View allAll Photos Tagged enmesh
As long as man was small in numbers and limited in technology, he could realistically regard the earth as an infinite reservoir, an infinite source of inputs and an infinite cesspool for outputs. Today we can no longer make this assumption. Earth has become a space ship, not only in our imagination but also in the hard realities of the social, biological, and physical system in which man is enmeshed. In what we might call the "old days," when man was small in numbers and earth was large, he could pollute it with impunity, though even then he frequently destroyed his immediate environment and had to move on to a new spot, which he then proceeded to destroy. Now man can no longer do this; he must live in the whole system, in which he must recycle his wastes and really face up to the problem of the increase in material entropy which his activities create. In a space ship there are no sewers.
-- Kenneth E. Boulding
I know this picture has been done a million times before, but I wanted to do my own version...
Structure-
// enMESHed Pastel Sands Cottage
Bedroom-
// Second Spaces - Lofty Daydreams - white
// Second Spaces - Treat Yourself - Travel - room service
// The Loft - Mirror Cluster Pewter
// !! Follow US !! Love tower (large) blue/silver
// NOMAD Amore Crown Wall Decor
// [we're CLOSED] linen rug blue
View From Alice Springs, central Australia. 100 people held a carbon-free
windy vigil to call on the Australian Government to become a leader at
Copenhagen for the 350 target within a fair and binding framework. Our event
partnered the "End Discrimination and Racism" message of Human Rights Day.
In central Australia climate change is translating into widespread uranium
exploration and mining. This follows nearly 15 years of systematic neglect
and manipulation of indigenous people by the Howard government with the
hidden agenda of opening access to uranium through policies promoting
poverty, confusion, anger and division. In 2007 the national Racial
Discrimination Act was suspended to enable formal Government INTERVENTION
which has introduced wideranging State controls over Indigenous peoples'
lives.
Meanwhile, from 2000 the Adelaide to Darwin railway was built by KBR, then a
subsidiary of Hallibuton, for the transport and export of this uranium. The
long term plans of Big Energy and associates for Australia are
comprehensive: build the railway, mine the uranium, dump the waste, ensure
and control nuclear power as the next global primary energy source. This
lobby is huge and undemocratic. It explains why Australia, rich in renewable
resources, technology and expertise, is NOT DOING IT'S BEST. We call on
Prime Minister Kevin Rudd to STOP subsiding fossil fuels; to STOP enmeshing
Australia in the global nuclear cycle; to LIMIT uranium mining, to VALUE
remote Australia's indigenous communities and environment, and to START
putting some REAL commitment into renewables and safe climate! NOW.
organised by Climate Action Group. photographer: Oliver Eclipse
In the top left corner a photo of the “re” – development of Dharavi in process. But maybe we need to rewind all the way back to our initial vision of apocalyptic slums and question it – what is a slum after all? The mass-housing projects that house people in superficially respectable homes are not slums? Even if the residents cannot sustain their livelihoods and maintain their buildings? Aren’t we witnessing all these giant-structures get moisturized and sick in the harsh weather of Mumbai? And neighbourhoods full of shops, restaurants, workshops and assembling units are referred to as slums even when they produce wealth, provide livelihoods, sustain local economies and keep on improving themselves overtime? Many neighbourhoods in Mumbai that are referred to as a slum actually sustain economies and are enmeshed in the larger economy of the city – national as well as global. The experience of street-life will indicate to you the health of an urban economy more than anything else. Many urbanists around the world, following Jane Jacobs, have recognized the importance of street-life, markets, vendors, loiters, pedestrians and other users of public spaces to keep places safe, culturally vibrant and economically sound.
He felt trapped. My karma must have been very bad in my last life, he told himself. Japan seemed as inaccessible as if it were in another time. It no longer seemed possible for him ever to find it again, at least the Japan he had left twelve years ago. For him 'there was no more Japan; it was but a withered flower - calling him still like a siren of the sea.
Nicholas awoke just before dawn. For just a moment, he was quite convinced that he was in his old house on the outskirts of Tokyo, the Zen garden, the oblique shadows on the wall by his head made by the stand of tall rustling bamboo. He heard a cuckoo's brief call, the rush of the morning's traffic into the city, muffled, funneled and yet magnified by the distance and the peculiar acoustics of the topography.
He turned his head, still half asleep, saw a female form asleep beside him. Yukio. She had come back after all, he thought. He had known she would. But now to actually have her here beside him -
He sat up abruptly, his heart racing. A runic chanting, as if from far away across the distance of a sea, abruptly metamorphosed into the drifting crash of the surf, coming clear to him through the open window, the cry of the gulls. Still he knew the meaning of that arcane chanting...
He took several deep breaths. Japan clung to him now like a fine gauzy veil, enmeshing him. What had recalled it to him so intensely?
He looked around, saw the tip of Justine's nose and her soft sensual lips, partly opened as she breathed, the only parts of her not covered by the sheet, blue and white and grey, rippling like the sea. She slept deeply now within its heavy bosom.
What is it about her, he wondered, that pulls me like a current? Oddly, he felt adrift upon the tides. Watching her, the soft rise and fall of her warm body, he knew that he was being drawn back to Japan, into the past where he dared not tread...
excerpt from the novel The Ninja written by Eric Van Lustbader
For a small highstreet, Low Fell sustains an unusually high number of restaurants, particularly Italian restaurants, and restaurants offering mixed cuisine (eg. Italian and Mexican).
This isn't so much an example of 'back to back' cultures as is described elsewhere in this photostream, but a commercial enmeshment of cultures on the highstreet.
In Memory
Ifa
Ifa
(May 6, 2013 - August 18, 2016)
On May 6, 2013, an independent-minded grey fox named Ifa was born in Minnesota. Ten days later, our lives changed forever as the 'kit-moms', Amanda, Bronwyn, and Zach brought Ifa, Gypsum, and Hunter to Wolf Park and into our lives as the park's first socialized grey foxes. Even on the ride home, Ifa made it abundantly clear that she was an independent vixen by continually attempting to climb out of the nest box her mothers' had prepared for her. She almost succeeded! From an early age, she kept her kit-moms busy with unpredictable behavior, and was usually the first to surprise them with the onset of the next stage of development earlier than expected. She chose an exclusive group of people to be her best friends. The circle expanded only once to include volunteer Jacob, although she tolerated and worked with most other people.
Even with her independent attitude, Ifa loved training with anyone who had a treat. The sound of a bait bag opening would pull Ifa out of a slumber, onto a platform and ready to work; unless, of course, it was early. She wasn't always a morning fox (and was often seen with ridiculous bed head if disturbed). She was quick to pick up cues and was known most for her signature "wave" and "meerkat" pose. If you were working with Gypsum or Hunter and looked down, you would typically find Ifa at your feet, offering up a behavior in hopes of a reward.
Along with training, Ifa also enjoyed rambles around the park. Exploring tall grass was always a favorite, and negotiating with the handler in an attempt to climb a tree or go under a deck was always attempted. Walks were always on her terms, though--she wouldn't always choose to go. She would, however, dictate when she came back. On one occasion, she refused to go home and instead walked twice around the loop trail, enjoying a leisurely spring day.
On Wednesday, August 17, Ifa began acting not quite right. Our vet, Dr. Becker, was coming out to examine several other animals, and we put her in the line-up. After a brief exam, it was decided to keep her in the Alison Franklin Animal Care Center overnight and take her to the clinic the following morning in order to do a full work-up. At the clinic, Ifa's abdominal area didn't look right. After consulting with another doctor, surgery was recommended. It quickly became apparent that Ifa was suffering from a ruptured abscess that had enmeshed itself to the pancreas and other organs, and that there was nothing that could be done. True to her independent personality, Ifa passed away on Thursday, August 18, 2016 after giving us only one day's notice that anything at all was wrong. Prior to this ordeal, she was working hard on a new cue--"reach for the stars"--We are all going to miss our little star dearly.
wolfpark.org/animals/our-ambassadors/memory-gardens/#jp-c...
I was blessed to spend a couple of hours with Ifa, her brother Gypsum and sister Hunter on their 96th day. I still am their "parent" through adoption.
Part of the eyes } world { hands exhibit in the Albury Art Gallery (23 October to 6 December 2009). In addition to the still images on the wall, the gallery space features three video monitors (with couches/seating) in the centre, which will play continuous loops of imagery.
This is the loop for monitor 1.
Except that the pulsating eye is repeated four times, before the method is shown.
csusap.csu.edu.au/~dspennem/photography/exhibitions/eyes/...
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eyes } world { hands
Photography by Dirk HR Spennemann
366 days… 2 cameras …364 people
All of us are enmeshed in a daily network of inter-personal relationships: with family and friends, acquaintances and co-workers, with people in shops or strangers in the street. It is the sum of all these relationships that defines our social world.
The eyes } world { hands project documents the world seen through the eyes of photographic artist Dirk Spennemann. On each day of the year in 2008, Dirk photographed a different person, with the first and last days book-ended by ‘self-portraits’ of the two cameras used.
Shot on location, these images capture the diversity of modern society, filtered by the photographer’s experience and contact range. The 364 photographic portraits focus on the eyes and hands of the participants. In most eyes you can see a reflected image of the world around the photographer, and in the hands you see the instruments that actively shaped that world 2008.
The portraits encompass all walks of life, from A (academic) to Z (zoo photographer), from high (flight attendant) to low (diving consultant), from high-tech (IT specialist) to low-tech (happy camper), from past (archaeologist) to future (futurist).
The locations where the eye photos were taken reflects the artist’s own activity range. As an university academic, he traveled to a variety of locations in Australia and overseas during 2008. While the majority of images were taken in Albury-Wodonga, the photo series exemplifies the increasing mobility and globalization of our community
Sorry about the boy hiding in the picture. Always hard to get him to stand behind the wide angle lens.
German photo.
Versatile German film and stage actress Ellen Schwiers (1930) often appeared as the dark, passionate woman, enmeshed in her own sensuality or another fate. During her 60 year-career she played in ca. 50 films and 150 television productions, but she also worked – and still works - as a stage actress, director and intendant.
For more postcards, a bio and clips check out our blog European Film Star Postcards.
The Elfin Oak, in Kensington Gardens, located just by the Diana Playground dedicated to Princess Diana.
There are also links with the comedian Spike Milligan, who loved this tree and campaigned long and hard for its preservation.
Sadly, it is now enmeshed in a thick wire cage, to protect it from vandalism. It also, however, makes the figures very hard to see (not to mention photograph)
The Elfin Oak, in Kensington Gardens, located just by the Diana Playground dedicated to Princess Diana.
There are also links with the comedian Spike Milligan, who loved this tree and campaigned long and hard for its preservation.
Sadly, it is now enmeshed in a thick wire cage, to protect it from vandalism. It also, however, makes the figures very hard to see (not to mention photograph)
Passengers wait to board the eastbound San Francisco Zephyr as P-42s 10 and 146 glide in with a 9 car holiday-sized train on Track 5 east. Next door on track 6 west, a Capital Corridor train is staged for its next departure for the Bay Area. This shot was taken off the fairly new 5th Street overpass that crosses over the east end of the platforms. There is a wide sidewalk, nearby parking and is a perfect place for taking photos, except it has been enmeshed in chain-link fencing. Someone had cut a hole in the fence over the servicing pad between Tracks 5 and 6 that I used to take this picture.
The discourse of 'the other' has been in crisis since la différance. We have come to the recognition that our (old) patterns of thinking about 'the other,' and thus also 'the foreigner,' work through attributions and stipulations which do not do the plurality and heterogeneity of the world justice. Political, leftist discourse has ever since been enmeshed in an attempt to find language which suits the problems of the land we formerly colonized.I am, according to experience, described as a German with an immigrant background. I balk at this definition. How can that be? My foreignness -- in this case meaning my 'nongermanness' on account to my 'foreign blood' -- is pure fiction. As is my being a woman or being young or being an artist, incidentally.Back to foreignness: I grew up with the history of the French-colonial là-bas, but I was mainly in the mainland European ici. My experience of and with Algeria is supplemented by photography and myths of the Middle East and the Maghreb. I continue to forge this bridge . I have a substantial collection of foreign photography and stories like those from One thousand and One Nights with which I fabricate my western identity. Imagine... picture this... I am your storyteller. I offer you the finest in Orientalism, baby: stories of beautiful, veiled and lonely women gone mad, of homoerotic steam baths, of toes which have grown together, of women in the Algerian resistance movement. An evening about the power of the narratives which form our consciousness and which questions our gaze upon ________ (the foreign)."
I was born Catholic in India. My mother grew up in what is now Pakistan and my father in India. Catholicism is a very tiny minority religion in India. One of the reasons why I have a difficult time with the thought of leaving the church, despite the fact that I've been tempted to, because of the issue of who gets a chance to be ordained to priesthood, is that my Catholicism is an integral part of who I am.
I grew up in a parish with a charismatic pastor, went to a Catholic High school and took vows in a Catholic religious order. Growing up Catholic in India, I could never confuse who I was as a Catholic, with who I was as an Indian. I valued both but never confused my religious identity with my national identity. Being a Catholic or Christian was never about being "different", even if it gave me clarity about who I am. Most of my classmates were Hindu, Muslim, Jewish or Buddhist. We openly visited each others homes and places of worship and celebrated each other's feasts. The Christianity and Catholicism I grew up with were "inclusive" -- never elitist. I was an Indian, but had the good fortune to be Catholic. The Catholicism I grew up with particularly during my years in religious life was "inculturated" into indigenous, Indian culture after Vatican II. Catholicism and religious life were not about power or privilege but about service to the poorest of the poor and witness of life, without any agenda for 'converting' pagans or proselytizing. Catholicism and Christianity were not the dominant state religion and so they were never ever confused with "nationalism" in the way, the two often get confused in the US. Rev. Jeremiah Wright is right about the fact that Christians are called to be prophetic and that we should not confuse calling the state and church to conversion with patriotism or the lack of it. Religion, politics and culture were never enmeshed in the India I grew up in, the way they are during every election cycle.
As we head into the future I worry about the sacramental life of my church and the access to Eucharist. I strongly believe in the option of a married priesthood and the right of women who feel called, to priesthood and ordination. There will always be room for celibate religious and diocesan clergy but the mandatory imposition of celibacy by an imperial hierarchy that is as out of touch with people in the pews as the Roman Curia are with the church, makes me wonder how long it will take for the leaders of my tradition to realize that there is NO shortage of vocations. There are thousands of wonderfully gifted, charismatic, married and single men and women who are waiting for the Spirit of God to open the eyes of church leaders who would rather be driven by fear than led by the commandment of love. Who would like to turn the clock back and lead us back to the safety of the magical voodoo Latin Mass, the Middle Ages and the preservation of the privileged class life of an almost monarchical hierarchy?
We need a round table where we are face to face and Eucharist for each other. Not a career ladder for ambitious celibates who have a vested interest in the preservation of their status quo.
Britain’s very first commercial airline was formed on October 5th, 1916, at a time when the whole of Europe was still enmeshed in the First World War. AT&T was all set to go by May 1st, 1919, the first day of post-war civilian flying, initially equipped with converted DH.4As and DH.9s.In these circumstances it was hardly surprising that the pioneering Aircraft Transport & Travel was declared insolvent and ceased trading on December 17th, 1920.
Airco DH.4/4A: K142/G-EAEX (G7/63) not used; F2699/G-EAHF
(F2699) cr Caterham, Surrey 11.12.19; F2694/G-EAHG (F2694) f/l English Channel 29.10.19,
Structure-
// enMESHed Pastel Sands Cottage
Hallway-
// Apple Fall Kingsbury Pendant Lamp
// tarte. restored desk
// 08.erratic / lsm - table lamp - pink
// Second Spaces - Treat Yourself - Travel - necessities
// *[MeshedUp]*_Vintage Frames*Froggy
// Second Spaces - Beverly Quilt Rack - blue/brown
Living Room-
// LISP - Anna Sofa - New Version
// Fancy Decor: Framed Manuscripts
Kitchen-
// LAQ Decor
The Elfin Oak, in Kensington Gardens, located just by the Diana Playground dedicated to Princess Diana.
There are also links with the comedian Spike Milligan, who loved this tree and campaigned long and hard for its preservation.
Sadly, it is now enmeshed in a thick wire cage, to protect it from vandalism. It also, however, makes the figures very hard to see (not to mention photograph)
"By meditation, japa and other spiritual practices, which vary according to each one’s individual line of approach, these knots become loosened, discrimination is developed, and one comes to discern the true nature of the world of sense perception. In the beginning, one was enmeshed in it, struggling helplessly in its net. As one becomes disentangled from it, and gradually passes through various stages of opening oneself more and more to the Light, one comes to see that everything is contained in everything, that there is only One Self, the Lord of all, or that all are but the servants of the One Master. The form this realization takes depends upon one’s orientation. One knows by direct perception that, as ‘one exists, so everyone else exists ; then again, that here is the One and nothing but the One, that nothing comes and goes, yet also does come and go - there is no way of expressing all this in words. To the extent that one becomes estranged from the world of the senses, one draws nearer to God."
Rahul RAM
Bass Guitar, Vocals
Rahul’s bass playing moves smoothly – from melodic enmeshing with vocal and guitar lines to the more standard laying of foundations over which the band soars. His riveting stage presence is an essential part of Indian Ocean’s electrifying live concerts. His vocals have a raw power, an uncompromising edge that emphasizes the folk roots of the band. Rahul also ends up doing most of the talking at live shows. His experiences as an activist/supporter with the Narmada Bachao Andolan and during his four years studying in the US have exposed him to a variety of musical styles from all over India and the world, and have strongly influenced his musical expression.
Unlike Asheem, Rahul is the total non-romantic. He is Logic Baba, the guru of rationality, and doesn't suffer fools gladly - this despite his head-banging extrovert party-animal attitude to life and hair-styles. He has the shortest temper in the band, and is also called gyandev (lord of knowledge) based purely on his own feeling that he knows a lot (Yeah, right!). By far the sloppiest dresser in the band, he wastes inordinate amounts of time reading bad literature and doing sudokus. By training an environmentalist, he’s also into ornithology. He's an irreverent atheist and a stand-up comic whose addiction to puns has driven others to untimely suicide. Rahul is into jazz, rock and reggae - and sometimes Hindustani classical music, if the melody takes him, as it does… frequently.
I never been a fantastic communicator,but at least I have the tendency to try to get close to old people and kids.
I love how people in these two age levels spark the similar Weltanschauung and behaviors that charm and represent the most beautiful belongings in this world.
Sense everything , and lie concealed;
Seal the deals of life , and just optimistic as always;
Once enmesh in loneliness , and raise mentalities up ;
Dress the jealousy up, and dissolve in love ;
They inspire me in million ways.
Rahul RAM
Bass Guitar, Vocals
Rahul’s bass playing moves smoothly – from melodic enmeshing with vocal and guitar lines to the more standard laying of foundations over which the band soars. His riveting stage presence is an essential part of Indian Ocean’s electrifying live concerts. His vocals have a raw power, an uncompromising edge that emphasizes the folk roots of the band. Rahul also ends up doing most of the talking at live shows. His experiences as an activist/supporter with the Narmada Bachao Andolan and during his four years studying in the US have exposed him to a variety of musical styles from all over India and the world, and have strongly influenced his musical expression.
Unlike Asheem, Rahul is the total non-romantic. He is Logic Baba, the guru of rationality, and doesn't suffer fools gladly - this despite his head-banging extrovert party-animal attitude to life and hair-styles. He has the shortest temper in the band, and is also called gyandev (lord of knowledge) based purely on his own feeling that he knows a lot (Yeah, right!). By far the sloppiest dresser in the band, he wastes inordinate amounts of time reading bad literature and doing sudokus. By training an environmentalist, he’s also into ornithology. He's an irreverent atheist and a stand-up comic whose addiction to puns has driven others to untimely suicide. Rahul is into jazz, rock and reggae - and sometimes Hindustani classical music, if the melody takes him, as it does… frequently.
Rahul Ram (bass guitar and vocals)
Rahul Ram, Bass Guitar and vocals
Rahul’s bass playing moves smoothly – from melodic enmeshing with vocal and guitar lines to the more standard laying of foundations over which the band soars. His stage presence is an essential part of Indian Ocean’s live concerts. His vocals have a power and edge that emphasizes the folk roots of the band. Rahul also does most of the talking at live shows. His experiences as an activist/supporter with the Narmada Bachao Andolan (1990–1995) and during his four years studying in the US have exposed him to a variety of musical styles from all over India and the world, and have strongly influenced his musical expression. Rahul has PhD in Environmental Toxicology from Cornell University in New York (1986–90). In recent year, Rahul Ram went to America to learn to play the alto-sax, which he intends to bring to the bands music.
1. IMG 4125, 2. does this look like the air inside it hasn't been changed in 23 years?, 3. sophie as venus, 4. IMG 2731, 5. fire watch ends, 6. IMG 1819, 7. striaght cut gears enmeshed, 8. IMG 0215,
9. becky at the good karma cafe, 10. IMG 8383, 11. stone corral at la grange road and red hills road, 12. gaze, 13. IMG 5905, 14. IMG 5903, 15. IMG 5679, 16. IMG 2463,
17. IMG 2041, 18. IMG 1935, 19. IMG 0780, 20. caboose, 21. IMG 9749, 22. overpopuloation, 23. DSC00490, 24. GEEK HEARTBREAKER ME cassette,
25. la cena, 26. Bathtub Collage No 1, 27. lupe's easter shrine, 28. IMG 9975 DXO P017, 29. South Park, 30. Kenny, 31. I love traffic when I'm not driving, 32. P-Dog,
33. Forbidden Palace Dishes, 34. Dance for Becky and Kathy, 35. IMG 6656 DXO 00413, 36. img384, 37. 84 Minute Trumpet Vine Time Lapse, 38. Passerby with Rincon Park and Bay Bridge, 39. Bear Country, 40. IMG 4717 DXO,
41. img324, 42. Piñata, 43. Filmore View from the steps, 44. Ambulance for St Rose Hospital, 45. IMG 3106 DXO, 46. Night Beach Gathering & Weenie Roast, 47. Crossed Street, 48. Dressing Table,
49. IMG 2078, 50. the doors, 51. IMG 5598 "Por Eso", 52. plant, concrete, 53. IMG 0156, 54. IMG 0136, 55. With no direction home, 56. trailer-train, deadheading,
57. Ladies. I said LADIES!, 58. muslos del pollo con salsa rojo, 59. crop from Bellocq plate 31, 60. mother and child, 61. salaam aleikum, 62. IMG 3580, 63. maureen, becky, deldee, kathy, 64. IMG 2163,
65. ring and pinion gears, 66. b ball anyone?, 67. born to raise corn, 68. fence lines with hillside, 69. carlos y dos bolsas llene de tamales, 70. IMG 7216, 71. tim bell bridge, 72. My creation
Created with fd's Flickr Toys.
To be truly challenging, a voyage, like a life, must rest on a firm foundation of financial unrest. Otherwise, you are doomed to a routine traverse, the kind known to yachtsmen who play with their boats at sea... cruising, it is called. Voyaging belongs to seamen, and to the wanderers of the world who cannot, or will not, fit in. If you are contemplating a voyage and you have the means, abandon the venture until your fortunes change. Only then will you know what the sea is all about. I've always wanted to sail to the south seas, but I can't afford it." What these men can't afford is not to go. They are enmeshed in the cancerous discipline of security. And in the worship of security we fling our lives beneath the wheels of routine - and before we know it our lives are gone. What does a man need - really need? A few pounds of food each day, heat and shelter, six feet to lie down in - and some form of working activity that will yield a sense of accomplishment. That's all - in the material sense, and we know it. But we are brainwashed by our economic system until we end up in a tomb beneath a pyramid of time payments, mortgages, preposterous gadgetry, playthings that divert our attention for the sheer idiocy of the charade. The years thunder by, the dreams of youth grow dim where they lie caked in dust on the shelves of patience. Before we know it, the tomb is sealed. Where, then, lies the answer? In choice. Which shall it be: bankruptcy of purse or bankruptcy of life?
From Sterling Hayden's autobiography, The Wanderer.
The Elfin Oak, in Kensington Gardens, located just by the Diana Playground dedicated to Princess Diana.
There are also links with the comedian Spike Milligan, who loved this tree and campaigned long and hard for its preservation.
Sadly, it is now enmeshed in a thick wire cage, to protect it from vandalism. It also, however, makes the figures very hard to see (not to mention photograph)
In fact, this is considered to be the earliest 20th century neoclassical work in Riga (1908, architects E.Laube and E. Pole). The building has a classical entrance portico of polished granite ionic columns and a tall triangular pediment. The central part of the facade is decorated with colored panel which depicts allegorical figures of the ancient world legends. It is created after sketches of the great Latvian Art Nouveau painter Janis Rozentals.
Neoclassicism in Riga can be mostly found in the form of separate fashionable elements of classical forms palette enmeshed on the facade of buildings designed after basic principles of Art Nouveau style, local architects say.
Fragile men's hearts
Hearts, fragile and sensitive masculine hearts
Male souls longing for tenderness, sensitivity, and hugs
No one understands you, no one understands me
No one understood us
No one understood us
Nobody
Never, never
Never
They just trample, trample, and trample on men's hearts
On the hearts of poor men
On the hearts of fragile-minded men
On the hearts of sensitive men
At the heart of vulnerable men
On the hearts of men in danger
On the hearts of enmeshed men
On the hearts of downtrodden men
On the hearts of robbed men
On the hearts of men made homeless
On the hearts of men who became homeless
My heart was also tortured and trampled
I'm poor too
I'm fragile too
I'm sensitive too
I'm vulnerable too
I'm in danger too
I can be attacked too
I was hooked too
They wanted to shut me down too
They wanted to rob me too
I almost became homeless too (Anno)
Yes, yes, Robert Merle may not have been wrong
Men became victims
How much they have done for the world!
How much they have done!
Inventors, explorers, scientists, artists
Oh, how many and how many achievements they have!
What is their achievement?!!
Oh, the achievements of men!
How much, how much, how much, and how much?
But the man is worth nothing in the other's eyes
Nothing
Yes, this is where the world has come to, and here is the end, oh look
See how the fight ended
The fight, the fight of the sexes
And to distorted psychology and law
Distorted psychology
The law is distorted
Hatred of men has developed
I too became a victim
I am a victim, a victim
I just suffer and suffer
What has become of the world? We?
My dear reader, my dear reader
Tell me, tell me, how did this happen?
God created man as male and female
And two are one
Now they are opposites, opposites, opponents
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Törékeny férfiszívek
Szívek, törékeny és érzékeny férfiúi szívek
Gyengédségre, érzékenységre, s ölelésre vágyó férfi lelkek
Senki nem ért meg benneteket, senki nem ért meg engem
Senki sem ért meg minket
Senki sem ért meg bennünket
Senki sem
Soha, soha
Sohasem
Csak tipornak, csak tipornak és tipornak a férfiak szívén
A szegény férfiak szívén
A törékeny lelkületű férfiak szívén
Az érzékeny férfiak szívén
A kiszolgáltatott férfiak szívén
A veszélyben lévő férfiak szívén
A támadható férfiak szívén
A behálózott férfiak szívén
A lecsukatott férfiak szívén
A kirabolt férfiak szívén
A hajléktalanná tett férfiak szívén
A hajléktalanná lett férfiúk szívén
Az én szívem is kínzott, lett eltaposott
Én is szegény vagyok
Én is törékeny vagyok
Én is érzékeny vagyok
Én is kiszolgáltatott vagyok
Én is veszélyben vagyok
Én is támadható vagyok
Én is behálózott voltam
Engemet is leakartak csukatni
Engemet is kiakartak rabolni (lerabolni)
Én is majdnem hajléktalan lettem (anno)
Igen, igen, Robert Merle lehet, hogy nem tévedett
A férfiak áldozatok lettek
Pedig a világért mily sokat tettek!
Mily sokat tettek!
Feltalálók, felfedezők, tudósok, művészek
Oh, mennyi és mennyi a vívmányuk!
Mennyi a vívmányuk?!!
Oh, mennyi a férfiak vívmánya!
Mennyi, mennyi, mennyi, s mennyi?
De a férfi a másik szemében nem ér semmit
Semmit se
Igen, ide jutott a világ, s itt a vég, oh lásd
Lásd, hogy mi lett a vége a harcnak
A harcnak, a nemek harcának
És az eltorzult pszichológiának és jognak
Eltorzult a pszichológia
Eltorzult a jog
Kialakult a férfigyűlölet
Én is áldozat lettem
Áldozat vagyok, áldozat
Csak szenvedek és szenvedek
Mi lett a világból? Mi?
Kedves olvasóm, kedves olvasóm
Mondd, mondd, hogy hogyan alakulhatott ez ki?
Isten az embert nőnek és férfinak teremtette
S ketten egyek
Most pedig ellenesek, ellentétek, ellenfelek
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When I entered the Prado Museum and encountered room after room filled with El Greco’s work, I was overwhelmed with emotion and I could not tear myself away from his paintings. They were truly a religious experience.
I was so entranced or enmeshed in this experience that the only possible thing to do was to drive out to Toledo to see more of his work, the town he lived in, the cathedral he worshiped in and the whole milieu, which produced such a profound man.
Don Harris
Letters from Valencia
Later, his entry into the ballroom produced an extraordinary effect. Every one present came forward to meet him, some with cards in their hands, and one man even breaking off a conversation at the most interesting point—namely, the point that “the Inferior Land Court must be made responsible for everything.” Yes, in spite of the responsibility of the Inferior Land Court, the speaker cast all thoughts of it to the winds as he hurried to greet our hero. From every side resounded acclamations of welcome, and Chichikov felt himself engulfed in a sea of embraces. Thus, scarcely had he extricated himself from the arms of the President of the Local Council when he found himself just as firmly clasped in the arms of the Chief of Police, who, in turn, surrendered him to the Inspector of the Medical Department, who, in turn, handed him over to the Commissioner of Taxes, who, again, committed him to the charge of the Town Architect. Even the Governor, who hitherto had been standing among his womenfolk with a box of sweets in one hand and a lap-dog in the other, now threw down both sweets and lap-dog (the lap-dog giving vent to a yelp as he did so) and added his greeting to those of the rest of the company. Indeed, not a face was there to be seen on which ecstatic delight—or, at all events, the reflection of other people’s ecstatic delight—was not painted. The same expression may be discerned on the faces of subordinate officials when, the newly arrived Director having made his inspection, the said officials are beginning to get over their first sense of awe on perceiving that he has found much to commend, and that he can even go so far as to jest and utter a few words of smiling approval. Thereupon every tchinovnik responds with a smile of double strength, and those who (it may be) have not heard a single word of the Director’s speech smile out of sympathy with the rest, and even the gendarme who is posted at the distant door—a man, perhaps, who has never before compassed a smile, but is more accustomed to dealing out blows to the populace—summons up a kind of grin, even though the grin resembles the grimace of a man who is about to sneeze after inadvertently taking an over-large pinch of snuff. To all and sundry Chichikov responded with a bow, and felt extraordinarily at his ease as he did so. To right and left did he incline his head in the sidelong, yet unconstrained, manner that was his wont and never failed to charm the beholder. As for the ladies, they clustered around him in a shining bevy that was redolent of every species of perfume—of roses, of spring violets, and of mignonette; so much so that instinctively Chichikov raised his nose to snuff the air. Likewise the ladies’ dresses displayed an endless profusion of taste and variety; and though the majority of their wearers evinced a tendency to embonpoint, those wearers knew how to call upon art for the concealment of the fact. Confronting them, Chichikov thought to himself: “Which of these beauties is the writer of the letter?” Then again he snuffed the air. When the ladies had, to a certain extent, returned to their seats, he resumed his attempts to discern (from glances and expressions) which of them could possibly be the unknown authoress. Yet, though those glances and expressions were too subtle, too insufficiently open, the difficulty in no way diminished his high spirits. Easily and gracefully did he exchange agreeable bandinage with one lady, and then approach another one with the short, mincing steps usually affected by young-old dandies who are fluttering around the fair. As he turned, not without dexterity, to right and left, he kept one leg slightly dragging behind the other, like a short tail or comma. This trick the ladies particularly admired. In short, they not only discovered in him a host of recommendations and attractions, but also began to see in his face a sort of grand, Mars-like, military expression—a thing which, as we know, never fails to please the feminine eye. Certain of the ladies even took to bickering over him, and, on perceiving that he spent most of his time standing near the door, some of their number hastened to occupy chairs nearer to his post of vantage. In fact, when a certain dame chanced to have the good fortune to anticipate a hated rival in the race there very nearly ensued a most lamentable scene—which, to many of those who had been desirous of doing exactly the same thing, seemed a peculiarly horrible instance of brazen-faced audacity.
So deeply did Chichikov become plunged in conversation with his fair pursuers—or rather, so deeply did those fair pursuers enmesh him in the toils of small talk (which they accomplished through the expedient of asking him endless subtle riddles which brought the sweat to his brow in his attempts to guess them)—that he forgot the claims of courtesy which required him first of all to greet his hostess. In fact, he remembered those claims only on hearing the Governor’s wife herself addressing him. She had been standing before him for several minutes, and now greeted him with suave expressement and the words, “So HERE you are, Paul Ivanovitch!” But what she said next I am not in a position to report, for she spoke in the ultra-refined tone and vein wherein ladies and gentlemen customarily express themselves in high-class novels which have been written by experts more qualified than I am to describe salons, and able to boast of some acquaintance with good society. In effect, what the Governor’s wife said was that she hoped—she greatly hoped—that Monsieur Chichikov’s heart still contained a corner—even the smallest possible corner—for those whom he had so cruelly forgotten. Upon that Chichikov turned to her, and was on the point of returning a reply at least no worse than that which would have been returned, under similar circumstances, by the hero of a fashionable novelette, when he stopped short, as though thunderstruck. - Nikolai Gogol
When I entered the Prado Museum and encountered room after room filled with El Greco’s work, I was overwhelmed with emotion and I could not tear myself away from his paintings. They were truly a religious experience.
I was so entranced or enmeshed in this experience that the only possible thing to do was to drive out to Toledo to see more of his work, the town he lived in, the cathedral he worshiped in and the whole milieu, which produced such a profound man.
Don Harris
Letters from Valencia