the journey and our relations with this savage tribe. Protection and guidance of Liv be with me, and with those who have followed me—even Red-Beard.

—

First of all, I’m relieved to say I’ve been provided with better lodgings. I am, of course, in the same cell they had been keeping me in before, but the door is no longer barred and they have brought in furs to provide some homeliness. By their definition, that is.

It appears our charts were off more than we knew, and Eadwulf had taken us further in less time than anticipated. We are indeed on the borderlands of the Steppe, and according to the warrior I spoke with, in one of the last great woods before the wastelands to the north—north of the North, that is. We are guests, if such a word can be used, of the Dread Crows tribe. As pleasant a name as can be expected, and their village reflects such impressions.

But I’m getting ahead of myself. The recap: fortune was with me, and I was taken aside by two hunters of the tribe, who demanded to know my purpose in these lands. My honesty held true, and I told them the full story of our mission here. They seemed pleased with that, as much as they could be given their stoic behavior, and informed me that my explanation matched those of my companions. I’m proud of them, I must say, for sticking to my plan!

I was then taken into the village main. This is a dismal country, it’s sad to admit. It’s only Jummadas, and yet you’d swear it was the depths of winter. Snow fell in light showers between the stark, black pines, and the sky was slate grey. The cold light and air cast the rest of the village into drab hues, from the blackwood logs of the various longhouses and huts, to the muddy trails left in the snow by the tribesmembers going about their business. I was given plenty of dark glances from men and women of all ages, all swaddled in so many furs you would think they were wild animals. Some curious details were that the entire village, containing some ten stout buildings, was encased in a sheer wall of logs. The tops of these logs were sharpened, and there were but two gates. These, I think, are to protect from other tribes that might maraud them, as resources must be scarce out here. The other odd detail was the construction of the houses—quite unlike other works of Kelgal carpentry I’ve seen. All of them were raised on squat stilts, keeping the houses a good three feet off the earth. Each house, despite its rough build, was also outfitted with a great many charms and carvings, some more elaborate than others, but abundant nonetheless. The result was a very occult appearance to the hamlet. For one of my theses at the end of my basic studies, I once catalogued an abandoned camp of one of the beast-tribes, and the appearance was similar, save for the presence of buildings. These are a wild people, but in their works you can see that they still have spiritualities and loyalties all their own.

I was reunited with my group after my brief escort through the hamlet. The locals had been rather generous in returning our belongings, but in an odd way. All of our writing and sketching materials were returned, save for my prior notebook and some of Kara’s sketches, and our mercenaries were even allowed to keep their greatswords and hammer! They were, however, deprived of their knives. Bruno balked at the oddity of this, before I posited that perhaps carrying around a large and visible weapon was less threatening to these people than having a hidden dagger somewhere on your person. I was quite proud of that assessment.

All of us, save for Eadwulf, were taken before a man known as the “Kir-Sköld”, which after some asking I took to amount to a leader of warriors. He was not a Jarl, however—that I was corrected on. I’d guess him to be akin to a knight, but as with many of these things it’s hard to find a direct link. This man was a hell of a thing to lay eyes on. The Norse are often compared to bears, but this man could have fooled an enemy with such a ruse if he’d wanted to. He was enormous, for one, both in weight and girth; and was swaddled in many layers of brown and black furs, alongside talismans of wood, bone, and even one I think might have been of actual gold. His brown hair matched his attire, and was braided and matted with further charms. He met us on the steps of the greatest longhouse (though it was about the size of three cottages in the most rural Yahmian lands), where by his side was laid an enormous round-shield, and he leaned against a poleaxe as tall as he was. Kara and Benton didn’t say a single word, save for quick affirmations when prompted, throughout the whole meeting. I don’t blame them. Were it not for my duties as a liaison, I might’ve fled!

The Kir-Sköld’s name was given as Buliwyf. Even I struggled to understand his dialect, as it was already thick due to the remoteness of this country, and he seemed an old soul whose voice had been weathered by ice and battle. Lamya was gracious in helping, though under our own furs we were both dealing with the biting cold on top of trying to make good impressions. Buliwyf did not ask us our business—I expect he was already told—but asked if we intended to continue north. I of course said yes, as I imagined there were more tribes beyond these woods, and I was interested in seeing the traditions of the furthest, most alien peoples from the Empire.

That didn’t satisfy him, and he asked—perhaps commanded—that I return South from hereon. He said that while there were tribes north of these lands, they would not hold any secrets the Dread Crows found noteworthy, and would be little more than wild bands. Hunters, trappers, but not true tribesmen.

I tried to explain the difference in opinion, saying that I wasn’t after secrets or glory, but trying to show the wisest in our Empire that the Norse were not as a whole the bloodthirsty savages they were viewed as. I came in search of truth, to maybe find that—while different—there was common ground to be had between our peoples.

The warriors escorting us found that amusing, but Buliwyf remained grim. He asked me of Liv, blessed be her name (I was shocked he knew it!), and my faith in the Goddess of the South. I didn’t hide the fact that I was a devoted of Liv, but I tried to stress that it wouldn’t affect my opinions of their own religion, for the sake of the study. He then asked me what I knew of spirits, gods, nature, and the like. I am, of course, a scholar of cultures and histories first and foremost. My knowledge of the natural philosophies and arcane studies exist only insofar as they further my knowledge of peoples. Final of all, the warrior asked me if there were any priests or mages among us. I said no to both. He said we would have done well to bring a cleric so far North—a response I wasn’t expecting. Lamya attempted to bridge the apparent gap that had formed by giving a traditional Norse blessing. The exact translation is not quite satisfactory—it relates to Kelgal funerary practices, and ancestor-worship: “May your ancestors be as ash in snow, and embers in your belly.” The meaning being a compliment to the valor of one’s family line. It wasn’t much, but Lamya hoped it would foster some goodwill between our groups.

We were dismissed soon after, and now I write this from my room again. We were provided with food; some manner of fish stew. A don’t have high hopes for the continuing fortune of this expedition. There’s something about these Far-Northerners that puts me off, I’m remiss to say. The Norse are grim, yes, but they’re also vibrant. Often to severe extremes, as a veteran of the last Skaengish Crusade some decades ago might tell you. But these Dread Crows… well, they live up to their name. I shall try my best to take in their culture, either way.

—

A quick addendum: I was informed that I alone will have an audience with the wise-woman of the tribe! I was given no further information, but was told that she will have great wisdom to impart on me. I don’t know if this meeting has a precedent in print! I look forward to it, even as I’m a might terrified.

—

I write this over breakfast, or at least what I’ve touched. We were given some manner of hearty stew which I can’t say I much enjoyed. The primary ingredients appearing to be fat, beer, and some unidentified brown sludge. I appreciated the gesture of us eating in the communal house, but I’ve not taken to the food so well. The others are on edge, which I sympathize with, but as the imminent threat of us dying or being enslaved has been allayed for now, we’re all in better spirits.

The warrior, Buliwyf, told me more of my impending meeting. Their wise woman is known as what can be translated as “Crow Matron”. I was advised to listen close to her council, as she’s meant to be a powerful magician, among other skills. This worries me, but is also the most notable meeting I may yet have on this journey. I’ve met perhaps two mages in my entire life, and both were trained under the edicts of the holy Academies. This Crow Matron would be a hedge-witch, a shaman. The energies she might tap into would be far beyond the sanctity of what is known to Southern practitioners. Of course, it’s an equal possibility the woman is just well-versed in medicine and histories. Many practices, such as mundane illusion and natural philosophies, are shared by true practitioners of magic as well as apothecaries and charlatans. Either way, it’ll be an excellent opportunity to gain insight into the morals of these Far-Northern tribes. Whatever wisdom an elder holds will be considered of the highest import, and she might give me history and lore more valuable than any I’ve gathered before!

I asked one of our escorts if they’d anything amounting to tea in this land. I didn’t rest well last night. The anxiety has gotten to me, and I had horrible, dark dreams. This climate I think may be poisonous (in a sense) to Southerners. The lack of color, smell, or warmth can have adverse effects on one’s mental state as much as physical. You can see it in the people who live here year-round! Last night, Lamya and I managed to slip away from our escorts for a few moments to witness an older man of the tribe tell stories to children around one of the fire-pits in the main longhouse. His dialect was heavy, but the tale we could discern was some kind of ghost-story. The children seemed unmoved, however, and even laughed at some parts. A healthy relationship with death is to be expected in lands where it could and often does come without warning. Far removed from Imperial sensibilities, but fascinating nonetheless!

I’ll write again in the evening, after I’ve met with the Crow Matron. The others don’t envy me, but I can’t wait! More to follow.

—

I have counselled with the Crow-Matron Sonja. I can confirm with my own eyes that she is a magician far beyond the average Academy mage, and perhaps the better to certain grand scholars on matters of natural magic and soothsaying. Her gaze is long, and her soul powerful. She has advised that we do not continue North, if we wish to bring what we’ve learned back to the peoples of the Empire. She brought my eyes with hers, to the edges of the distant northern ice-seas, and brought to life the oldest fairy tales of Yahmian lore.

We have been raised in an era of peace. For over a century now, we have beaten back the predation of the Norse and Austerlings. The tyrants of the East lay dormant and quelled by the power of the Calipha and her predecessor, but there are true evils that rest uninjured. My mission is now more than just simple research—it is my duty as a citizen to inform the scholarhoods of New Yahmi of what dangers await.

If we continue to raise minor crusades and missions against the barbarian peoples, we will be taken without warning by new horrors from the East. And I know, I know it would not be the first time the brave souls of the Empire have given their lives to stem the hordes of the Drained Lords, but we will not have any advantage this time. A shadow moves down from the North. Slow and menacing, and it will meld with the darkness cast by the East. If we hope to survive, we must ally with the barbarians we have detested for so long. Forget their blasphemies. There are gods more real than the pagan pantheons, and they will be the end of us if we don’t prepare!

We’ve been given tokens of protection by the gracious Sonja, and we are making haste to return south as soon as the sun dawns tomorrow. May the Goddess bless our virtue, and bring our warnings to the ear of the Calipha herself. I don’t know how much time I’ll have in the coming weeks to write, so this may be my last entry. I doubt any new information could surface more important than what I’ve learned already.

Salvation and fortune, to every citizen.

Record expunged on orders of the Caliphate. Declared Ain’Heretical

—

The moment Cerise entered the hut, she was awash in the smell of smoke. Regular smoke, from the fire that no doubt burned in some fireplace she couldn’t see—as just a few steps forward an impenetrable wall of bead-chains and hanging fetishes masked the rest of the room from view. There was also the incense, fragrant and astringent, like mint and pine, cutting through the wood-smoke’s earthy tones. The roof of the shack was obscured by swirling traces of the ubiquitous vapors, staining the rafters black as it leaked bit by bit through the covered hole in the center of the roof.

“Show your highest respects.” Buliwyf muttered to her, just before he closed the door to the bitter cold, “For your own sake. Liv does not dwell here.” He spoke the fatalistic words before leaving Cerise alone, with naught but the crackle of fire and faint rustling.

She took a step forward, daring to touch the hanging curtain that cut off the rest of the cabin, pulling some of the strands ever-so aside. The orange glow of firelight trickled through into the darkness.

“Come. Sit.” The words startled the Yahmian, but at the Matron’s bidding she pushed her way through, coming face to face—though not quite—with this mysterious mystic.

At first, Cerise didn’t recognize that the pile of black furs heaped across from her contained a human being. It was when one pale and elegant arm extended from the mass to beckon towards the small heap of pelts the guest was meant to sit on, did Cerise realize this was the Matron.

“Sit.” She spoke with a whispering tone, breathy and low. Hers was the same thick accent as Buliwyf’s, wavering and odd.

“Thank you.” The scholar stuttered, sitting down cross-legged, spine rigid and eyes peering into the furry cowl of the shaman, trying to catch sight of her face.

The room was drowning in charms and talismans, of bone, wood, stone, and more precious things. They hung like spiders in glittering, still strands from where they were tied to the rafters. The walls were covered in the furs of beasts, and tapestries crude-woven, depicting what must have been great sagas of the tribe. To Cerise’s left, there was a stone fireplace, low and simple, with a cauldron about the size of a large pumpkin stewing some unknown liquid. In the center of the room, between her and the Matron, was a wide dish of bronze, in which cones of incense smoldered amidst white ashes. With nothing but the fire beneath the cauldron to light the room, the shadows were stark and flickering, and the whole arrangement looked as sinister and bewitched as any Southerner could imagine of the heathen North.

“You are a scholar.” The mound of black fur spoke; single, pale hand pointing to Cerise. From the pelts of the shaman’s regalia hung yet more charms of bone, and her arm was laden with bracelets and rings, with the black swirls of tattoos obscured underneath. “You are here to capture our words?” she asked.

“Great Crow Matron…” Cerise bowed her head, “Mother of the Dread Crows, I come so that the people of my country might learn about the true nature of the Norse.” She tried her best at formality, with so little to go on as to their tribe’s etiquette.

Another arm, also bejeweled, emerged from the mound, to cross fingers with the first. The fur-pile seemed to nod, “Your respects are welcome. Though they stand on bones of ignorance.”

Cerise was tight-lipped, waiting for the wise-woman to continue. She wasn’t above admitting she was indeed “ignorant”, but then, that was the point of this expedition.

“My champion thinks you a spy, and my people dislike you on principle.” She continued, “But they too forget their true enemies. Just as the Southlings have forgotten.” The shadows of the fur hood turned, considering the flickering fire. Still, Cerise could see nothing. “What do you know of our ways?”

That seemed to be an invitation to speak. The scholar cleared her throat, “Well—I was fascinated to find how disparate the beliefs of the Norse people were. Many archetypes were present among the high gods, but local spirits, ancestor-heroes, and the like—those seemed to depend on tribe. There seemed to be—a general distrust of magic, but no different from how our Empire holds ire against mages who train outside the Academies.” She wracked her brain, “Individualistic, hardy—is there something specific you mean?”

The Matron’s hidden gaze turned back to her, “What do you know of death?”

Now that shook Cerise. She didn’t quite know how to answer—that could mean many things. “Uh, well. You seem to hold it as high as any people.”

“But not all deaths are the same.” She corrected, “And there are many in the North. Some worse than others.”

Cerise just nodded, “I imagine so.”

The figure beneath the mound straightened up, pale arms reaching with a clinking sound to the hood. Cerise’s breath caught in her throat as the veil was pulled back.

What first struck her—her age. She was so young. Perhaps not ten years older than Cerise herself. Her hair was dark and wild, her face ghost-pale, and thin lines of inked black ran along her chin, brow, cheeks. Her lips were pure black, and her eyes looked sapped of rest, with dots of icy blue peering out from the bruised grey.

“You are like many of your kind, though your mind strives to understand the greater truths.” The woman continued in her rasping voice, “But your faith—your faith is but a cage. It protects you, but it provides no path to understand the spirit of the world. Your learning—it comes without wisdom. Your leaders, they tell you what to write, and you read what they’ve written, without seeing for yourself.” She brought her fingers up to her chin, and looked up to the ceiling, eyes rolling back a bit more than was natural. Her voice was hoarse, “When my mother took her shield, she left to the far wilds and did not return. I stayed with my mor, the old Crow Matron, and she spoke the ancient words, and I learned them not by mind, but by soul. They became a part of me.” She looked down again, reaching over to one of many small satchels strewn about. From its depths she pulled some dry flakes, sprinkling them over the red-orange glow of the low-burning incense cone already in the bronze dish. At once a great plume of grey smoke sprung up, more than could be expected of such a small amount of fuel. It smelled of rich dirt, and sweetwood.

Cerise’s heart stopped as she tried to look past the fumes. The woman’s face was changed. The black on her face had grown starker, and she was like a specter of death. Shimmering forms appeared about her, as her hair flowed like water, and her eyes almost glowed. Though they disappeared when looked at, in the peripheries of her sight, Cerise could see the forms of great antlers about the Matron’s head.

“My mor, my Matron, she said to me ‘Sonja, the dark is sacred, do not fear it’, for I cried long in the night when my mother was not with me.” She continued, “‘There is Nothing to fear.’”

There was a long pause, as Sonja looked deep into the scholar’s eyes with hypnotic gaze, as if begging a response.

“What? Yes, there’s—nothing to fear. That’s comforting.” She nodded.

“So she told me the ancient words, so that I would not fear. She said to me then, ‘Nothing stares at us, so you must stare into Nothing’. And when my mother returned, I knew, and was prepared.” Her eyes were unwavering, like diamonds shining from grey ash.

“I- I don’t understand…” Cerise stammered. She couldn’t follow whatever story the Matron was telling. How she had become Matron, that much she understood, but her language was confusing. Was it an issue of translation?

“When were you born?” Sonja asked then. A simpler question.

“1230—”

“No, no, it does not matter.” She was cut off before she gave the full date, “I forget, I forget, my memories are not my own. You would have never seen the last Shadow. What do your people call it?”

“Call w-what?” she felt ashamed for her confusion, though the shaman seemed disoriented. There must have been weird vapors in the incense, if both their minds were slipping.

“The Shadows! When the whole world sickens! The sky becomes like winter, no matter the season. Crops, creatures—they fall ill, wither. The people follow. Death reigns.” She leaned forward, “And then—” she paused again.

“And then what?”

“What do you call it? The Shadow?”

Cerise pondered, “Are you referring to the Blights? The last epidemic was centuries ago. It’s the subject of legends to this day.” She was surprised the Norse had even been affected. Though the Blights had been recorded as very contagious, there would have been little chance for the illness to spread in the rural North.

The visions were throwing the Southerner off. Still she saw those wavering antlers, and the shaman’s eyes were like two distant sapphires in pits of black. “What legends?” Sonja asked. Cerise was too mesmerized and terrified to respond. She felt as though she was losing her mind. She hoped and prayed that whatever magics were at work would not stain her soul.

She shook her head, rubbing at her eyes, hoping to dispel the haze; but when she looked back, Sonja was clutching a small item in her hands she’d not had a moment before. It looked to be made of bone, or antler, and was covered with inscriptions. Both ends of its cylindrical form were sealed with caps of bronze.

“I was so young when my mother left, but I knew she too had stood against Nothing.” The witch muttered, “With steel and will, not like mor and myself. I know this because evil is a bitter thing, and does not forgive. Even after her bones were laid to rest in ashes, whatever evil she had slain would not forgive the hand that had laid it low.” Pale eyes looked down to the trinket, about the size of a fist.

“Wh-what?” Cerise leaned in, looking at the horn. The story the shaman was trying to tell was far beyond her, but she was nonetheless enthralled.

At that, Sonja the Crow Matron worked her magician’s art. She twirled the trinket in her hands, masking it with one palm, then the other, muttering to herself as more smoke plumed from the incense-bowl at her apparent bidding. With one more spidery movement of her hand, one of the bronze caps on the cylinder was at once there, and then gone, showing the hollow darkness of the horn. Where the seal had gone, Cerise didn’t know.

The imperial was about to ask a question, when a scurrying scuttle issued forth, and Sonja’s hand flashed with lightning speed to grab at something coming from the tube. A spider? A demon? The thing had tried to slip out of the container before the mystic had grabbed it in one bejeweled hand.

“You will not travel North any longer, for Nothing lies in the North.” The Matron’s whispering voice rose into a stern command. Cerise’s mouth dried up, and sweat pooled down her back, as she saw the thing writhing in the woman’s grip. A hand—a skeletal hand, with a veneer of mummified flesh hardened tight to its bones like paper. It clawed and thrashed as the mage held it by the wrist, trying in vain to free itself for some unknown end. Mindless, it seemed, as it flailed like an insect, trying to scratch at Sonja’s hand, unable to reach. “I cannot twist the paths of fate. I cannot call the spirits of the forest kinds. Nor can I bring fire from the sky. But the dead fall at my command, and my people are safe. My vision, my Raven’s Eye sees to the Far North, and it has met the gaze of the Elder One.”

“What in all that is holy—?” Cerise panted, as her eyes were fixed to the undead hand.

Sonja got up to a kneel, holding out the horrid thing towards Cerise’s face. Though she dared not look away from the aggressive little demon, the scholar noted that the witch was nude under her furs, and still covered in charms and tattoos.

“This creature is not the only thing to stir past the grip of death! This is what we must face in these lands! You forget! My own kin forget! The Elder One knows this!” more smoke plumed up from the dish, clouding Cerise’s sight in a panic. In an instant, and yet for an eternity, her mind left her. She felt weightless, and all she could see in the swirling monochrome were Sonja’s shining eyes. Trees, snow, lakes, rivers, wastes—all flitted past with arrow speed, until she was stood on a far fjord. The ground barren, and to the horizon stretched cracked sheets of blue ice, drifting in the black sea to the farthest pole. Storms howled high in the heavens above, but her sight was unfettered to the end of the world. There she saw strange mountains, and felt a cold terror grip her soul. For a moment she felt as though she might die, as the sky and the land parted on the horizon-line like an eye, and its empty gaze seemed fixed on her.

But then she was back in the hut, with Sonja kneeling forward in front of her, icy eyes shining, though the memento of horror still writhed in her hand. The magician sat back down, stuffing the monstrosity back into its tube as she whispered, and clapped her hand on the open end. Though she had held nothing before, the bronze cap now sealed the cage once again. Incense smoke subsided, and the witch’s face faded back into normality.

“You say you wish for knowledge?” she asked, head tilted.

Cerise could not even nod, terror not having unhanded her heart.

“Then tell your people the truth. Though it will be my kin that first face the darkness, I know of the ancient foes that lie to the East of Liv’s Empire. Dark magics feed each other before they feed upon each other, and you will be surrounded.”

“Why—what—” the scholar took a deep breath, “What will happen to you? How can—is any of this true?”

“My illusions do not show what isn’t true, though they show what isn’t there. Return South, tell your people. Death will come like the old legends, but if others learn like you have learned—” she reached across, pressing her pale hand to Cerise’s fur collar, “Then fewer souls might be lost, and new legends will be made.”

At that, the Matron retreated within her mound of furs, stooping and drawing her arms back.

There was a long silence, as Cerise wondered whether or not she could leave. Sonja said nothing, and may have fallen asleep for all she knew.

“Thank you.” The scholar whispered at last, getting up to leave.

“No.” she heard the witch rasp, “I bore ill fortune, but now you carry knowledge. Thank you.”

Cerise left the small hut. Such a little hovel, in such an unassuming village, where she had gained more knowledge than she ever had at her college. Perhaps more than she had ever wanted to. But just as it had been her duty to seek it out, now she still had to bring it back.

#fantasy #short story #horror #norse #viking #worldbuilding

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Strawberries Quotes

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• A field trip. You interested in doing something dangerous, and possibly illegal?” Does it involve underage girls, broken curfews and soorte4d fruit toppings?” I dropped the empty can into the recycling bin and leaned against the kitchen peninsula, grinning like an idiot. “Two of the three. And I could probably scrounge up some strawberry jam, if you’re desperate.” “I’m never desperate,” Tod said, only his voice hadn’t come from my phone. I whirled around to see the reaper standing behind me, still holding his cell. “But for the record, I prefer apricot.” “Yuck. Nobody likes apricot jam. – Rachel Vincent • A girl told me my lips looked like somebody had pressed strawberry yogurt against my face. – Katherine Heigl • A man traveling across a field encountered a tiger. He fled, the tiger after him. Coming to a precipice, he caught hold of the root of a wild vine and swung himself down over the edge. The tiger sniffed at him from above. Trembling, the man looked down to where, far below, another tiger was waiting to eat him. Only the vine sustained him. Two mice, one white and one black, little by little started to gnaw away the vine. The man saw a luscious strawberry near him. Grasping the vine with one hand, he plucked the strawberry with the other. How sweet it tasted! – Gautama Buddha • A man was found dead covered in sprinkles, strawberry sauce and a flake. Reports said he may have topped himself. – Frank Carson • A red rose peeping through a white? Or else a cherry (double graced) Within a lily? Centre placed? Or ever marked the pretty beam, A strawberry shows, half drowned in cream? Or seen rich rubies blushing through A pure smooth pearl, and orient too? So like to this, nay all the rest, Is each neat niplet of her breast. – Ovid • a salesman is an it that stinks to please but whether to please itself or someone else makes no more difference than if it sells hate condoms education snakeoil vac uumcleaners terror strawberries democ ra(caveat emptor)cy superfluous hair – e. e. cummings • A typical Irish dinner would be: cream flavored with lobster, cream with bits of veal in it, green peas and cream, cream cheese, cream flavored with strawberries. – Nancy Mitford • A white truffle, which elsewhere might sell for hundreds of dollars, seemed easier to come by than something fresh and green. What could be got from the woods was free and amounted to a diurnal dining diary that everyone kept in their heads. May was wild asparagus, arugula, and artichokes. June was wild lettuce and stinging nettles. July was cherries and wild strawberries. August was forest berries. September was porcini. – Bill Buford • About one thing the Englishman has a particularly strict code. If a bird says Cluk bik bik bik bik and caw you may kill it, eat it or ask Fortnums to pickle it in Napoleon brandy with wild strawberries. If it says tweet it is a dear and precious friend and you’d better lay off it if you want to remain a member of Boodles. – Clement Freud • All schools, all colleges, have two great functions: to confer, and to conceal, valuable knowledge. The theological knowledge which they conceal cannot justly be regarded as less valuable than that which they reveal. That is, when a man is buying a basket of strawberries it can profit him to know that the bottom half of it is rotten. – Mark Twain • All this talkin’ about eatin’ is makin’ me awful hungry. I’ll have two chili burgers with an order of fries, onion rings and a chocolate milk shake. And a Strawberry Ice Cream Sundae-with pickles. – George Lindsey • And a refrigerator may hold a basket of strawberries, which would be important if a maniac said to you, “If you don’t give me a basket of strawberries right now, I’m going to poke you with this large stick.” But when the two elder Baudelaires and Quigley Quagmire opened the refrigerator, they found nothing that would help someone who was wounded, dying of thirst, or being threatened by a strawberry-crazed, stick-carrying maniac. – Daniel Handler • And now — now it only remains for me to light a cigarette and go home. Dear God, only now am I remembering that people die. Does that include me? Don’t forget, in the meantime, that this is the season for strawberries. Yes. – Clarice Lispector • And when my body shall cease, my soul will still be yours, Claire? I swear by my hope of heaven, I will not be parted from you.” The wind stirred the leaves of the chestnut trees nearby, and the scents of late summer rose up rich around us; pine and grass and strawberries, sun-warmed stone and cool water, and the sharp, musky smell of his body next to mine. “Nothing is lost, Sassenach; only changed.” “That’s the first law of thermodynamics,” I said, wiping my nose. “No,” he said. “That’s faith. – Diana Gabaldon • Any chance of getting something sweet to go with my coffee?” [Finn] asked in a hopeful voice. I arched an eyebrow at him. “You mean all those pieces of strawberry pie that you ate for lunch weren’t enough?” “I’m a growing boy,” Finn said in a sincere tone. “I need my vitamins.” Bria snorted. “The only thing that’s growing on you, Lane, is your ego.” Finn sidled up to my sister and gave her a dazzling smile. “Well, other things of mine also tend to swell up in your presence, detective. – Jennifer Estep • Anyone who imagines that all fruits ripen at the same time as the strawberries knows nothing about grapes. – Paracelsus • Are you going to give a speech?’ she asked gaily. He gave a choked laugh. ‘Of course not,’ he said. ‘Not for ages.’ ‘My cousin Davey gave one on his very first day!’ … ‘In the Lords, I remember. It was about how he didn’t like strawberry jam.’ ‘Be nice, Charles! It was a speech about fruit importation, which I admit devolved into something of a tirade.’ She couldn’t help but laugh. ‘Still, you could talk about something more important.’ ‘Than jam? Impossible. We mustn’t set the bar too high, Jane. – Charles Finch • As our lives speed up more and more, so do our children’s. We forget and thus they forget that there is nothing more important than the present moment. We forget and thus they forget to relax, to find spiritual solitude, to let go of the past, to quiet ambition, to fully enjoy the eating of a strawberry, the scent of a rose, the touch of a hand on a cheek… – Michael Gurian • Ask of Her, the mighty Mother. Her reply puts this other Question: What is Spring?- Growth in every thing –

Flesh and fleece, fur and feather, Grass and green world all together, Star-eyed strawberry breasted Throstle above Her nested

Cluster of bugle blue eggs thin Forms and warms the life within, And bird and blossom swell In sod or sheath or shell. – Gerard Manley Hopkins • Asking me what I think of Oscar (Hammerstein) is like asking me what I think of the Yankees, Man o’ War and Strawberry Sundaes. – Billy Rose • Assumptions are dangerous things to make, and like all dangerous things to make – bombs, for instance, or strawberry shortcake – if you make even the tiniest mistake you can find yourself in terrible trouble. – Daniel Handler

jQuery(document).ready(function($) var data = action: 'polyxgo_products_search', type: 'Product', keywords: 'Strawberr', orderby: 'rand', order: 'DESC', template: '1', limit: '68', columns: '4', viewall:'Shop All', ; jQuery.post(spyr_params.ajaxurl,data, function(response) var obj = jQuery.parseJSON(response); jQuery('#thelovesof_strawberr').html(obj); jQuery('#thelovesof_strawberr img.swiper-lazy:not(.swiper-lazy-loaded)' ).each(function () var img = jQuery(this); img.attr("src",img.data('src')); img.addClass( 'swiper-lazy-loaded' ); img.removeAttr('data-src'); ); ); ); • Blueberries, strawberries and blackberries are true super foods. Naturally sweet and juicy, berries are low in sugar and high in nutrients – they are among the best foods you can eat. – Joel Fuhrman • Bonnie who had never hurt a – a harmless thing for malice. Bonnie who was like a kitten making airy pounces at no prey at all. Bonnie with her hair that was called something strawberry but that looked simply as if it was on fire. Bonnie of the translucent skin with the delicate violet fjords and estuaries of veins all over her throat and inner arms. Bonnie who had lately taken to looking at him sideways with her large childlike eyes big and brown under lashes like stars… – L. J. Smith • But don’t forget, in the meantime, that this is the season for strawberries. Yes. – Clarice Lispector • But I’d like the pie heated and I don’t want the ice cream on top I want it on the side and I’d like strawberry instead of vanilla if you have it if not then no ice cream just whipped cream but only if it’s real if it’s out of a can then nothing.- Meg Ryan

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• Cold Mountain Buddhas Han Shan Wait without thought, for you are not ready for thought: So the darkness shall be the light, and the stillness be dancing. Whisper of running streams, and winter lightning. The wild thyme unseen and the wild strawberry, The laughter in the garden, echoed ecstasy Not lost, but requiring, pointing to the agony Of death and birth. – T. S. Eliot • Darryl Strawberry has been voted to the Hall of Fame five years in a row. – Ralph Kiner • Dating a new man is like holding a strawberry milkshake; first the taste, then the pleasure. – Marilyn Monroe • Doubtless God Could Have Made A Better Berry, But Doubtless God Never Did – Izaak Walton • Dried oregano has thirty times the brain-healing antioxidant power of raw blueberries, forty-six times more than apples, and fifty-six times as much as strawberries, making it one of the most powerful brain cell protectors on the planet. – Daniel Amen • Each moment is just what it is. It might be the only moment of our life; it might be the only strawberry we’ll ever eat. We could get depressed about it, or we could finally appreciate it and delight in the preciousness of every single moment of our life. – Pema Chodron • Eat more berries. Blueberries, strawberries, raspberries and other varieties have anthocyanins that can help reverse some loss of balance and memory associated with aging. – David H. Murdock • Eating alone is a disappointment. But not eating matter more, is hollow and green, has thorns like a chain of fish hooks, trailing from the heart, clawing at your insides. Hunger feels like pincers, like the bite of crabs; it burns, burns, and has no fur. Let us sit down soon to eat with all those who haven’t eaten; let us spread great tablecloths, put salt in lakes of the world, set up planetary bakeries, tables with strawberries in snow, and a plate like the moon itself from which we can all eat. For now I ask no more than the justice of eating. – Pablo Neruda • Every child should have mud pies, grasshoppers, water bugs, tadpoles, frogs, mud turtles, elderberries, wild strawberries, acorns, chestnuts, trees to climb. Brooks to wade, water lilies, woodchucks, bats, bees, butterflies, various animals to pet, hayfields, pine-cones, rocks to roll, sand, snakes, huckleberries and hornets; and any child who has been deprived of these has been deprived of the best part of education. – Luther Burbank • Everyone thinks you’ve been kidnapped,” he said. “We’ve been scouring the ship. When Coach Hedge finds out- oh, gods, you’ve been here all night?” “Frank!” Annabeth’s ears were as red as strawberries. “We just came down here to talk. We fell asleep. Accidentally. That’s it.” “Kissed a couple of times,” Percy said. Annabeth glared at him. “Not helping! – Rick Riordan • For those dependent on their gardens for fresh food, it was often a case of feast or famine… (One settler wrote), “Strawberries were now so plentiful that… I made 287 lbs of jam…” – Bee Dawson • Gooseberries should be mainstream berries! Why are chemically fattened strawberries a thing? Why not the delicious gooseberry? – Andrew Dost • Grapes are juicy. Strawberries. Oranges. Good pork chops are succulent,” said Dusty. “But the word isn’t accurately descriptive of a person.” Smiling with delight, Ahriman said, “Oh, really, not accurately descriptive? Be careful housepainter. Your genes are showing. What if I were a cannibal? – Dean Koontz • Happiness, I have grasped, is a destination, like strawberry Fields. Once you find the way in, there you are, and you’ll never feel low again. – Rachel Simon • He (Darryl Strawberry) is not a dog; a dog is loyal and runs after balls. – Tommy Lasorda • He had kissed her good night that night, and she had tasted like strawberry daiquiris, and he had never wanted to kiss anyone else again. – Neil Gaiman • Her hair was strawberry blond, and she had the shape of a popsicle stick: turn her sideways and she practically disappeared. – Becca Fitzpatrick • Hey baby. You’re sexy like a chocolate strawberry. – Ronnie Shields • I actually think the same things do make most people happy. The differences are extremely small, and around the margins. You like peach ice cream; I like strawberry ice cream. Both of us like ice cream much better than a smack on the head with two-by-four. – Daniel Gilbert • I also eat fruit instead of drinking juices. That’s something I’ve read up on. I think that if you drink a lot of fruit juice you take in way too much sugar. You’d be better off eating a bunch of strawberries or apples. – Kris Humphries • I don’t like it when people ask me what my favourite Beatles song is. I always get that. First of all, I don’t like having to pick a favourite thing anyway. You can’t pick a favourite Beatles song! What about “Strawberry Fields”? What about “Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds”? What about “Tomorrow Never Knows”? Come on. That question is small minded to think you could even have a favourite Beatles song. – Kemp Muhl • I eat a huge breakfast every morning – it’s what I look forward to. I’ll do steel-cut oatmeal with blueberries and strawberries, an egg white scramble with mushrooms, zucchini, and onion, and a piece of cinnamon Ezekiel bread with almond butter. I could do that every single day. – Heather Mitts • I finally found something that can stop the fox. The fox cannot summit Strawberry Hill.” – Takumi – John Green • I found a strawberry blossom in a rock. I uprooted it rashly and felt as if I had been committing an outrage, so I planted it again. – Dorothy Wordsworth • I found a strawberry blossom in a rock. The little slender flower had more courage than the green leaves, for they were but half expanded and half grown, but the blossom was spread full out. I uprooted it rashly, and I felt as if I had been committing an outrage, so I planted it again. It will have but a stormy life of it, but let it live if it can. – Dorothy Wordsworth • I grow vegetables – I’m a vegetarian; I’ve got strawberries, artichokes, leeks, broad beans. – Anita Pallenberg • I guess I’ve been waiting so long I’m looking for perfection. That makes it tough. Waiting for perfect love? No, even I know better than that. I’m looking for selfishness. Like, say I tell you I want to eat strawberry shortcake. And you stop everything you’re doing and run out and buy it for me. And you come back out of breath and get down on your knees and hold this strawberry shortcake out to me. And I say I don’t want it anymore and throw it out the window. That’s what I’m looking for.” – Haruki Murakami • I have been 130 lbs. as well as 215 lbs. I have had blond, strawberry blond, green, pink and purple hair, and none of that has ever exempted me from having lewd comments flung at me in the street. – Beth Ditto • I have only to break into the tightness of a strawberry, and I see summer – its dust and lowering skies. – Toni Morrison • I like a much more Japanese style of blood, where it’s red and it almost has a paint kind of quality to it. You can put it on metal, and it has this vividness. Because, normally, what they use in Hollywood is this stuff that looks like strawberry pancake syrup or raspberry pancake syrup. – Quentin Tarantino • I like to make pies. Thats kind of my new obsession – peach, blueberry, apple, strawberry. I make a really good pumpkin pie with real pumpkin. – Morgan Saylor • I love berries. Strawberries, blueberries, raspberries, black berries, anything with an ‘errie’ in it! – Jordin Sparks • I love surprises – champagne and strawberries, all that pampering, romantic stuff. Guys ought to know how to pamper their women properly. – Danica McKellar • I may never be happy, but tonight I am content. Nothing more than an empty house, the warm hazy weariness from a day spent setting strawberry runners in the sun, a glass of cool sweet milk, and a shallow dish of blueberries bathed in cream. When one is so tired at the end of a day one must sleep, and at the next dawn there are more strawberry runners to set, and so one goes on living, near the earth. At times like this I’d call myself a fool to ask for more. – Sylvia Plath • I recycle. I have a house in the south of France and I have a small garden. My name is Dujardin – ‘from the garden.’ I grow carrots, peppers, strawberries, green beans, and things for salads, but there are lots of wild boars all around and they steal the food. – Jean Dujardin • I think drugs are like strawberries and peaches. – Edie Sedgwick • I think drugs are like strawberries and peaches..There’s no way to tell anyone who hasn’t been through it, there’s no way to explain it to anyone who hasn’t tasted it . To keep that superlative high, just on the cusp of each day, so that I radiate sunshine – Edie Sedgwick • I think he became a man who brought peace and wisdom to hi world, because he knew about war and folly. I think that he loved greatly, because he had seen what lost love is. And I think he came to know, too, that he was loved greatly.” She looked at the strawberry in her hands. “But I thought you didn’t want me to tell you your future. – Gary D. Schmidt • I think once I made up my mind that I was allergic to alcohol, and that’s what I learned, it made sense to me. And I think it was kind of pointed out that you know if you were allergic to strawberries, you wouldn’t eat strawberries. And that made sense to me. – Betty Ford • I want you to make u and go halfzies on this cake. K? But. . . I want a piece too, so i guess we’ll have to go thirdzies. . . Awwww, we’re not going to be able to split the strawberry on top though. What should we do? Maybe I should just take it after all strawberries are my favorite. . . oh! I forgot to ask Hiku-chan, Kau-chan do you like strawberries? -Hunny – Bisco Hatori • I would be lying if I said I cut out all dessert. When Im training, I try to satisfy those cravings with a slightly healthier dessert, like a piece of dark chocolate or whipped cream and strawberries. Those are two of my favorites! – Josie Loren • If ‘heartache’ sounds exaggerated then surely you have never gone to your garden one rare morning in June to find that the frost, without any perceptible motive, any hope of personal gain, has quietly killed your strawberry blossoms, tomatoes, lima and green beans, corn, squash, cucumbers. A brilliant sun is now smiling at this disaster with an insenstive cheerfulness as out of place as a funny story would be if someone you loved had just died. – Ruth Stout • If I can’t serve on grass, I can maybe help cut the grass, paint the lines and serve some strawberries. – Goran Ivanisevic • If I want to make – I don’t know – strawberry jam, I’m going to have to add something to strawberries to make it gelatinous and thick, right? I’m going to have to add pectin or something like that.But if I want to make cranberry sauce, all I have to do is pop some cranberries in a little saucepan and when it cools off, it’ll be thick and gelatinous. So what’s up with cranberries? – Ari Shapiro • If you get vegetables in season, the difference is remarkable compared to vegetables that might have been imported. You can’t beat fresh ingredients and seasonal fresh ingredients. There’s nothing quite like the taste of a beautiful summer strawberry. – William Katt • If you keep my secret, this strawberry is yours. – Tsugumi Ohba • I’ll be clickin’ by your house about two forty-five, Sidewalk Sundae Strawberry Surprise. – Tom Waits • I’ll give you this strawberry if you keep it a secret. –L (Death Note) – Tsugumi Ohba • In Bakersfield, California, a Mexican strawberry picker with an income of $14,000 and no English was lent every penny he needed to buy a house for $724,000. – Michael Lewis • in her dreams, blood tasted like fizzy strawberry soda. If you drank it too fast, you got brain freeze. When she was older, after she’d licked a cut on her finger, the taste of that became the taste in her dreams: copper and tears. – Holly Black • Instead of past, present and future, I’d prefer chocolate, vanilla, and strawberry. – Ashleigh Brilliant • It’s just another of Robin’s sayings. Like, ‘Holy strawberries, Batman, we’re in a jam! Or, Holy Kleenex, Batman, it was right under our nose and we blew it! – Karen Marie Moning • It’s unarguable to say that every one of us has been moved by the beauty of what I have called snapshots, but for photographers they are charms and proverbs, and like lightening or wild strawberries. – Tod Papageorge • I’ve got it all in here ultra violets, flying saucers, strawberry bootlace come on get involved. – Noel Fielding • John [Lennon] as a singer – the way he sings on “Twist and Shout” and the way he sings on “Strawberry Fields Forever” – is a very odd voice, in the sense that it seems to be celebrating but almost mourning at the same time. There’s a quality of mourning to his voice, which is very enigmatic. – Alasdair MacLean • Kid 1: *examining my gorgeous strawberry and blueberry pies*: Wow, Mom, your pies don’t look awful this time. Me (Ilona): … ~A little later~ Kid 2: *wandering into the kitchen* Kid 1: Hey, you’ve got to see these pies. *opening the stove* Kid 2: Wow. They are not ugly this time. Kid 1: I know, right? – Ilona Andrews • Late February, and the air’s so balmy snowdrops and crocuses might be fooled into early blooming. Then, the inevitable blizzard will come, blighting our harbingers of spring, and the numbed yards will go back undercover. In Florida, it’s strawberry season- shortcake, waffles, berries and cream will be penciled on the coffeeshop menus. – Gail Mazur • Maybe we too busy being flowers or fairies or strawberries instead of something honest and worthy of respect . . . you know . . . like being people. – Toni Cade Bambara • Morning. Strawberry sky dusted with white winter powder sugar sun. And nobody to munch on it with – Francesca Lia Block • My family lived off the land and summer evening meals featured baked stuffed tomatoes, potato salad, corn on the cob, fresh shelled peas and homemade ice cream with strawberries from our garden. With no air conditioning in those days, the cool porch was the center of our universe after the scorching days. – David Mixner • My grandma used to make syrup for us because we couldn’t afford it and I just played around with her recipe. I made strawberry syrup and that didn’t really work out but I made strawberry-vanilla and that sold. Then I just went out and took marketing classes, went to seminars, learned about marketing a product and striking deals. It ended up taking orders of $1.5 million. – Farrah Gray • My guiltiest pleasure is… chocolates with strawberry cream and trashy television – ‘Geordie Shore,’ ‘Katie,’ etc. – Ellie Goulding • My mom wouldn’t let me sing ‘Strawberry Wine’ because it had ‘wine’ in it. – Avril Lavigne • My perfect last meal would be: shrimp cocktail, lasagna, steak, creamed spinach, salad with bleu cheese dressing, onion rings, garlic bread, and a dessert of strawberry shortcake. – Joan Rivers • Oh, the strawberries don’t taste as they used to and the thighs of women have lost their clutch! – John Steinbeck • Once upon a time, when men and women hurtled through the air on metal wings, when they wore webbed feet and walked on the bottom of the sea, learning the speech of whales and the songs of the dolphins, when pearly-fleshed and jewelled apparitions of Texan herdsmen and houris shimmered in the dusk on Nicaraguan hillsides, when folk in Norway and Tasmania in dead of winter could dream of fresh strawberries, dates, guavas and passion fruits and find them spread next morning on their tables, there was a woman who was largely irrelevant, and therefore happy. – A. S. Byatt • One must ask children and birds how cherries and strawberries taste. – Johann Wolfgang von Goethe • One of the joys our technological civilization has lost is the excitement with which seasonal flowers and fruits were welcomed; the first daffodil, strawberry or cherry are now things of the past, along with their precious moment of arrival. Even the tangerine — now a satsuma or clementine — appears de-pipped months before Christmas. – Derek Jarman • Only in Texas can mesquite have its own festival, then there’s a crawfish festival, a festival for strawberries, everything has its own festival, with each town having their own yearly thing. – Kevin Fowler • P.S. May, don’t these strawberry tarts just make you want to cry? – Kiera Cass • Personally I am very fond of strawberries and cream, but I have found that for some strange reason, fish prefer worms. So when I went fishing, I didn’t think about what I wanted. I thought about what they wanted. I didn’t bait the hook with strawberries and cream. Rather, I dangled a worm or grasshopper in front of the fish and said: “Wouldn’t you like to have that?” Why not use the same common sense when fishing for people? – Dale Carnegie • Poetry and music are very good friends. Like mommies and daddies and strawberries and cream – they go together. – Nikki Giovanni • Rice and peas fit into that category of dishes where two ordinary foods, combined together, ignite a pleasure far beyond the capacity of either of its parts alone. Like rhubarb and strawberries, apple pie and cheese, roast pork and sage, the two tastes and textures meld together into the sort of subtle transcendental oneness that we once fantasized would be our experience when we finally found the ideal mate. – John Thorne • Right now I just want to chill for a while. Take a hiatus from all the craziness. To clean my house, see my family. Just see some movies and pick some strawberries. – Lauren Ambrose • She has a laugh so hearty it knocks the whipped cream off an order of strawberry shortcake on a table fifty feet away. – Damon Runyon • She makes use of the soft of the bread for a napkin. She falls asleep at times with shoes on, on unmade beds. When a little money comes in, June buys delicacies, strawberries in the winter, caviar and bath salts. – Anais Nin • Some people tell you you should not drink claret after strawberries. They are wrong. – William Maginn • Sometimes you’ve just got to grab an apple – or grapes, or strawberries. Something that’s healthy but maybe a little bit more adventurous, if you can see fruit as adventurous. – LL Cool J • Soon to come in licorice, orange, cinnamon, and banana, but not strawberry, because I hate strawberries. – Terry Pratchett • Spring is super in the supermarkets and the strawberries prance and glow never mind that they’re all kinda tart and tasteless as strawberries go meanwhile wild things are not for sale anymore than they are for show so i’ll be outside, in love with the kind of beauty it takes more than eyes to know – Ani DiFranco • Strawberries that in gardens grow Are plump and juicy fine, But sweeter far as wise men know Spring from the woodland vine. No need for bowl or silver spoon, Sugar or spice or cream, Has the wild berry plucked in June Beside the trickling stream. One such to melt at the tongue’s root, Confounding taste with scent, Beats a full peck of garden fruit: Which points my argument. – Robert Graves • Strawberry fields forever – John Lennon • Strawberry Fields is anywhere you want to go – John Lennon • Strawberry Shortcake called, she wants her outfit back – Ilona Andrews • Talking of Pleasure, this moment I was writing with one hand, and with the other holding to my Mouth a Nectarine – how good how fine. It went down all pulpy, slushy, oozy, all its delicious embonpoint melted down my throat like a large, beatified Strawberry. – John Keats • Tell me I didn’t imagine it, Leo. Tell me that even though our bodies were in seperate states, our star selves shared an enchanted place. Tell me that right around noon today (eastern time) you had the strangest sensation: a tiny chill on your shoulder…a flutter in the heart…a shadow of strawberry-banana crossing your tongue…tell me you whispered my name. – Jerry Spinelli • Tell you what I like the best – ‘Long about knee-deep in June, ‘Bout the time strawberries melts On the vine, – some afternoon Like to jes’ git out and rest, And not work at nothin’ else! – James Whitcomb Riley • That pipe, just so happens to lead to the room where I make the most delicious flavored chocolate covered fudge.” Then he will be made into strawberry flavoered chocolate covered fudge, they’ll be selling him by the pound, all over the world!” No, I wouldn’t allow it. The taste would be terrible. Can you imagine Augustus flavored chocolate covered gloop? Ew. No one would buy it. – Johnny Depp • The days were sunny, the nights were star-studded. Indeed married life was strawberries for breakfast and loving all the time. – Marabel Morgan • The mystery of God touches us – or does not – in the smallest details: giving a strawberry, with love; receiving a touch, with love; sharing the snapdragon red of an autumn sunset, with love. – Marion Woodman • The night is a strawberry. – Louise Penny • The only vampires I’ve ever seen are the Goths trying to get a glimpse of Anne Rice’s house, who drink strawberry sodas and tell each other it’s blood. – Sherrilyn Kenyon • The police are asking through the bedroom door, why did I make a batch of strawberry daiquiris before I called them? Because we were out of raspberries. Because, can’t they see, it just does not matter. Time was not of the essence. – Chuck Palahniuk • The public never appears to tire of endless courses of strawberries and cream, and the theory that you run the risk of boring people with endless photo montages of the Chelsea Pensioners in their dress reds, or close-ups of a Pimm’s Cup sprouting all kinda of flora, has yet to be proven. People like Wimbledon in the same way they like blue jeans or even their own spouses: for the pleasure yielded by their reliable sameness. – Peter Bodo • The strawberry grows underneath the nettle And wholesome berries thrive and ripen best Neighbour’d by fruit of baser quality. – William Shakespeare • The thing I learned is that the work is getting done by people who dig in and work on a particular project: the people who spend 20 years sustaining a theater for black teenagers in Chicago; the people who reintroduce sticklebacks into Strawberry Creek in Berkeley and then wait patiently for the first egrets to show up. – Robert Hass • Theirs [the Beatles] is a happy, cocky, belligerently resourceless brand of harmonic primitivism… In the Liverpudlian repertoire, the indulged amateurishness of the musical material, though closely rivaled by the indifference of the performing style, is actually surpassed only by the ineptitude of the studio production method. (Strawberry Fields suggests a chance encounter at a mountain wedding between Claudio Monteverdi and a jug band.) – Glenn Gould • There are certain products that it’s worth buying organic just because the alternatives have so much pesticide. There’s a list of the dirty dozen that you can get off the Web. Strawberries, potatoes. A handful of crops that have very high pesticide residues if you don’t buy organic. If you eat that a lot, that’s a good place to invest. – Michael Pollan • There is a tradition in Southern cooking of recipes handed down for generations. And when I make my grandmother’s strawberry pie I feel her right with me. – Kimberly Schlapman • There is nothing particularly wrong with salmon, of course, but like caramel candy, strawberry yogurt, or liquid carpet cleaner, if you eat too much of it you are not going to enjoy your meal. – Daniel Handler • There was a tale he had read once, long ago, as a small boy: the story of a traveler who had slipped down a cliff, with man-eating tigers above him and a lethal fall below him, who managed to stop his fall halfway down the side of the cliff, holding on for dear life. There was a clump of strawberries beside him, and certain death above him and below. What should he do? went the question. And the reply was, Eat the strawberries. The story had never made sense to him as a boy. It did now. – Neil Gaiman • There’s nothing more satisfying than going to a market and meeting the person who picked the strawberries, or it’s their farm that the strawberries came from, and giving them a fair value in exchange for what they’re giving you. – Billy Corgan • This is really good,” Donovan Caine said, attacking his third strawberry pancake. “You sound surprised,” I said. He shrugged. “I just didn’t think an assassin would be able to cook like this.” “Well, I do get lots of practice with knives. You could say I’m multitasking.” The detective froze, his fork halfway to his mouth. “I’m kidding. I enjoy cooking. It relaxes me. – Jennifer Estep • This Mayagüez gold, my third consecutive with the national team, has a strawberry flavor. – Milagros Cabral • This special feeling towards fruit, its glory and abundance, is I would say universal…. We respond to strawberry fields or cherry orchards with a delight that a cabbage patch or even an elegant vegetable garden cannot provoke. – Jane Grigson • Today While the blossoms still cling to the vine I’ll taste your strawberries I’ll drink your sweet wine A million tomorrows shall all pass away Here I forget all the joy that is mine. Today I’ll be a dandy and I’ll be a rover You know who I am by the songs that I sing I’ll feast at your table I’ll sleep in your clover Who cares what tomorrow shall bring I can’t be contented with yesterday’s glory I can’t live on promises winter to spring Today is my moment and now is my story I’ll laugh and I’ll cry and I’ll sing – John Denver • Truth out of season was sourer than strawberries at Christmas time. – Eleanor Hallowell Abbott • Under the pink Harlequin sunglasses strawberry dangling charms, and sugar-frosted eyeshadow she was really almost beautiful. – Francesca Lia Block • Washington state’s 2nd Congressional District is a major producer of small fruit crops such as raspberries and strawberries. This research center is doing important work to help farmers enhance the quality, yield and marketability of their small fruit crops. – Rick Larsen • We did make use, from time to time, of candles, neckties, scarves, shoelaces, a little water-color paintbrush, her hairbrush, butter, whipped cream, strawberry jam, Johnson’s Baby Oil, my Swedish hand vibrator, a fascinating bead necklace she had, miscellaneous common household items, and every molecule of flesh that was exposed to air or could be located with strenuous search. – Spider Robinson • We do not rejoice in victories. We rejoice when a new kind of cotton is grown and when strawberries bloom in Israel. – Golda Meir • We may say of angling, as Dr. Boteler said of strawberries, Doubtless God could have made a better berry, but doubtless God never did; and so, if I might be judge, God never did make a more calm, quiet, innocent recreation than angling. – Izaak Walton • What do we look for as reward? Some little sounds, and scents, and scenes A small hand darting strawberry-ward A woman’s aprons full of greens. The sense that we have brought to birth Out of the cold and heavy soil, The blessed fruits and flowers of earth Is large reward for our toil. – Ruth Pitter • When I think back about my immediate reaction to that redheads girl, it seems to spring from an appreciation of natural beauty. I mean the heart pleasure you get from looking at speckled leaves or the palimpsested bark of plane trees in Provence. There was something richly appealing to her color combination, the ginger snaps floating in the milk-white skin, the golden highlights in the strawberry hair. it was like autumn, looking at her. It was like driving up north to see the colors. – Jeffrey Eugenides • When strawberries go begging, and the sleek Blue plums lie open to the blackbird’s beak, We shall live well–we shall live very well. – Elinor Wylie • Who puts strawberries in a salad? Seriously, is this a thing now? Is it a thing I don’t know about? Is it an American thing? It can be. It’s freaking me out. – James Corden • Why did she give up wine for Lent? Polly was more sensible. She had given up strawberry jam. Cecilia had never seen Polly show more than a passing interest in strawberry jam, although now, of course, she was always catching her standing at the open fridge, staring at it longingly. The power of denial. – Liane Moriarty • Why the hell are we conditioned into the smooth strawberry-and-cream Mother-Goose-world, Alice-in-Wonderland fable, only to be broken on the wheel as we grow older and become aware of ourselves as individuals with a dull responsibility in life? – Sylvia Plath • You’ve gotta taste the light, like my friend and fellow shooter Chip Maury says. And when you see light like this, trust me, it’s like a strawberry sundae with sprinkles. – Joe McNally

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jQuery(document).ready(function($) var data = action: 'polyxgo_products_search', type: 'Product', keywords: 'i', orderby: 'rand', order: 'DESC', template: '1', limit: '4', columns: '4', viewall:'Shop All', ; jQuery.post(spyr_params.ajaxurl,data, function(response) var obj = jQuery.parseJSON(response); jQuery('#thelovesof_i').html(obj); jQuery('#thelovesof_i img.swiper-lazy:not(.swiper-lazy-loaded)' ).each(function () var img = jQuery(this); img.attr("src",img.data('src')); img.addClass( 'swiper-lazy-loaded' ); img.removeAttr('data-src'); ); ); );

jQuery(document).ready(function($) var data = action: 'polyxgo_products_search', type: 'Product', keywords: 'o', orderby: 'rand', order: 'DESC', template: '1', limit: '4', columns: '4', viewall:'Shop All', ; jQuery.post(spyr_params.ajaxurl,data, function(response) var obj = jQuery.parseJSON(response); jQuery('#thelovesof_o').html(obj); jQuery('#thelovesof_o img.swiper-lazy:not(.swiper-lazy-loaded)' ).each(function () var img = jQuery(this); img.attr("src",img.data('src')); img.addClass( 'swiper-lazy-loaded' ); img.removeAttr('data-src'); ); ); );

jQuery(document).ready(function($) var data = action: 'polyxgo_products_search', type: 'Product', keywords: 'u', orderby: 'rand', order: 'DESC', template: '1', limit: '4', columns: '4', viewall:'Shop All', ; jQuery.post(spyr_params.ajaxurl,data, function(response) var obj = jQuery.parseJSON(response); jQuery('#thelovesof_u').html(obj); jQuery('#thelovesof_u img.swiper-lazy:not(.swiper-lazy-loaded)' ).each(function () var img = jQuery(this); img.attr("src",img.data('src')); img.addClass( 'swiper-lazy-loaded' ); img.removeAttr('data-src'); ); ); );

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equitiesstocks · 4 years

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Strawberries Quotes

Official Website: Strawberries Quotes

(adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || []).push();

Flesh and fleece, fur and feather, Grass and green world all together, Star-eyed strawberry breasted Throstle above Her nested

[clickbank-storefront-bestselling]

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deprelawland · 7 years

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Rehabilitating Criminals is a Necessity, Not a Luxury

By Dylan Karstadt, University of Delaware Class of 2017

June 9, 2017

It is not a great time to be a prisoner in the United States of America. The United States prison system is a problem, with new estimates that America imprisons 716 people per 100,000 citizens comparing to that of Russia at 484, China 121, and Iran 284 per 100,000(McElwee 2013). Many critics understand the American prison system to be an ignominy, with the only country that incarcerates more people per capita being North Korea.These high rates of incarceration are coupled with high rates of recidivism.The harsh reality is that two-thirds of prisoners are reoffending within three years of being released, often with more serious and violent offenses. Not to mention, the prison system costs a whopping 75 billion dollars a year for the United States. With such staggering statistics, the correctional intuitions are in desperate need of an effective solution. Researchers are beginning to understand the vital importance of the effect of how institutions treat prisoners who are incarcerated. America currently uses a criminal justice system based on punishing offenders, with the intent of “teaching them a lesson”. An alternative philosophy is one of rehabilitation, with the purpose of helping criminals change their behavior into patterns that are nonviolent and constructive. The research is becoming definitive, proving that punishment fails and rehabilitation works, for a multitude of reasons.

The question of whether we should rehabilitate criminals has become one of the most debated topics throughout the United States. One of the most commonly raised questions is whether rehabilitation actually works. Currently, American prisons seem to be designed to incapacitate and deter, rather than rehabilitate criminals. A combination of strict sentencing guidelines, lack of funding, and a punitive philosophy, has made the prison system to be one that is unpleasant and overcrowded. In recent years, this attitude of punishment has reflected itself in correctional institutions. Such interventions have sought to reduce recidivism by deterring offenders rather than changing them. Certain intervention strategies include “electric monitoring of offenders in the community, boot camps for beginning a life in crime, and a scared straight programs for juveniles” (Wrzens). Defenders of American methods claim that they both deter crime and prevent it by keeping many criminals off the streets.The evidence for such deterrence is weak. The American prison system is meant to discourage inmates from continued criminal behavior, but it is clearly falling short.

Due to the clear failings of the American recidivism rates, many policymakers and criminologists believe that “nothing works” for correcting repeat offenders. These people come to a weak solution and argue that criminals will be criminals regardless of what anyone tries to do to help them. As a result, programs aimed at genuine solutions, such as rehabilitation methods, are often met with sharp criticism. For example, Governor Andrew Cuomo was forced to drop his plan to use State funds to offer prison inmates a college education. Education can play a vital role in helping people escape a life of crime, but New Yorkers were outraged by the idea.What Americans fail to realize is that prison systems in other countries are proving these negative attitudes to be flatly mistaken.

Bastoy Prison Island off the coast of Oslo Fjord, is famed for having an atmosphere that is relaxed and where criminals are treated like human beings. Inmates are treated as equals, and learn to respect themselves and others. Bastoy prison governor Arne Wilson, explains “If we treat people like animals when they are in prison they are likely to behave like animals. Here we pay attention to you as human beings” (Sterbenz 2014). Bastoy’s prison reconviction rate is an astonishing 16%, considerably lower than European average of 70% and America’s 77% (Terzi 2015). On top of that, in Norway, when criminals leave prison they are not likely to return. Norway uses a non-punitive approach, compared to the United States.According to Business Insider, “Norway focuses on “restorative justice,” which aims to repair the harm caused by crime rather than the people” (Sterbenz 2014).For example, Norway’s Halden Prison, uses a 75-acre facility to maintain normalcy. There are no bars on the windows, kitchens are fully equipped with sharp objects, and there are friendships between guards and inmates. For Norway, removing people’s freedom is a punishment in itself. As a result, Norway has among the lowest recidivism rates in the world, at 20%.

Prisons like Halden prepare inmates for life outside of prison by providing them with crafts such as, woodworking, assembly workshops, and even has a recording studio. Whereas,in the United States, the main focus is on incapacitation and deterrence within prisons, offering very little practical skills to inmates.With such considerable research, there needs to be a shift from a focus of punishment to an emphasis on rehabilitation. When properly implemented, not only is rehabilitation effective in other countries, but work programs, education, and psychotherapy techniques can ease transitions into the free world for prisoners as a whole.It is also becoming apparent that rehabilitation programs are beginning to have an effect in reducing recidivism in the United States.

A group of Canadian psychologists, Don Andrews, James Bonto, and Paul Gendreau, had taken an analysis of the effects of rehabilitated offenders by using a technique called meta-analysis. According to their studies, they looked to discover the effects of rehabilitation on American prisoners. The Canadian researchers found that there were principles of effective intervention. Such principles included 1) to target the known predictors of recidivism for change 2) to use cognitive behavior treatments that reinforce pro-social attitudes and behavior 3) to challenge criminal thinking patterns 4) to focus treatment interventions on high-risk offenders, to take into account characteristics of offenders (ex: IQ) that might affect their responsiveness to treatment 5) to employ staff that are well trained and inter-personally sensitive, and 6) to provide offenders with aftercare for when the leave the program (Wrzens). With the use of the meta-analysis, which essentially computes a batting average across all studies, they were able to calculate the average impact of treatment on recidivism. Using this method, the existing research, which now involves hundreds of evaluation studies, show that rehabilitation programs decrease recidivism by 10 percentage points. In the study, the control group had a reoffending rate of 55% percent, and the group that received treatment had a rate of 45% (Wrzens).

The evidence towards innovative, creative, and new methods towards humane treatment in the United States prison system is clear. In the United States, we spend 75 billion dollars each year locking up prisoners. We ought to be able to invest this money much more humanely than we do right now. To put it simply, do we want people who are going back to society to be angry or thankful that they were rehabilitated? The problem is that so many fail to comprehend the importance of such rehabilitation efforts for criminals. However, such a change in attitude may help the start of rehabilitative measures for convicts, so that they can get out of prison and contribute to society. Generations of research has shown that the more severely a child is punished, the more violent they become. The same is true of adults, especially those in prison. Therefore, the answer is simple and the evidence is conclusory.There needs to be a change in attitudes among Americans and a shift in the overall nature of criminal justice. Politicians need to inform themselves of the benefits of rehabilitation, rather than turning a blind eye to the problem that America is facing. Rehabilitation of criminals is a necessity, not a luxury. It’s time for reform. The voiceless and vote less prisoners and former prisoners in America need us to advocate for reform.

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McElwee, Sean. "America's Awful, Terrible, No Good, Very Bad Prison System." The Huffington Post. TheHuffingtonPost.com, 01 July 2013. Web. 15 May 2017.

Sterbenz, Christina. "Why Norway's prison system is so successful." Business Insider. Business Insider, 11 Dec. 2014. Web. 18 May 2017. <http://www.businessinsider.com/why-norways-prison-system-is-so-successful-2014-12>.

Terzi, Matt. "Do We Want Prisons To Punish, Or To Rehabilitate?" ReverbPress. N.p., 25 Aug. 2015. Web. 18 May 2017. <http://reverbpress.com/justice/want-prisons-punish-rehabilitate/>.

"The moral failures of America's prison-industrial complex." The Economist. The Economist Newspaper, 20 July 2015. Web. 16 May 2017. <http://www.economist.com/blogs/democracyinamerica/2015/07/criminal-justice-and-mass-incarceration>.

Wrzens, Tyler. "Rehabilitation - Does Correctional Rehabilitation Work?" Recidivism, Treatment, Programs, and Gendreau - JRank Articles. N.p., n.d. Web. 18 May 2017. <http://law.jrank.org/pages/1936/Rehabilitation-Does-correctional-rehabilitation-work.html>.

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aurora-daily · 6 years

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Mother Earth’s Warrior

Interview: Aurora for The Line of Best Fit by Cheri Amour (September 28th, 2018)

Norway’s greatest pop export, AURORA speaks to Cheri Amour about her not-so-difficult second album and why it opens up a forest of thought for our future preservation.

There have long been popular culture characters in our midst hell-bent on saving the planet. Healing the world and making it a better place, for you and me and the entire human race. But there’s something different about AURORA Aksnes, better known as million-streamed Norwegian singer/songwriter, AURORA. Her latest release, Infections of A Different Kind, puts Mother Earth at its heart.

It feels fitting then to be sat in one of London’s luscious parks together, AURORA decked out in green amongst the evergreen sipping on her coconut water. She is slight but by no means shy and constantly alert, throwing out relatable anecdotes that seem to be skipping through her mind as she scans her surroundings. Her eyes are shining bright, often looking outwards rather than directly at me. Instead, she is constantly seeking out the sky, the clouds, darting at the path of a pigeon, beaming at a small child opposite us on another table. At one point, she becomes distracted by my stationary choices (“I have the same pen but in green”) and is immediately back in the bustling streets of gay Paris where she made the purchase, with her underlying care and compassion for all things, living or otherwise. “I should’ve brought mine and they’ve could’ve spoken”.

It’s been over two years since the singer sprang onto our stereos like a forest-spirit from the Bergen mountains with her debut EP, Running With Wolves. But whilst her musical mission might be led by a bold vision for a brighter future, her present still looks pretty rosy with debut full-length, All My Demons Greeting Me As A Friend racking up a massive 200 million streams globally. It’s an almost magical might for an artist who only celebrated her 22nd birthday this year. But on speaking with AURORA, her emotional intelligence is undeniable. “I know the world is not a fairy tale and we’re just doing our best…” she happily admits, an astute admission for someone so renowned for her enchanting pop gems.

For the Bergen-based artist though, her strength clearly comes from the collective power of change rather than the sole-creator. She often refers more holistically to an issue than nitpicking specifics. Indeed, it’s this rallying sense of collective change that has gifted AURORA such a solid fan base of “warriors and weirdos” from the depths of South America to the smaller towns and cities of Australia. “It’s so important to fight for the things you care about”, she continues. “They have proven they can do that. They share my message. They stand up for me. If one person disagrees with what I do, they go to war”.

It reminds me of another story of a similarly impassioned figure wanting to make collective change in their world. Often admired as the crowning work of Japanese animation master Hayao Miyazaki and his Studio Ghibli, Princess Mononoke powerfully paints the struggle between the gods of a forest and the humans who consume its resources. And, it seems unbeknownst to Ghibli at the time, over 20 years on from its original release, that same spirit hasn’t been lost in Infections of A Different Kind.

Her relationship with nature is woven throughout, a sort of Hansel and Gretel style breadcrumb trail through her mind’s eye of the world around us. Much like Ghibli’s tale which finds the main protagonist locked in a struggle for the future of the unspoiled forest and an elaborate moral universe, the sophomore record is rooted in Mother Earth. “We are killing incredible beauty without even knowing that we’ve already killed so much”, she reflects, her fingers playing with a small burgundy, woven scarf. It looks homemade, thin and narrow, entwined around her small hands. “We’ve killed entire species of animals. We’ve killed possibilities of making medicine. We’ve killed people”, she pauses, clearly upset by the thoughts. “It makes me sad because I know the planet will live. She will outlive us all and we will die because we’re just tiny ants on her big skin”.

But despite her worry, life and death feel like a natural cycle for AURORA, as you might expect from someone so clued up on the climate. She speaks confidently about nature’s balance, preferring the pragmatic output of an organism rather than anything overly fussy which could also be true of the sounds she makes. “I don’t really like flowers that much. They’re too pretty for their own good. People pick them and they get to die inside a vase”. If she were a flower, AURORA would be a dried white rose, perfectly encapsulated within a moment of time; pure, classic and radiating humility. Meanwhile, lavender for its medicinal properties and affection to bees gets a glowing write up. “That’s my favourite thing about Mother Earth actually”, she explains. “All the knowledge and all that she provides us; the fruit, the medicine. That’s why we need the rainforest but we tear it down”.

Only recently have we seen the devastating effects of illegal logging in the Papua New Guinea forests which provide a home for many of its unique species. Most timbers from New Guinea and its offshore islands are processed in China before being sold around the world, largely for use in furniture and flooring. Likewise, in the Amazon around 17% of the forest has been lost in the last 50 years, mostly due to forest conversion for cattle ranching. Sadly it’s the global brand giants causing most of the destruction with Greenpeace releasing a recent report that identified major palm olive producers such as Unilever, Nestlé, Colgate-Palmolive, and Mondelez, have destroyed an area of rainforest almost twice the size of Singapore in less than three years. The problem is, much like the Native American saying, what will happen after the last tree has fallen and the rivers have been poisoned?

Live favourite, "The Seed" encapsulates this idea. Her vocal is moving, selflessly offering herself up to restore what humanity has destroyed: “Suffocate me / So my tears can be rain / I will water the ground where I stand / So the flowers can grow back again”. "The Seed" acts like the nucleus of change for AURORA. It’s the birth of something. It’s thought or an act or a movement. “It’s the beginning of everything”, she explains, enthused. “The way the seed lies underground with no sun, nothing, darkness but it knows where to go and then it breaks through the stone, the mountain, asphalt, and earth. All these things they came from down there”, she insists, pointing at a nearby flower bed at which point her gaze is caught by a fluttering pigeon on the roof. After a few seconds, she apologises: “The pigeons are so distracting”.

Conversation turns to her own beginnings, painting a picture of her home back in Norway which sounds like something straight out of a Lord of The Rings novel. A fjord carved out by glaciers in the ice ages with a little island in the middle of it that she would often take a small kayak out to and sleep overnight on in the summer when the sun rarely sets. “On one of them lives quite an angry goat so don’t go there. He’s like a proper…”, she gesticulates the animal’s horns with her hands by her ears. “He’s intense. All the other ones are fine”, she laughs. The open water feels like it is a bit of a theme to her early years, spending much of her childhood on sailboats of some varieties, not surprising for a country that has the kind of tight relationship with water that Brits have with tea. Whether it's coastline, fjord, lake or river, water is everywhere in Norway and Norwegians make the most of it. Her father sailed the seas for four years in a row before she was born, she tells me proudly.

The other towering backdrop to her youth were those sturdy mountains and an ambitious walking regime. The latter almost certainly a contributing factor to her ingenuity and appreciation of the rambling flora and fauna so prevalent in her songwriting today. “We’d go for mountain hikes at least four times a week”, she states, matter of factly. “You bring some chocolate with bread and cheese to eat at the top. It’s kind of what you do together with your Mum’s friend and her kid, you know?” Perhaps not the same as growing up in the flatlands of Norfolk, I admit. “Well, it’s very normal in Norway, especially Bergen because you have the mountains everywhere”, she continues. There’s a mountain in every city at least. In every village. And in my village, we only have eight neighbours, there’s only us living there. And I look at the water and I have the forest behind me. She openly sighs and takes a moment, transporting herself back to the shimmering open waters, stood with lungs full of the fresh mountain air.

Surrounded by such a magical setting, it’s not surprising that AURORA tries to create a kingdom of her own for listeners. The first hint at the new record, former single “Queendom” is dedicated to “everything that’s alive”. Insistent that “Queendom” should be a place “with only love”, the song is also a celebration of our differences with an open innocence that tries to find the best in all of us. Again, Ghibli’s own ethical ethos rings true here, with Princess Mononoke heralded as for its ability to make heroes of outsiders and blurring the stereotypes that usually define such characters. It’s the same for AURORA. She is an artist breaking down huge barriers around inclusivity which shine through “Queendom”’s electro-pulse and call-to-arms. “It’s very much about giving hope, like being given the tools to become a warrior, a fighter to deal with the now. Not an escape but a way to really stay in the present, and make a change”.

Directed by Paris-based, Polish-Australian Director King Burza, the single’s video finds Aurora bathed in natural light exploring the cavernous surrounds of an old country home, the dappled light falling on her through the beaten window frames. She leaps through the high-ceiling hallways in flowing white cotton, much like the lyrics suggest, as our lamb. The pulsing chorus beat kicks in with a procession of women dancers weaving behind her arms like the Shiva herself, the fierce warrior Goddess. With Scandinavia often heralded for its gender parity, it’s not surprising that a huge part of “Queendom”’s rallying cry is being channeled into some sort of feminist anthem but as AURORA herself says: “it’s much more than that. I want it to be a song for people in need”.

“I began writing for Infections of A Different Kind the day after my first album was released...it’s good when it’s fresh when you’re still like a predator. You can still smell the blood from the prey."

With its timely post-#metoo-era release, it’s not surprising that there’s a strong focus on the strength of women in here though as well as flipping assumed gender norms and empowering an army, as she sings: “The women will be my soldiers / With the weight of life on their shoulders”. It’s an element of Nordic folklore that really spoke to her warrior instincts. “I like that it was often the women that hunted. When the men went out on a journey to kill and steal, the women stayed and were the boss which is kind of cool”. Similarly, she sees herself played back to her in scrappy forest-dwelling nymphs, the Huldra. “They had messy hair like I had when I was a child”, she jokes.

Propelled by our comparisons, talk turns into a bit of an education in Norwegian children’s tales as she boasts that many of them centre around a troll. Whether that’s a troll turning to stone in the sun before it eats the children or the story of a young boy from the village who challenges the troll to a porridge-eating contest. Tactfully tying his knapsack to his belly, the boy scoops more porridge into the bag than he eats himself and then, once full, slashes it open encouraging the troll to do the same so they can power through the porridge. Fooled by the boy, the troll cuts his stomach and dies leaving all of the gold and silver in the cave for the boy to take home to pay off his family debts. “Then you have the troll mother who has put her eleven troll children to bed. That’s the first song I sang when I was two years old in my Mum’s blue kitchen”, she recalls. A newborn with pink cheeks begins to whimper to its Mum on the table next to us now which lures the singer’s attention away for a fleeting moment, her mouth fixed in a wide-open smile. “Sorry, babies and pigeons. Very distracting”, she reasons.

After the brief introduction to Norwegian folklore, it feels apt to ask around the production of the new record which took place in a fairytale studio-cum-chateau somewhere in the South of France. Positioned in a vineyard surrounded by animals and a pond, the castle sounds like the right kind of pastoral setting for such a life-affirming record. AURORA details an almost Beauty And The Beast-like existence there, holed up in the huge house’s halls and libraries for just over a month. Chef Marie cooked a three-course meal, three times a day whilst the dog Paula and cat, Ginger amble through the corridors.

It becomes clear quite quickly that AURORA hasn’t faced the difficult second album syndrome. “I began writing for it the day after my first album was released because then the first album had been done already for four months”, she beams. “That’s why I always begin right after I release right after my previous thing. I begin on the next”. A natural hunter, she adds: “It’s good when it’s fresh when you’re still like a predator. You can still smell the blood from the prey. And you’re kind of just running after it and you know where to go, that’s how I felt”.

It was a fairly natural process then? “I found it way easier than the first because I really knew what I wanted. I’ve always known since I was an embryo what I want and now I have the tools to make it happen. I know how to produce, and how to play more instruments. I played the drums and the rhythms. The multi-instrumentalist played drums on all of the songs on Infections of A Different Kind, actually, it’s kind of a new passion for her. “I love it. It’s very energetic and you get quite tired afterward which I love. I love the feeling of exhausting myself”, she grins.

"I have my own dream language which half of the population understands...a fourth...an eleventh so I also had to learn things myself because I am the only one who can know."

Adding to her workload, AURORA took up a lot of the production duties on the record too which makes a powerful statement in a world for far too many women artists are corralled into working with male producers. She’s not afraid to tackle this in her own terms, often struggling to articulate what she wanted using the technical language, the singer offers up her own alternative parallels: “Make it sound like water or bellyache”. “I realised I don’t have the technical language. I have my own dream language which half of the population understands...a fourth...an eleventh so I also had to learn things myself because I am the only one who can know”. She’s adamant that crafting her music, much like her new love of drums, is one of her biggest pleasures. The ability to realise her imagined worlds into reality gives her a certain sense of belonging which, in the future, might remain a constant more so than the live show. “If there’s one thing I’ll do less of, you know in forty years, it’s touring. But not studio, I’ll always be there”, she adds resolutely.

But despite her preference, she knows the power of sharing her songs with her legion of fans and she confesses many of the new numbers have already made it into the live set. “I think at one point it was maybe a bit too many. I like all my songs better live just because of the energy so it’s always nice to know that the fans will get to experience that first”. And that’s exactly what AURORA has tried to do with the release schedule of the record, teasing one more single out last week ahead of today’s full-length. The stark opener of “Churchyard” finds AURORA’s sincere vocal layered over one another and doused in reverb as a solemn strings section soothes in with a morbid twang as she questions the fine balance between life and love. You can almost see the arms flailing theatrics of similarly environmental leaning, Kate Bush against the beat.

Indeed, AURORA isn’t the first artist looking to heal the world with their humanitarian ideals. Pop’s biggest ally, Cher donated more than 180,000 bottles of water to Flint, Michigan, in the middle of the city's clean-water crisis. Grammy Award-winning, Rihanna was named Harvard Humanitarian of the Year back in 2017 for her philanthropic efforts after funding the build of a state-of-the-art centre for oncology and nuclear medicine to diagnose and treat breast cancer in her home nation of Barbados. Infections of A Different Kind stands united with Mother Earth almost as a vocal shining a floodlight on the dire situation we’ve left her in.

At this point, playing with the tousled strands of her hair, AURORA is whisked off for another meeting and disappears into the trees of Holland Park, much like the Huldra into the Norwegian forest. Just from spending an hour with her, it’s clear how much the Norwegian songwriter cherishes real connections with the people she meets and is keen to create a shared space where we can all co-exist together; new technologies alongside sustainable ecosystems. Without national treasure, David Attenborough preaching about the plastics in our oceans, it’s sometimes easy for us to cut out the stark realities of climate change. But high up in those Norwegian mountains, with her ear to the wind, AURORA hears it all and is ready to lead.

Forget Princess Mononoke, AURORA is our modern day pop royalty.

Infections of A Different Kind is out now on Decca Records.

#aurora #aurora aksnes #interviews #ioadk

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