View allAll Photos Tagged argumentation
I'm still trying to figure out what to do with this girl's hair, but today she made the smallest argument toward no bangs.
Doll: Sensuous Affair Giselle (on a Poppy Parker body)
Dress: dollfashionbymissyao
Earrings: The Happening PP
Necklace: handmade by my sister
Aunque mi opinión cuente poco al respecto (me pasa como a usted o a cualquier otro, que no sé nada del secreto cósmico) mi preferida entre las que conozco es la teoría de Arthur Schopenhauer. Si a las filosofías pudiera puntuárselas como a los restaurantes, valorando en lugar de su cocina, bodega, servicio o decoración otro tipo de “prestaciones” –cosmología, antropología, teoría del conocimiento, estética, psicología, elegancia de diseño argumentativo, etcétera-, creo que la expuesta en El mundo como voluntad y representación obtendría en su conjunto cinco estrellas. Tiene una envidiable economía de principios, buenos logros parciales en algunas materias concretas (su teoría de la risa, por ejemplo, o la de la locura), concede importancia a temas esenciales pero descuidados por otros sistemas como la muerte y el sexo, combina con acierto la ausencia de esperanza cósmica y la posibilidad de serenidad personal, incluso desciende a proporcionar algunas indicaciones prácticas de interés para la gestión de la vida cotidiana. Se le pueden disculpar las deficiencias en el terreno político y cierta brumosa mística antivitalista con la que recomienda una forma de santidad que al propio autor por lo visto atraía poco (su mayor empeño personal no era anular su voluntad de vivir sino llegar a cumplir cien años) Objeciones menores si se comparan con las inconsecuencias y quimeras de muchos otros. Desde luego, no parece adecuado hacerle el reproche de ser “pesimista” por pensar que éste es el peor de los mundos posibles (la mayoría de los pesimistas que conozco se caracterizan habitualmente por estar convencidos de que toda situación, por mala que sea, es susceptible de empeorar): el auténtico y descorazonador pesimismo es el de Leibniz, que se atrevió a sostener que éste es el mejor de los mundos posibles, lo que ya ni siquiera nos deja imaginar escapatoria alguna...
(Autobiografía razonada, págs. 168 y 169) Fernando Savater
These are some of my friends. I bet they were having one of those endless Nikon/Canon discussions. While an obviously brave, fantastic, tremendously good and amazig Olympus was watching them... :-))
One of my photo friends described cars as a continuation of a person's emotional territory. Therefore, a bit of TLC applied to the car is registered as love experienced by the person. The car can of course also be a fetish, but the real power of car ownership is this emotional connection, often invested with feelings of freedom and independence. So, I don't think the car is on the way out, whatever the ecological rational may be. In fact, the electrification of the car is rather an argument for the continuation of private car ownership. I am all for public transport, but it is not easy when you live outside the big cities. We are not ready to give up our car. One day, we know we have to. And will we feel that our independence has been compromised? You bet. Sony A7iii plus a 2x teleconverter plus Helios 44M-7.
For more on this one, you could have a look at my blog: davewhatt.wordpress.com/2023/07/10/how-about-an-old-decal...
the meeting room was cold. he stood, the argument unfolding. the gesture repeated itself, a rhythm of concentration. skin touched glass, searching for the precise word. the point of contact was the point of decision.
long stories shortened... (discarded and abandoned and intertwined short stories) well..actually they are chunks and fragmets and notes of stories that never made it
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a young PhD math candidate writing his dissertation on an obscure arab mathematician from the middle ages who specialized in cycles and periods in infinite series and develops a process to determine prime number density in a large number space. (which is all and good) except this makes it an excellent tool to decrypting military grade encryption, which is based on the computational difficulty of factoring large numbers into their prime components
the arab mathematician was ultimately censured by the religious mullahs for developing tools to rationalize the infinite, which is of course the nature of Allah and for man to attempt to place Allah into a human scale is blasphemy
so the arab mathematician disappears and the young phd candidate finds that his dissertation has been suspended pending review but cant get any information on who is reviewing it
finally another young mathematician approaches him and starts a long discussion on math and the nature of numbers and the mathematicians love of the underlying structure of reality that math represents. the phd candidate is leary of this mathematician cause he wont answer what he does or where he went to school or how he knows so many cutting edge fields in math
eventually, the young mathematician offers the phd candidate a position with the NSA, National Security Agency, (where all the big crypto and high math goes on) but explains that if he accepts that he will essentially disappear from his current world. his work will be classified, he will not be able to publish in academic journals or speak in public, or talk about his work to his friends on the outside, but the compensation is that he
would be able to work unfettered with the greatest math minds in the country, totally funded, free to explore any field or fancy he thought. after a few moments of thought, the phd accepts.
then the story will go back to the arab mathematician who is also approached my a young beared mullah, who offers him a position within his group of thinkers who do ponder and explore the nature of nature reality and Allah through mathematics, but that by joining them he would need to disappear from the world, after a few minutes of thought, he too accepts...
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Daniel sipped his 6th coffee (colloidal suspension for caffeine transport) while his batch jobs on ramanet, the Indian supergrid, finished their checksum verification. His chin, a bit stubbly, itched. His eyes, a bit red, were sore. The goa trance shoutcast feed had mushed into a fast cadence drone. The flat screen monitor warped and bulged with the oscillating fan blowing on Daniel's face
'O' glamorous larval life of a PhD student...' he jotted and doodle-circled on his notepad.
Daniel cracked his neck and jutted his jaw, stretching out the accumulation of kinks, as RamaNet finished the final integrity check on his dataset. this two hour round of processing on the Indian supergrid would cost about $130 out of his precious grant fund, but you couldnt beat the bargain. 120 minutes times 150,000 PCs in the RamaNet processing collective = 1,080,000,000 seconds or 18,000,000 minutes or 300,000 hours or 12500 days or 34.25 years of processing time for the price of a video game. Calculation was commoditized now. You uploaded your pre-fromatted dataset to RamaNet. the data was packeted and sent to out to 150,000 Indians who lent a few percents of never-to-be missed CPU cycles off their systems for background processing. when their alotted package was completed it was sent back to RamaNet for re-assembly into something coherent for the buyer. in return the Indians got a rebate on their net access charges or access to premier bollywood galleries or credit towards their own processing charges. a good deal all the way around. Daniel's dataset, an anthology of complex proofs from a long-dead arab mathematician, was queued with amateur weather forecast modeling, home-brewed digital CGI for indie movies, chaos theory-based currency trading algorithms, etc. the really high end, confidential jobs, like protein folding analysis or big pharm drug trials were more likely handled by the huge western collectives of several million collaborative systems, usually high-performance machines in dedicated corporate server farms. the cost there was out of Daniel's range, but you got a faster return and better promises of encryption for your buck.
Daniel scratched his scalp and flexed his fingers. 'two months from today i will be a doctor of mathematics...and no job. damnit. i need to find something fast.' Daniel calculated in his mind how quickly the student loans repayments would kick in and completely wipe him out. RamaNet would have done it in nanoseconds, ha! he laughed to himself. Daniel had avoided the rounds of job interviews and recommendations that passed his way. he was too absorbed in his research to look ahead, and perhaps a bit intimidated by the idea of the job hunt flea market. flexing his CV, getting a monkey suit, trying to explain his research to recruiters, who were often the same finger-counting business majors in college that made his skin crawl. Daniel always felt a bit embarrassed when he announced he was math PhD candidate. folks would immediately glaze over,
tsk tsk out a 'that's interesting', and swiftly change the subject. something will come up, he mantra'd to himself over and over, something will come up. stick with ali, there is something real in there, just a bit deeper. the real problem was his thesis advisor. dr. fuentes was not returning his calls, his secretary was not taking appointments from Daniel. he had submitted his finished draft of his thesis two weeks ago, but hadnt heard back since, except for a cryptic email saying that the review committee was having some issues with his paper and that Daniel would be hearing from him shortly. Daniel was rerunning his calculations on RamaNet to assuage the gnawing doubt that he completely botched some component of his argument and that the review committee was debating some manner of telling him to redo the entire effort. no PhD and no job. that would ice the cake. Daniel started calculating his body mass and general aerodynamic resistance relative to the height of the school cathedral to figure out if he had time to reach a terminal velocity before impact...only a failed math PhD would attempt to determine at what speed his body would smack concrete, he morbidly thought to himself.
ali ja'far muhammed ibn abdullah al-farisi slipped meditatively on his cup of water, thinking about his proof. he dipped a finger in the cup and held up a droplet of water under his fingertip, watching the sunlight prisimatically splay out on the mouth of the cup. 'praise be Allah and his wonderous bounty' he mumured to himself.
the elders had been in conference all day over his proof. though the heavy doors to their chamber were closed, he would occasionally hear muffled but distinctly angry shouts. ali sat on a divan in the anteroom, served numerous cups of tea by an obviously nervous secretary. ali knew there was deep resistance to his research, but for the life of him he couldnt figure out why. he was a simple mathematician. he came up with some unique observations. he wanted to share them with his peers...
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Overview: biotech researcher discovers a new life-extension technology and is murdered. He is cryogenically frozen for 150 years. When he is
revived he must stop a dark corporate conspiracy – and find his murderer.
Summer 2015 - Hot genius free-lance biotech researcher unravels the key component of a radical life-extension gene therapy that will ensure 300 years of robust life to its recipients. The researcher is murdered shortly after he hides the critical component. His distraught friend has him cryogenically frozen. 150 years later, the researcher is revived by the same major bio-med corporation for which he had originally been working.
Quickly he realizes that their motives are less than altruistic: his modification of the gene therapy is needed to resolve an unforeseen debilitation now creeping up in the recipients of the life-extension process. The recipients, now nearing 125 years off added life, are decompensating into psychotics. The researcher at first tries to remember and reconstruct what he did with the hidden critical component, but stops in disgust when he learns that in the past 150 years the life-extension therapy has been reserved solely for the ultra-affluent and has created an extreme and cruel global gerontocratic elite. He voices his disgust to his corporate minders, who cease being beneficent and show their true colors as trying to gain control of this critical technology in order to control the elites.
In the process of dealing with the corporation, he learns about his murder and begins investigating.As he comes closer to the identity of his murderer, he uncovers a wider conspiracy and is the target of more murder attempts.
He was killed by a friend in 2015. The friend was the CEO of a small bio-gen firm that the researcher was doing the LET work for. The CEO, a biz-head with a genetics academic background, took the researcher’s work and exploited it as his own, in the process growing his small firm into a bio-med powerhouse and him into one of the world’s wealthiest individuals.
The CEO also was the first recipient of the LET and is now 190 years old, but doesn’t look a day over 45. Smart, urbane, ruthless, the CEO used his wealth and position to start the cabal of Ultras. It is a faction of the top 50 smartest and wealthiest people in the world who have ‘ascended from the world’ (faked their demise) and control the global economy with their vast coordinated wealth. Perhaps they will call themselves ‘The Ascended’. We need to decide how the cabal lives. Are they sequestered on a luxurious island compound, or do they live in the open, surgically re-sculpted after each faked death, or do they live in the open.
Also we need to figure out what the world will look and feel like in 150 years.
As the ultras decompensate into psychosis, the CEO orders the researcher to be revived in order to find a cure. The CEO had the researcher’s lab notes decrypted and figured that the he was close if not successful in finding the missing component to stabilize the LET.
Tiberius Syndrome: the decline into cruel psychosis experienced by the ultras, named after the roman emperor Tiberius’ degenerate behavior after he sequestered himself on Capri.
The ironic twist might be that there is no cure, no stabilization. The psychosis is not the result of the LET alone, but also due in part to the unfettered ego/wills of the ultras. Absolute power corrupts…
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a brazilian hacking syndicate was subcontracted by a st petersberg crew to run interference on a hit on SWIFT, the global currency clearinghouse notification network. The UniFavela clan was going to run a multi-flank raid. They specialized in fast propagating virii and had created a custom mail-in virus that exploited a few microsoft vulnerabilities that they had discovered and kept mum. Their target was a Latin American PR spokesman listed on the corporate web site for press queries. The PR flak would be just the sleepy guard on the wall for their virus to slip past. 30 minutes after opening an inocuous spoofed email from a French e-trade publication requesting clarification on the SWIFT-Indentrus partnership. the virus would port scan and map its entire site LAN, salmoning its way up the router paths till it found the deep waters of the main corporate campus network in Brussels. Shortly, the internal LAN at Brussels would be suffering switch and router buffer overflows and traffic would gasp, ack, and sputter. UniFavela would then towel whip out a vanilla DDOS on the main company web site, any INTERNIC-registered addresses, and any other system in the IP block reserved for SWIFT that had previously port scanned as interesting, or ,even, as nothing. Mongols charging the village gates and tossing flaming torches on thatched roofs. IT Operations would be running to and fro, trying to figure out the internal bandwidth crunch and if there was a bleedout causing the external net problems.
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The Post-Human Story of Minos:
the CEO of a powerful commercial combine is bore an illegitimate son by his indiscreet wife in retaliation for his own dalliances. the son has a hideous deformity but is fantastically brilliant - brilliant enough for the father overcome his own repulsion of the child - as a bastard and a freak. the father sequesters the child in an elaborate virtual domain. the child, a hacker savant, is used to breach competitor nets. but as his power in the digital realm expands, the child transforms into the tyrant-monster. using the nets, he lashes out at people who have caused him pain, then evolves into enjoying the taste of terror and fear. He becomes the Minotaur.
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'there was a mad scramble amongst all the big spook governments, dark side corporations, and the privacy maccabees once it was determined that quantum computation had left the tidal pool of academia, grown legs and air-breathing lungs, and was headed for the nat sec intel highlands. all previous encryption models were rendered obsolete, and worse, exposed. QC became an undefiable xray spotlight, laying bare any encrypted secret with a ease of opening a mathematical candy wrapper. And for a while it swung the advantage back to the state in the digital Boer War against the freecon partisans.'
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The Oort, to the Intras, looked as one people. Extra-stellar hillbillies, ekeing out a subsistance existence on extracted organics from the frozen crud comets and other planetesimals of the Oort Cloud that slung around the solar system in a 1K AU circuit. To the Oort there was no Oort. Each station, each kampong was distinct and seperate. Seperate dialects, traditions, norms, goals. Some were scientific collectives, some were tired mining operations, some were intense sectarian cults - they shared little between themselves beyond necessary trade links for scarce commodities.
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A young prince is disgraced in an internal court scandal and sent into a quasi-exile on a worthless mission. On his travels he builds the wisdom and learns the skills necessary to be a just and effective leader.
His exile was a gambit by his patriarch to remove Genji from the arena of pointless court intrigues and develop him as a real leader. The patriarch dispatched a team of loyal praetorians to discreetly follow and protect Genji on his odyssey.
Genji was sent as an emissary to the Oort system. He must pass through the Martian-Saturnine corridor, populated with industrial trading guilds and their private militias.
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Genealogy becomes paramount in a closed culture; hierarchy by heredity. Reference the roman patrician class’ death-grip obsession with lineage, or the medieval Japanese imperial court’s strict intra-elite caste system.
But in an era of extreme genetic engineering, how can bloodlines retain their importance? Perhaps this is the wrong question. Perhaps in an era of extreme genetic engineering, authentic bloodlines can only retain their importance. The longevity of an unchanged gene line demonstrates success in evolutionary competition. Over time however, the fitness of a rigidly enforced and ‘sequestered’ gene line will degrade. Consider the hemophilia of the European royal strata.
I would not want the imperial court of the inner system to be pure blue bloods, eschewing genetic manipulation. Rather I would have them take the opposite tack – and embrace genetic engineering in the pursuit of perfecting particular socially valued or distinctive attributes; a roman nose, elongated refined fingers, even the possession of certain ‘noble’ afflictions (for ex., the aforementioned hemophilia as a sign of noble lineage).
The elites should pursue genealogy with the same passion and gusto as horse breeders; studs and mares and percentages of bloodlines, enforced and suppressed gene expressions, surrogates, and gene modes des saisons.
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a bum finds a the wallet and keys of a man who jumped from a bridge
he goes to his townhouse to find something to eat or steal
is impressed and overwhelmed with the man's townhouse
showers, eats, gets cleaned up, finds some clothes
is ready to leave when he helps a woman wrestling with groceries at her door
she thanks him, but looks stunned.
‘are you the man in #560? umm..i have lived here for 3 years and have never actually seen you. you seem to leave so early in the morning and get
home so late and keep to yourself.’
they spend 30 minutes talking, having a generally warm friendly encounter.
‘well, I am so glad to have finally met you. Hope to see you soon.’ As she closes her door, the bum turns to leave but pauses and thinks for a moment, then goes back into the man's townhouse
he pours through the man's papers and keepsakes and learns that the man has no family that he speaks with, no friends, lives off a well-endowed trust fund
and
the bum moves in and takes over the mans identity
he brings warmth and sincerity to the man's identity
what makes a hermit tick? what lengths do they go to to remove themselves from society? does it become a game to avoid contact, trying to become a shadow, a phantom? does society dissolve away as a mental force in their thoughts, atrophy away or does it become an amputated impression?
what divsion line stands between a hermit and convict in solitary? the hermit, by and large, chooses their isolation, the convict has it enforced upon them. at what point does the human need for society or socialization collapse? is there anything left that we can inspect and evaluate? a hermit, however, is able to maintain walls against the Great Other, which would imply that they are seeking refuge from the world. a schizo or an autistic will be physically surrounded by others but unable or incapable of making contact.
when does the will to contact die? what is left over? do humans require contact to retain our humanity? can you love and sacrifice in a vacuum?
what defines humanity? oooh, a big question...
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genetic engineering will continue to deconstruct the human species
there will be catastrophic disasters: gene sequence specific viruses engineered to attack 'types' of people. Der Genkampf
petroleum will be replaced- hydrogen-powered locomotion and green power (in the wealthy states). the poor states will continue to be held hostage to oil politics
(cultures and civilizations do not move forward uneringly. they spasticly jerk forward and fro, in clumps andgrains, never ever as a lemming death drive.)
developed economies will be netized. a new state structure will be needed to manage and dsitribute resources. the corporate structure, the commercial backbone of the capitalist democracy, will replace the republic. it is flexible to markets and political forces, insistent on accountability, it provides a sufficient compromise between individual representation and republican government. they will begin their political evolution as projects in community development. assurances of an educated workforce by charter education. assurances of uninterrupted utilities by running their own power/water etc. net-based marketplaces create corporate agoras. employees are in fact de facto citizens of the corporation. citizenship, or regular employment, will be a reward for merit, stock shares will count towards suffrage.
great corporate collectives will arise. housing, education, security...all the needs of the middle class will be absorbed in the corporate state. the tradtional state will cede roles and responsibilities to the corporate state as their resources dwindle. a few isolated violent reactions (military or legal)by the republics against the corporate states, but they will fail over time. against, or more so, in conjunction with the homogenized corporatsists wil be the diasporae, non-corporates will glom to other modes of networked alignment, ethnic allegiance will become stronger over time - as the chinese, indian, and jewish disporaestrengthen as a formula for a successful competition against/with the corporates.
the american state, succored by its overwhelming techo-military supremancy, loses its mission, its vision - substitutes will to dominate for will to excel - and falls into the deep narcotic, insulated slumber of the unassailable. GE, nano, and the banknote net weaken the mythic cohesion of the american spirit. we are no longer united by common experience (mass-mediated or otherwise) the promise of science to make us stronger, smarter, near immortal is held like a manifest destiny or a divine IOU for services rendered to humanity.
Sentado al borde del océano y con todas esas decisiones que tomar revoloteando a mi alrededor, el tiempo pasa y yo sigo perdido en desenredar la madeja de mis emociones. Al nacer nos tendrían que dar un manual de instrucciones, aprendiendo a vivir se llamaría, al fin y al cabo, nosotros no decidimos venir. Mi corazón en un extremo de la cuerda y mi cerebro en el otro. De momento ninguno parece ceder. Ambos tienen perfecta réplica a los argumentos del otro. Y yo, que soy la cuerda, estoy empezando a creer que terminaré rompiendo. La luna, en cuarto creciente, simplemente está. Le da igual lo que yo pueda estar pensando, sintiendo. Pronto estará llena de una luz que ni siquiera es suya. Cuando eso ocurra, espero haber encontrado el camino. Por falta de luz no será...
Tabaiba. El Rosario. Tenerife. Spain.
It was an argument over which was Europe’s fastest game bird that led to the production of the Guinness Book of Records. On 10th November 1951, Sir Hugh Beaver (Managing Director of Guinness Breweries) was with a shooting party in County Wexford, Ireland. Some Golden Plovers were shot at, and missed, which prompted a discussion as to whether they were Europe’s fastest game bird. Consulting reference books did not solve the issue, and it occurred to Sir Hugh that there must be numerous other questions debated nightly in the 81,400 pubs in Britain and Ireland, but there was no book with which to settle arguments about records. He discussed the matter with Ross and Norris McWhirter to see if their fact and figure agency could help. The result was the first Guinness Book of Records being published in time for Christmas 1955.
Bizarrely the question that was the reason for the creation of the Guinness Book of Records was not answered until the 36th edition in 1989: "Britain's fastest game bird is the Red Grouse (Lagopus l. scoticus) which, in still air, has recorded burst speeds up to 92.8-100.8 km/h 58-63 mph over very short distances. Air speeds up to 112 km/h 70 mph have been claimed for the Golden plover (Pluvialis apricaria) when flushed, but it is extremely doubtful whether this rapid-flying bird can exceed 80-88 km/h 50-55 mph - even in an emergency".
I used a shutter speed of 1/2000 to freeze the wings on this Red Grouse flying full pelt over the Peak District Moors.
Robert A Heinlein
I have been tagged by Louisa Hennessy and Coco Rose so here are ten things about me:
1.When I was four, I was the May Queen at nursery school.
2.I hate bananas. My mom says I liked them when I was a child and has a photo to prove it. She misses the point that I am crying in the photo. I have always hated bananas.
3.When I was maybe four or five, I wanted to understand how my memory worked. So I invented a character that lived in my head and she filed away every scrap of information I ever got. When I wanted to remember something, she would go to her filing system and bring the information out, just like a book at a library. As I got older and wiser and more into technology, my librarian upgraded from a manual card indexing system to a computerised one. She uses Windows, so it crashes quite a lot these days and, more often than not, we find it incredibly difficult to retrieve any information at all, or we get the wrong things out altogether. Perhaps we should go back to the old-fashioned way or remembering stuff.
4.When I was a kid, I’d play at my cousins’ place a lot (sadly it is now an hotel, www.fanhams-hall-hotel.com/, but this is where I did most of my growing up). It was a pretty big place with acres of grounds and in it, there was a “mountain” (it was really a man-made ornamental Japanese hill but it seemed very big to us). You could climb the mountain using the path or scramble up the sides, the hard way. I liked to use the hard way more often than not, it was more rewarding and I always felt a sense of achievement having made it to the summit.
5.My first bicycle grew from a rusty nail that my dad planted in the garden one night. He said a magic spell over it, planted it in the vegetable plot at the side of our house, and in the morning – hey presto! a bike! I was pretty damned pleased with that. I still plant rusty nails on the off-chance…
6.I had a rabbit called Bobo when I was three. He became she when she had baby bunnies and we called her Bobette. My dad told me one Sunday lunchtime that we were having Bobo for lunch; he had a pretty weird sense of humour. I didn’t eat lunch, and I went off meat in a pretty big way. I am a vegan now and this is a way of life for me, so I have my father to thank.
7.My parents split up when I was ten and although it was a relief after all the rows and arguments, I had to grow up really fast to help my mom because she became a bit of a basket case for a while.
8.I grew up an only child but I always, always would have liked older brothers, I thought this would be pretty cool. When I was twenty and had moved away from home to get my own flat in London, I found out that lo-and-behold! my dad had been married before he met my mom and I had two older half-brothers!! They are great and I love them both hugely.
9.Spending most of my childhood at my cousins’ place, I developed a passion for all things Oriental. The gardens where we played have had a massive impact on how I see the world and inspired at an early age a desire to travel. I took my first solo trip abroad when I was fifteen…to Paris. Admittedly I stayed with my pen friend and her family, but I was let loose on a plane and an airport and I was hooked. I moved to Paris a couple of years later, I really like the place a lot. Since then the travel bug has always been with me and even though I’ve had to spend time in England, I am always off somewhere, be it in my head or for real. The next big trip is always around the corner…
10.My dad taught me a lot. He was an artist and he taught me to paint, to look at art works and to form my own tastes and opinions. He engendered in me a love for literature. He hadn’t travelled a lot but through reading he had been around the world many times. He taught me how to have my photograph taken and to never be afraid of the camera but always to be wary of the person behind it because they may lack the skill to make a beautiful or meaningful picture. He gave me my first cameras, an incredibly huge Polaroid and several disposable cameras.
Suffering, in all it's varied forms, is what exactly?
A compounding of fractured soul, so matter-of-factly,
She said that He Himself said,
That surgery is an art gallery of faith instead
Masterpieces where health invariably decreases
Swan songs of broken hearts where love ceases
To enliven home truth's of carefree surrealism
One empty soul does not make another idealism,
Minimal is the grey day that paves the way for darkness
Looming on the horizon of unseen weathering blackness
A colossus of sky with the upper land
Nature the only card, saviour, and prophet to hand
Fear may only be a feeling, but the feeling is beyond fear itself
As they say, depression is expectant as we each try to find oneself
In the mire of news, be it the betrayal of the health of our citizens
Or just the assassination of natural resources wealth, that bloody well glistens
In the headlights and highlights of our obit we now live in memory alone
"A Song for Departure" plays upon the mind that cannot find adequate words to bemoan
The lack of attention paid to the well-being of Mother Nature, ageism spammed!
We are seeking the revolution for the revolving Earth whose door's are jammed
By the annual quagmire of festive exposure by all means time is spent!
Here by the grace of God, we breathe in life, in a place, in grace Heaven sent
It's tempting to stop reading, as it is to cease listening, turning a blind eye as well, why not?
But dare I say, it's nigh on impossible for very long to do the whole damned lot!
Mother Nature, She is suffering can't you see upon this obdurate land
We tune-in to be deceived, ghost hunters and faithful followers of a new kind of religious brand
Detect only what the illusion alludes to in the lost art of heart and soul
In part, life is already obfuscated with it's own toxins, we're the decade on parole
1988, 1998, 2008, I remember well, the future that is coming too soon
Here before tomorrow ever knows what to do with itself, we must find the answers to be in tune
Petty arguments wage wars within the minds of boys whose toys have been confiscated by ignorance
A belief of faith cannot be true if it sees red at every turn, nor can it bring hope for the children in whom we bestow what kind of continuance?
Benevolence is awaited with a youthful eagerness that has grown old waiting on the wings of fighters
Knives replace fists that substitute backs for tables in the cities full of such blighters
Intervention risks life and death for the removal of compassion brings the hooded underworld
That has now come up to grab society by the ruddy throat twirled
A society indeed, un-policed and unappeased the x-factor of fearless nerves
Can no longer meet with the supply, that which steals warns of what it serves
We're a breed apart though we never used to be and never should be
Walking tall when we should be down on our damned knees begging for forgiveness until we all finally agree
So the trepidant beggars of belief peaceably fly in the face of popular opinion,
For the standards of today will invariably fail the tests of time and ever-changing dominion
If you feel the force of scientific tribulation, will it numb the senses of tomorrow
Can the government's diet, passed fit for us all, sustain us through political sorrow?
If a smile should pass your face someday, cherish it's presence upon the lifestyle that forgot how to use it
Wear yourself well, but for the love of life we must address what does reciprocally befit.
by anglia24
09h55: 02/10/2008
©2008anglia24
September 27, 2015
"Silence is one of the hardest arguments to refute." - Josh Billings
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I stayed up late last night; seriously messing with my sleep cycle and ending up forgoing sleep entirely, and I feel it was only half worth it.
I was up to watch the sky with my neighbours for an impromptu "moon party" but as soon as the first portion of the eclipse came to an end, the clouds rolled in.
Denying me the blood moon.
Very disappointing; but anyway, not to be discouraged, here's a collection of what I did get to see.
Back in a bit with my daily shot!
Click "L" for a larger view.
Confinement jour 42 / Lockdown Day 42
En direct des studios de confinement
Photo : Après le PQ, pénurie alimentaire ?
Non, simplement une épicerie ouverte qui est restée fermée (le Covid brouille les codes)
L’info du jour :
Un extrait exclusif de la conférence de presse d’Edouard Philippe, ce mardi (c'est donc un vrai "scoop") :
Question 1 (France Inter) :
- Monsieur le Premier Ministre, ça sert à quoi un masque alternatif ? (question culturelle et éducative, très “France Inter”)
- Je veux d’abord expliquer aux Français qu’un masque alternatif n’est ni un masque qui fonctionne sur le courant alternatif, ni un masque qu’on n’a le droit d’utiliser qu’un jour sur deux
(rires dans la salle, quel boute-en-train, cet Edouard !)…
Ensuite, il faut que les Francais sachent qu’un masque alternatif ne sert quasiment... (silence) ...à rien !
(stupeur dans la salle)
Mais le Gouvernement veille sur vous et a tout prévu…
En hiver, vous portiez des chemises à manches longues, je vous expliquais que les masques étaient inutiles, et je vous préconisais simplement de tousser dans votre coude…
Hélas, les beaux jours arrivent et vous allez porter des chemisettes à manches courtes…
Et c’est vraiment pas classe de tousser sur son bras nu, bandes de crados !
En matière d’hygiène, vous me faites honte !
Le masque alternatif est donc une sorte de coude en tissu que l’on s’enroule autour du visage et ainsi, grâce à nous, vous pourrez désormais tousser, cracher, éternuer, ou même vous moucher dans votre masque au lieu de le faire dans votre bras…
Merci, qui ?
Les journalistes (en chœur) :
- Merci, Monsieur le Premier Ministre !
Question 2 (RMC/BFM) :
- Monsieur le Premier Ministre, pourquoi, alors que nous sommes le pays le plus fiscalisé au monde, n’avons-nous toujours pas de vrais masques, pas alternatifs, comme tous les autres pays européens en ont déjà à disposition, tout en payant moins d’impôts !
Les bras m’en tombent donc je ne peux même plus tousser dans mon coude !
Vous devez la vérité aux Français, Monsieur le Premier Ministre !
(Et il frappe sur la table, le Jean-Jacques Gourdin ! Dommage qu’il s'écoute tellement parler qu'il en oublie d’écouter les mauvaises réponses à ses bonnes questions)
- Parce que l’argent des masques, dont nous a généreusement fait cadeau le contribuable, et je l'en remercie chaleureusement au passage, a été intégralement dépensé pour implanter les nouveaux radars à 80 km/h, et les panneaux neufs sur les routes nationales.
- Et pourquoi une telle erreur stratégique sidérante ? Les Français veulent savoir, Monsieur le Premier Ministre !
- Parce qu’un radar rapporte davantage d’argent qu’un masque ! Et pas qu’un peu, mon neveu ! Et y’a pas photo, mon Paulo !
- Effectivement, l’argument est imparable et donc recevable ! Mais alors pourquoi ne pas utiliser l’argent que rapportent les radars, pour acheter des masques ?
- Parce que les gens sont confinés et ne se font plus piéger par les radars ! Réfléchis un peu cinq minutes, imbécile, avant de poser tes questions idiotes ! Pour acheter des masques il faut encaisser des PV et pour encaisser des PV il faut d’abord déconfiner... C'est un cercle vicieux, un peu comme le gouvernement !
(nouveaux rires dans la salle, il est vraiment tordant ce Philippe !)
Edouard poursuit :
- Et n'oubliez pas aussi qu’il faut économiser un peu d‘argent pour payer Sibeth Ndiaye, et une poignée d'autres gigolos qu'on a embauchés par erreur et qui ne servent à rien…
Au gouvernement, on fait aussi du social, et on applique déjà le revenu universel d'activité pour les plus défavorisés...
Sans la fonction publique, ces pauvres gens ne trouveraient jamais de boulot ! Soyez un peu humains et généreux, ça vous changera, bandes d'égoïstes !
(la salle, conquise, se lève et applaudit vivement la qualité des excellentes répliques et l'humour grinçant et décalé, quasiment socialiste ! Si ça se trouve c’est le tandem de comiques troupiers, Benoit Hamon et Manuel Valls, qui lui écrit ses textes)
Le Premier Ministre (ravi et saluant la foule) :
- Autre question ?
Les journalistes (ravis aussi, au sens de “ravi” comme le ravi de la crèche):
- Non tout est enfin clair, merci Monsieur le Premier Ministre ! On se revoit le 11 mai...
Le Premier Ministre conclut : - … Le 11 mai... ou une date alternative !
P.S : C'est de l'humour (très noir et en forçant un peu le trait, je vous l’accorde) mais c'est quand même très triste car tellement proche de la réalité...
Coluche, reviens, tu serais sûrement bien meilleur que moi dans l’exercice de la satire...
Bon confinement et "Take care"
Le journal complet du confinement et des chroniques de la guerre :
66553 seems to have had an argument with most of its consist as its all loaded towards the rear of the train. Still it was extremely pleasant to have a wander about the river bank again. 4O71 16:28 Wentloog Freightliner to Southampton.
Woke up in the wrong bed this morning.
It was mine, but it should have been yours, even though mine is more comfortable.
The shower went cold before I was done washing.
And there was crusty tooth paste on the tube.
Front wheel of my bike wobbled all the way to work.
And my cat listens to me better than the person I have lunch with.
Read a zombie story blog after lunch.
Tried to relate to the main character, it didn’t work, she was a single mum.
Should buy cotton ear buds on the way home.
But this new album I got from that guy whose name I never remember has me distracted.
You message me to say we should talk later.
Seeing friends tonight, I lie.
Wish you would try harder, you tell me.
So do I, I respond quietly (in my head).
See you around is not a good way to leave it.
But we do because there is too much stubbornness between us.
I’ll go to sleep in the wrong bed tonight.
It’ll be mine, but it should be yours, even though mine is more comfortable.
I have been doing Cuckoos every single day they are in the UK for 6 years now and today was the day that topped them all. A brutal fight between a Robin and the Cuckoo provided me with some extraordinary images.
An unbelievable encounter that took my breath away and I feel so privelllaged to have witnessed this spectacular fight.
The Robin has been there every day for the last 2 weeks and never bothered him, however I think the Robins eggs might have hatched triggering it into violent mode now it has babies to look after. There is a good chance this will happen for the next few days.
Email me at alanmcfadyen@ymail.com to book the last few days (open until the end of the month) this hide isnt available again until May 2020.
If there was any argument to what is the UKs best Cuckoo hide there isnt anymore. Consistently producing action packed images day after day.
"Don’t Be Swayed by Dead Arguments and Uninformed Opinions: Decide for Yourself if AI Can Help You Create Art"
- Someone once said -
I wanna be young again, young again
Tell me you remember when, remember when
We stayed up late on the weekdays, we were broke
Don't wanna be caught up in all of this
All of the politics, arguments
We feel pain just so we can feel sane, we're alone
And we're losing grip on everything, that ever meant anything
I find it kinda hard to fall asleep at night
Some days I really feel strange
Sometimes I think I’m trapped inside of my own mind
Can anybody hеar me?
Everybody needs to be alonе sometimes
But I’m feelin really lonesome
If you’re thinking that you can relate tonight
Why don’t you come over?
We'll be fucked up together
I really wanna fall in love, stay in love
I don’t wanna cut and run, and mess it up
Even if we get hurt, least we tried to make it work
But we're losing grip on everything, that ever meant anything
I find it kinda hard to fall asleep at night
Some days I really feel strange
Sometimes I think I’m trapped inside of my own mind
Can anybody hear me?
Everybody needs to be alone sometimes
But I’m feelin really lonesome
If you’re thinking that you can relate tonight
Why don’t you come over?
We'll be fucked up together
We’ll be fucked up together
I find it kinda hard to fall asleep at night
Some days I really feel strange
Sometimes I think I’m trapped inside of my own mind
Can anybody hear me?
Everybody needs to be alone sometimes
But I’m feelin really lonesome
If you’re thinking that you can relate tonight
Why don’t you come over?
We'll be fucked up together
The style of the Gemarah is argumentative, yet joy is often derived from its study.
How can argument be a pleasure? When we approach it as a vehicle transporting us towards oneness. This vehicle fueled by most refined love is otherwise horribly derailed.
Currently we're at a standstill. The honking is both symphony and cacophony.
-Ourit
© Álbum 0493
By Catedrales e Iglesias
Arquidiócesis de México
Sitio Oficial de la Arquidiócesis de México
www.arquidiocesismexico.org.mx/
San Bernardino de Siena
Av. Nuevo León 24 Bis
Col. Barrio Santa Crucita C.P. 16070
Del. Xochimilco
Tel. 5676-0148
Tel. 5676-8646
Tomado del libro: Xochimilco y sus monumentos Históricos.
De Araceli Peralta Flores y Jorge Rojas Ramírez,
Departamento del Distrito Federal Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia, 1992, México.
Situado en el centro de Xochimilco ya que en torno a el ha girado una buena parte de la historia de pueblo. "Tanto a los conquistadores como a los evangelios, la construcción de esta iglesia les sirvió como punto de cohesión e identidad social, en cuanto que le permitió una armonía entre el indígena, el español y los primeros mestizos.
Xochimilco hacia 1524. George Kubler, en su libro: Arquitectura Mexicana del siglo XVI señala, que la iglesia y en convento tuvieron varias etapas constructivas que abarcaron desde 1530 hasta el año 1600. Para 1538 San Bernardino contaba ya con convento; hacia 1546 fray Francisco de Soto, uno de los once compañeros de fray Martín de Valencia, tomo la dirección y la supervisión de la obra; en 1585 se terminaron los dormitorios, la iglesia, las celdas, las viviendas y las dependencias. Para 1609 funcionó el colegio conventual de Xochimilco en donde se dieron clases de retórica, teología, artes y oficios.
Gran parte del dinero que se requirió para llevar a cabo la obra fue aportado por los indios principales de Xochimilco, siendo Martín Cerón de Álvaro uno de los más generosos .
Ante la escasez de frailes, en 1538, los franciscanos decidieron retirar los que habían en Xochimilco, dejando el convento como visita del grande de México. Los indios se opusieron con ruegos y llantos a esta determinación, logrando que se quedaran dos frailes para su convento.
En 1569 moraban en el convento cuatro religiosos que tenían a su cargo el adoctrinamiento de cinco mil indios. Cuando Fray Jerónimo de Mendieta fue guardián del convento, los indios del pueblo se agruparon por barrios en el atrio para adoctrinarse y contarse. Hacia 1585 el número de evangelizadores aumentó a seis.
La iglesia y el convento de San Bernardino tuvo trece pueblos de visita: Santiago Tepalcatlalpan, San Lucas Xochimanca, San Mateo Pochtla, San Miguel Topilejo, San Francisco Tlalnepantla, San Salvador Cuautenco, Santa Cecilia Ahuautla, San Andrés Ocoyoacac, San Lorenzo Tlatecpan, San Martín Tiatilpan, Santa Maria Nativitas Zacapan y Santa Cruz Acalpixcan.
Otro suceso importante de índole religioso se dio en el siglo XVII. En este siglo había fuertes diferencias entre los frailes peninsulares y criollos por querer ocupar los cargos mas altos, por lo que los criollos de la Provincia del Santo Evangelio, escribieron a Paulo V desde Xochimilco -en enero de 1614- solicitándole que los favoreciera con estos cargos. Lograron obtener un orden a través de la cual tanto criollos como peninsulares podían turnarse cada tres años en el provincialato y otras jerarquías.
En cuanto a los bienes muebles de San Bernardino destaca el retablo mayor de Xochimilco, que data del siglo XVI solo comparable en calidad con el de Huejotzingo, Puebla y del que se han hecho estudios muy detallados de su composición, y es considerado como una obra de gran valor artístico e iconográfico.
Por lo que toca a los retablos laterales tenemos el de Cristo, ubicado en el segundo tramo del lado norte. Data del siglo XVI; esta incompleto en su base y en sus calles laterales. El de la Sagrada Familia localizado en el segundo tramo del lado sur, corresponde a los siglos XVII-XVIII. El de la Virgen Purísima ubicada en el tercer tramo del lado sur, es del siglo XII-XVIII (no se encuentra en el lugar original y esta incompleto en su base). El de Cristo situado en el cuarto tramo del lado sur, data del siglo XVI - XVII. Otro de Cristo localizado en el quinto tramo del lado sur, corresponde a finales del siglo XVII (esta incompleto en su base). El de la Virgen del Carmen con las ánimas del purgatorio ubicado en el quinto tramo del lado norte, es del siglo XVII. El del Martirio de San Pedro situado en el sexto tramo del lado sur, data del siglo XVII-XVIII, este retablo fue hecho sin tener un diseño arquitectónico y no tiene columnas, arquitrabes ni frasos. El de la pasión de Cristo situado en el sexto tramo del lado norte corresponde al siglo XVII (esta incompleto y se encuentra en malas condiciones de estabilidad): El de San Sebastián Mártir ubicado en el séptimo tramo del lado, es del siglo XVIII. Sobre la historia de este ultimo retablo García Granados dice que en 1576 la población de Xochimilco fue afectada seriamente por el cocolixtle, por lo que Fray Jerónimo de Mendieta echó suerte para saber a que santo debían encomendarse, saliendo agraciado el Apóstol Santiago. Pasado un año y en vista que la peste no disminuía decidió encomendarlos a San Sebastián, con lo que el cocolixtle desapareció. En agradecimiento a estos santos les mandó construir sus retablos a ambos lados del altar mayor.
Tanto en el templo como en el convento existen pinturas, esculturas y tallas de gran calidad realizadas por grandes artistas. De las pinturas destacan las de Echave Orio, padre e hijo probablemente Simón Pereyns, Sánchez Salmerón Caravaggio y Francisco Martínez. Sobresalen las culturas de Luis Arciniegas y Juan Martínez Montañés.
La fina silleria tallada en cedro rojo, compuesta por seis sítiales divididos por brazos, así como los dos púlpitos que se encuentran en el templo, fueron hechos por el ebanista Juan Rojas en el siglo XVIII.
A finales del siglo XIX, el arquitecto Mariano Lezano construyó un ciprés de estilo neoclásico que cubría buena parte del retablo mayor. Años más tarde el arquitecto Roberto Álvarez Espinoza realizó unos estudios y elaboró unos planos con objeto de retirar el ciprés argumentando que éste tapaba el retablo del siglo XVI.
La década de los sesentas fue una de las más difíciles en lo que corresponde a la restauración del templo y del convento, ya que se realizaron en ellos intervenciones que afectaron tanto elementos arquitectónicos como a los retablos, pinturas y esculturas. Dicho trabajos se hicieron sin contar con un proyecto de restauración que científicamente apoyará los criterios de conservación y tampoco se consideró aplicar la tecnología más apropiada para cada caso.
Cabe señalar que en los años sesenta el atrio de la iglesia suscitó conflictos al quererse utilizar este espacio para otros fines. De hecho la esquina suroeste se encontraba ocupada por las escuelas primarias Vicente Riva Palacio y la Ignacio Ramírez, lo que dio pauta para que surgieran solicitudes en las que se pedía construir en lo quedaba del atrio un deportivo, y poder utilizar ese espacio para llevar acabo exposiciones ganaderas. De los dos últimos proyectos ninguno fue aprobado y hasta los años setenta. Las primeras fueron reubicadas quedando de ese modo el atrio libre de construcciones ajenas a su uso original.
... Complementar el exconvento franciscano de Xochimilco es situarse en la mística del encuentro del hombre consigo mismo, con el universo y con lo sobrenatural. ... Los alarifes lograron con su modestia una obra sobria realizada con ayuda indígena en sus acabados, fundiéndose el arte indígena y la cultura occidental, reafirmando así el nuevo pensamiento español. ... El conjunto guarda los cánones y la organización especial clásica de los conventos de la Nueva España: El Templo tiene vista al oriente y el claustro al costado sur, que lo protege de los vientos dominantes. ... El atrio es una típica solución americana .
Servia como espacio intermedio entre el interior y el exterior, para llevar acabo en el ceremonias que permitieran una gran concentración de gente. ... El espacio interior... Originalmente tenía techumbre y alfarje de madera, que fueron posteriormente sustituidos por bóvedas. Esto hizo necesario un nuevo entendimiento en el acomodado de su necesario un nuevo entendimiento acomodado geometría integrado estribos y botares a la estructura, destacando una cuyo forma de arco llamarían los estudios de "por tranquil o rampante", el cual sigue en empuje natural de la bóveda como si fuera caída de agua .
... cabe señalar que este tipo de solución estructural fue típica de Xochimilco, con la idea de reforzar las capillas y los templos, contra el hundimiento y desplome, ya que el suelo es altamente compresible y débil. ...El templo cuenta con una fachada en la que destaca la portada... un arco de medio punto, pilastras empotradas y enjutas, rematando a las pilastras una ventana coral de perfil mixtilínea. La fachada culmina con un almenado que la asemeja a una construcción militar; de ahí la idea equivocada de haber sido este tipo de conventos mal llamados conventos fortaleza. Casi al nivel del almenado se encuentra un reloj que muestra el aporte del siglo XIX. ...Hay que destacar los contrafuertes y arbotantes que flanquean la construcción porque representan el avance tecnológico de la época y el perfecto conocimiento de los materiales utilizados. La cúpula del templo, se terminó er. 1700... El doctor Atl nos dice "es probable que (sea) la cúpula más antigua de México y por una rara coincidencia la que parece derivarse más directamente del gran domo de Bruneleschi". ...Cada espacio al interior de las crujías es necesario imaginarlo con su humilde mobiliario de madera aparente o acabado con aceite de linaza, compuesto por una lámpara de aceite para iluminar el recinto, una cama de tablas y una especie de cómoda o ropero.
En la parte exterior encontramos la capilla de la Tercera Orden, compuesta por una sola nave de cuatro tramos que corresponden a finales del siglo XVII, cuya portada en cierta forma nos recuerda la porciúncula puerta de acceso lateral a la nave del templo principal, misma que guarda un significado especial para la orden franciscana.
El convento de San Bernardino muestra en su conjunto, con orgullo, la mano de obra de quienes lo pensaron y lo hicieron, convirtiendo en poemas sintetizados en su arquitectura.
Investigación
Mara González Guine