View allAll Photos Tagged unlearn
there are so many beautiful things
to be shot why do you shoot beggars
he was very upset use your camera to
capture the beauty of the sunset
chirping birds feeding their babies
in the nest .shoot that little chubby
boy dancing in the rain all wet
shoot happy things shoot joy bliss
roses magnolias shoot cats dogs
other pets but stop shooting
disfigured leprous faces ..posting
their pictures on the net you give
a bad name to our beautiful country
a thought i detest he said
sanctimonious his face all red.
.i duly apologized to him forcing
him to eat his words like burnt
chappatis while he was fasting did
not enter my head .. it was my
camera my optical illusions ..i used
as imagery instead of text..
the situation was very complex
than he said why did i not shoot
the prettier sex ..from fashion
magazines editorials i could get
a fat cheque ...i hurriedly moved
away from him a pain in the ass
a pain in the neck..,a beggar poet
chaos confusion total wreck..
in my camera eye he saw a
branch but in his own eye
he failed to see the dirty speck
we all see things differently
what the heck.. the cataract
in my eye i must recheck
dedicated to Dr Glenn Losack
Set: www.flickr.com/photos/connectirmeli/sets/72157631494094958/
Vieraista tutuiksi was an interactive event for sharing who we are and how we live our creativity true. - The special target group was people with disabilities - all ages included.
Activities:
- Borrow a real person from the library for 20 minutes - s/he shares who s/he is and you get a great opportunity to unlearn
- Build and rebuild your own sculpture - by Alexander Reichstein
- Paint with dessert cream kind of paint
- Produce iron wire art
- Visualize your dream
-> Feel more through my pics
- I walked by a locker room and couldn't help checking what was in a couple of cans on a shelf. - The label #1 said 'scent for the arrival to the workplace' and the label #2 'scent for the departure from the workplace'. There's so much within the procedures developed for the disabled the rest of us could daily utilize...
Markus Kaski (Senior Physician, Rinnekoti Foundation) says in an interview (slide 99) that events like this help us get acquainted with people who are relatively lightly disabled. - Events like this are fantastic, but we mustn't forget the much more severely disabled people living in our society and being members of our communities...
This year's event was hosted by Rinnekoti Foundation - the programme in Finnish www.kulttuuripaivat.fi/wp-content/uploads/2012/09/Kulttuu...
The referred article (slides 98-99) in Finnish: www.esse.fi/nakoislehdet_2012/esse_12_35/esse_12_35.pdf
Frickelfest (I love it)
sound.westhost.com/why-diy.htm
Why DIY?
Contrary to popular belief, the main reason for DIY is not (or should not be) about saving money. While this is possible in many cases (and especially against 'top of the line' commercial products), there are other, far better reasons to do it yourself.
The main one is knowledge, new skills, and the enormous feeling of satisfaction that comes from building your own equipment. This is worth far more than money. For younger people, the skills learned will be invaluable as you progress through life, and once started, you should continue to strive for making it yourself wherever possible.
Each and every new skill you learn enables the learning processes to be 'exercised', making it easier to learn other new things that come your way.
Alvin Toffler (the author of Future Shock) wrote:- "The illiterate of the 21st century will not be those who cannot read and write, but those who cannot learn, unlearn, and relearn."
This is pretty much an absolute these days, and we hear stories every day about perfectly good people who simply cannot get a new job after having been 'retrenched' (or whatever stupid term the 'human resources' people come up with next). As an aside, I object to being considered a 'resource' for the corporate cretins to use, abuse and dispose of as they see fit.
The skills you learn building an electronics project (especially audio) extend far beyond soldering a few components into a printed circuit board. You must source the components, working your way through a minefield of technical data to figure out if the part you think is right is actually right. Understanding the components is a key requirement for understanding electronics.
You will probably need to brush up on your maths - all analogue electronics requires mathematics if you want to understand what is going on. The greater your understanding, the more you have learned in the process. These are not trivial skills, but thankfully, they usually sneak up on you. Before you realise it, you have been working with formulae that a few years ago you would have sneered at, thinking that such things are only for boffins or those really weird guys you recall from school.
Then there is the case to house everything. You will need to learn how to perform basic metalworking skills. Drilling, tapping threads, filing and finishing a case are all tasks that need to be done to complete your masterpiece. These are all skills that may just come in very handy later on.
Should you be making loudspeakers, then you will learn about acoustics. You will also learn woodworking skills, veneering, and using tools that you may never have even known existed had you not ventured into one of the most absorbing and satisfying hobbies around.
Ok, that's fine for the younger generation(s), but what about us 'oldies'? We get all the same benefits, but in some cases, it is even possible to (almost) make up for a lifetime spent in an unrewarding job. As we get older, the new skills are less likely to be used for anything but the hobby, but that does not diminish the value of those skills one iota.
However, it's not all about learning, it's also about doing. Few people these days have a job where at the end of the day they can look at something they built. Indeed, in a great many cases, one comes home at the end of the day, knowing that one was busy all day with barely time for lunch, yet would be hard pressed to be able to say exactly what was achieved. What would have happened if what you did today wasn't done? Chances are, nothing would have happened at all - whatever it was you did simply wasn't done (if you follow the rather perverse logic in that last statement ).
Where is the satisfaction in that? There isn't any - it's a job, you get paid, so are able to pay your bills, buy food and live to do the same thing tomorrow.
When you build something, there is a sense of pride, of achievement - there is something to show for it, something tangible. No, it won't make up for a job you hate (or merely dislike), but at least you have created something. Having done it once, it becomes important to do it again, to be more ambitious, to push your boundaries.
Today, a small preamp. Tomorrow, a complete state of the art 5.1 sound system that you made from raw materials, lovingly finished, and now provides enjoyment that no store-bought system ever will.
Thoughts and images forming around my girlhood spent in woods and fields as a free-ranging semi-feral creature, who only returned home to eat, sleep, read, draw, and drink from the garden hose. You'd think I had an unstable home life, but you'd be wrong. My family offered me a safe, secure home base from which I learned I could fly and always return. I was a wild, untamed thing who needed freedom, even from the earliest years, but then, of course, the world got a hold of me and I became civilized. I forgot about that version of me after being domesticated all these years. But suddenly I am remembering her and reclaiming a bit of her innate wisdom and sovereignty at last. Using my original photography layered with found photos, textures from my drawings and paintings and collage elements to tell ancient tales and unlearn enough to be as wise as I once was.
195,271 items / 1,587,239 views
Poetry puts off people who consider photography a science a technique and fucked methodical way of capturing only what they saw and duplicating it painfully on the viewers consciousness ..and for people a few like me photography is a moment that pleads to be respectfully captured with the alluring lilting lyrics like a song you play by ear or capture it wordlessly like a Rubaiyat..
I really dont know why I shoot what I shoot my Guru Dronocharya KG Maehshwariji told me many a times I was a crazy impulsive trigger happy photographer and those days expensive days I shot Ilford Delta BW or Sensia Provia Velvia 50.. I made contact sheets and eventually I realized it was the lab people who taught me photography, really it was Huzefar Rassiwala, Bhai Humne Swastik lab Dadar , Surinder Dalvi Mahindar Patl and Vishal Bhende..because they loved photography passionately they gave their inputs and feedback... and big labs like Color Art Mazda took your money gave your prints .. as simple as that.
Giants in the guise of teachers like BW Jatkar living in cubicle pigeon holes called you home saw your work, gave ideas without charging a single dime all that has gone.. sadly..now the person who sees your work has no time for his own work.
Mr Maheshwari too if you called him and met him in the earlier days would give you thorough feedback..but than what destroyed photography was coterie groups and conceit pride and arrogance.. you needed huge expensive lens , great cameras tripods to make pictures , poetry requires none of this shoot a picture as you see it .. it becomes a poem..
I am a street photographer I shot with my Gurus eyes he taught me to see the unseen hidden from normal eyes.. I remember I would go to Lucknow in the old days for Athvi Moharam and the day I arrived in Lucknow I would rush with some of my pictures contact sheet to Mr PC Littles house touch his feet and show him my work, late PC saab a painter a poet camera technician collector historian.. would give his sincere estimation , he was a banyan tree his shade nurtured the poetry in my soul, he knew the Nawabs of Lucknow , he knew old Lucknow Adab Tehzeeb..
He had heard of my grandfather Daroga Nabban saab related to poet Mir Anees he knew Pata Nala he knew the old Imambadas he knew my faith more historically than I knew it he was master weaver of truth , his tales kept me tied up with my past and the city of my birth..
Jisko na Dein Maulah Usko dilwayen AsafuDaulah..
When PC Little sab died it hit me hard , he loved me like his own sons Bhupesh and Avinash..
So a simple picture shot in the rains can lead you to another world of thought as a blog something a print cant do, as clearly as evocatively like this..I dont make prints I dont shoot pictures as prints I never will but yes as a Blog I imprint it with poetry readable understandable on your soul and mine.
Celebrity photographers dont intimidate me but my three and half year old grand daughter Marziya Shakir does without reading Feiring Anselm Adams without attending a photography lecture on light and shade she shoots , and I am amazed at her range her inner thought, I doubt she has inner vision or thought but she is a poet or she would not be shooting what she shoots.. she is not trigger happy like me, I leave my Nikon D 80 on the dining table she will pick it up if inspired take my shot look at it in the monitor smile.. for me this is photography I am unlearning photography from this child and another one waits in the cradle only 8 days old already understanding the nuance of picture taking and imagery, Nerjis Asif Shakir unlike both us will be a thinking street photographer .. she broods while both of us shoot her.. we have two camera bodies one common soul..
“If you obsess over whether you are making the right decision, you are basically assuming that the universe will reward you for one thing and punish you for another.
The universe has no fixed agenda. Once you make any decision, it works around that decision. There is no right or wrong, only a series of possibilities that shift with each thought, feeling, and action that you experience.
If this sounds too mystical, refer again to the body. Every significant vital sign- body temperature, heart rate, oxygen consumption, hormone level, brain activity, and so on- alters the moment you decide to do anything… decisions are signals telling your body, mind, and environment to move in a certain direction.”
- Deepak Chopra, The Book of Secrets: Unlocking the Hidden Dimensions of Your Life -
A couple of months now into my transition to Mac - there's no doubt that this has been a fun one! One of my favorite features of the machine is the light-sensored back-lit keys on the keyboard, especially valuable in low-light environments. The software is so intuitively creative, taking the 'mechanics' to a simpler level, and allowing for unique creations to transform.
Still, it has been and continues to be a learning curve for me - possibly because there is not just the learning, but the 'unlearning' of prior years. This can be especially difficult when the expected productivity tools and habitual short cuts simply don't work! Add to that scenario the typical 'time crunch' and you can sense the frustration.... This reminds me of some professional development initiatives made so much tougher because of the 'unlearning' components. Fortunately, my Mac experience continues to yield positive results, but I know that extra support facilitates that process in helping others 'unlearn'! Naples, FL
Prof. Olivier Oullier, Neuroscientist & former Global Head of Strategy, Health & Healthcare, World Economic Forum
123,076 items / 842,652 views
I was speaking to my dear friend Prashanth Singh a very good dude and a good photographer from Mumbai ..and the topic was trends in photography as defined by camera clubs.
Without being sarcastic or insulting or humiliting I think if you see one camera clubs newsletter with another camera's newsletter it is the same nothing has changed , makes me puke vociferously rapidly in oxymoron haste.
What beats me when will we come out of the rectum of the old fathers of photography, their time is gone , their contribution is archival period..
Every photographer is copying the old school of thought, the same ambiance the same mood , fucked pictures that I would not paste on my grand mothers grave she would die the second time too.
And if you read this without bias,, without blinkers you know what I am talking about, I leave it to the honesty of your conscience.
I moved away a million light years away from the camera club decadent culture it had nothing to offer for the future of my pictorial soul , salon participation that took me back to the Dark Ages.
I evolved I am everything I am as a photographer thanks to the club , but you dont expect me to sit on a school bench all my life .. I took to the streets literally..
Send your prints , to the salon for participation invariably it comes back bleeding like a menstrual pad , and most of the time forgive me the venerable judge does not know his ass from his rectum..he sees the picture only as a image shot, Fuck F Stops ..he does not see street side emotions, and fuck all archaic camera rules ..
A judge who has been tasting the vulva of a flower as a nature photographer all his life wont even see beauty in beggars eyes.. tell me I am wrong..
So this is the state of photography I decided to Unlearn Photography I took a two year old girl under my charge and she taught me to reshoot life as it existed without morphing my human soul .. yes I am a poet and you need to see pictures as poetry to make others read it too.
And Marziya will join my camera club perhaps when she reaches the age of conviction things might have changed who knows Prashanth Singh might be the President of the club, and there might be some hope at the end of a dark tunnel of a fucked up aperture of life.
I shoot shit that I capture from a moving ricksha , moving cab I get to shoot emotions I can poetize them with words its the extra gift God gave me as fragmented genius.
I am a fucked photographer but I shoot barefeet because inorder to shoot pain you have to feel it to, so I walked in the scorching sun shooting Jesus Christ and the soul of Humanity as my own salvation too.
I did not know I would write all this ,.. but I guess someone had to write it some time or the other and this is my personal opinion I stand by it..
I am happy photoblogging atleast I know the difference between my ass and another mans rectum..
And I am whatever as a photographer to Mr KG Maheshwari, late Prof BW Jatkar , Shrekanth Malushte ..
And lat but not the least a man on a wheel chair who taught me photography in one session on Light .. the one and only Girish Mistry..
I would not mind learning photography all over again from the kids he teaches.
And this is my Faith in a Man who is a Mystery more than he his Garish...he disovered photography without making it nightmarish circular not squarish..
...I've collected during three Meditative Healing Learning Modules by Jivan Mukta in Helsinki between mid March and today, June 13, 2013.
The whole set: www.flickr.com/photos/connectirmeli/sets/72157634101446353/
...and you change the city."
- The Buell Hypothesis - www.moma.org/interactives/exhibitions/2012/foreclosed/bue...
discovered through photo stream of www.facebook.com/pirkkaaunola - thanks!
- I noticed the below linked three news clips in the Finnish news stream yesterday:
1) The Minister of Finance says that no-one knows of the challenges waiting for us when tomorrow comes
2) "Managers should overpower the nerds."
3) The Minister of Finance says other countries must accept what Finland demands...
No-one knows the next solutions - and still we think they can be found through dismissing other professions, our co-working partners, neighbors... - Unlearning the way we currently dream indeed would be worth a collaborative, connective try.
[1) Urpilainen: Kukaan ei tiedä, mitä huominen tuo tullessaan yle.fi/uutiset/urpilainen_kukaan_ei_tieda_mita_huominen_t...
2) Nörtit pitää nujertaa yle.fi/uutiset/nortit_pitaa_nujertaa/6213426
3) Urpilainen Ylelle: Muiden maiden on hyväksyttävä Suomen vaatimukset www.iltalehti.fi/uutiset/2012071215835598_uu.shtml]
Parade your Orange today, either the colour or the object, post it then Tag it with #TP247
Education is what remains after one has forgotten what one has learned in school. - Albert Einstein #quotes #education #einstein #school #commoncore #quote #quoteoftheday #quotestoliveby #quotestagram #freethinkers #dropout Funny how a globally recognized genius said this. Did he mean you'll actually learn something valuable after #unlearning what the system dictates down to us?
The Urban Farm School in Asheville, NC is for folks who are ready to walk their talk, grow their food, and learn how to be food independent in our cities. www.ashevillage.org/urban-farm-school
Frickelfest (I love it)
sound.westhost.com/why-diy.htm
Why DIY?
Contrary to popular belief, the main reason for DIY is not (or should not be) about saving money. While this is possible in many cases (and especially against 'top of the line' commercial products), there are other, far better reasons to do it yourself.
The main one is knowledge, new skills, and the enormous feeling of satisfaction that comes from building your own equipment. This is worth far more than money. For younger people, the skills learned will be invaluable as you progress through life, and once started, you should continue to strive for making it yourself wherever possible.
Each and every new skill you learn enables the learning processes to be 'exercised', making it easier to learn other new things that come your way.
Alvin Toffler (the author of Future Shock) wrote:- "The illiterate of the 21st century will not be those who cannot read and write, but those who cannot learn, unlearn, and relearn."
This is pretty much an absolute these days, and we hear stories every day about perfectly good people who simply cannot get a new job after having been 'retrenched' (or whatever stupid term the 'human resources' people come up with next). As an aside, I object to being considered a 'resource' for the corporate cretins to use, abuse and dispose of as they see fit.
The skills you learn building an electronics project (especially audio) extend far beyond soldering a few components into a printed circuit board. You must source the components, working your way through a minefield of technical data to figure out if the part you think is right is actually right. Understanding the components is a key requirement for understanding electronics.
You will probably need to brush up on your maths - all analogue electronics requires mathematics if you want to understand what is going on. The greater your understanding, the more you have learned in the process. These are not trivial skills, but thankfully, they usually sneak up on you. Before you realise it, you have been working with formulae that a few years ago you would have sneered at, thinking that such things are only for boffins or those really weird guys you recall from school.
Then there is the case to house everything. You will need to learn how to perform basic metalworking skills. Drilling, tapping threads, filing and finishing a case are all tasks that need to be done to complete your masterpiece. These are all skills that may just come in very handy later on.
Should you be making loudspeakers, then you will learn about acoustics. You will also learn woodworking skills, veneering, and using tools that you may never have even known existed had you not ventured into one of the most absorbing and satisfying hobbies around.
Ok, that's fine for the younger generation(s), but what about us 'oldies'? We get all the same benefits, but in some cases, it is even possible to (almost) make up for a lifetime spent in an unrewarding job. As we get older, the new skills are less likely to be used for anything but the hobby, but that does not diminish the value of those skills one iota.
However, it's not all about learning, it's also about doing. Few people these days have a job where at the end of the day they can look at something they built. Indeed, in a great many cases, one comes home at the end of the day, knowing that one was busy all day with barely time for lunch, yet would be hard pressed to be able to say exactly what was achieved. What would have happened if what you did today wasn't done? Chances are, nothing would have happened at all - whatever it was you did simply wasn't done (if you follow the rather perverse logic in that last statement ).
Where is the satisfaction in that? There isn't any - it's a job, you get paid, so are able to pay your bills, buy food and live to do the same thing tomorrow.
When you build something, there is a sense of pride, of achievement - there is something to show for it, something tangible. No, it won't make up for a job you hate (or merely dislike), but at least you have created something. Having done it once, it becomes important to do it again, to be more ambitious, to push your boundaries.
Today, a small preamp. Tomorrow, a complete state of the art 5.1 sound system that you made from raw materials, lovingly finished, and now provides enjoyment that no store-bought system ever will.
I am my own model being a fashion stylist I loved shawls I have a collection from Kutch and North East.
I design my own wardrobe I stopped wearing ethnic I prefer Lama attire cool and comfortable and Shaolin Sufi gowns.
My jewlery my accessories are one of its kind I collect rare walking sticks and beggat bowls.
I am a malang Khalifa.
I follow the path of peace and #Sufism
#unlearningphotography
112/365 Too much respect.
We always are accustomed to obey all the orders of our Chief, or people who constantly tell you that you have to do. I think that we should unlearn a little this, we should be a bit more "rebels" and not give so much importance in our lives the people who rule over us.
-
Demasiado respeto
Siempre estamos acostumbrado a obedecer a todas las ordenes de nuestro jefe, o personas que te dicen constantemente que tienes que hacer. Creo que deberíamos de desaprender un poco esto, debemos ser un poco mas "rebeldes" y no dar tanta importancia en nuestra vida a las personas que mandan sobre nosotros.
“Sit down before fact as a little child, be prepared to give up every preconceived notion, follow humbly wherever and to whatever abysses nature leads, or you shall learn nothing. I have only begun to learn content and peace of mind since I have resolved at all risks to do this.”
- Thomas Henry Huxley, Life and Letters of Thomas Henry Huxley - Volume 1 -
Scenes from a retreat in the Catskills. Nineteen visionaries spend a week at work on new projects and strategies for wholesome and sovereign living.
There is a huge group here at Lal Mitti that owns carts on which they sell peanuts , fried green gram or shakarkand sweet beet ,,
some sell popcorn , and they move about with their carts as far as Carter Road or Bandra Talao.
And they live on the carts and this stretch of Bandra Reclamation for miles has no public toilet , so you can imagine the chaos early mornings all rushing to defecate on the Mound an open toilet off Rang Sharda.
I am not a social activist , but yes as a senior citizen concerned Bandraite who voted for progress and development and acche din of Modiji it hits me hard.
Local newspapers basically trumpet the local regime season to season in Bandra ..this is my honest appraisal.. and why not the politicians keep them happy , the paper needs funds for survival ,,so be it .
Bandra Bazar Bandra Reclamation have gone to seed , and those politicians representing our constituency wont see beyond Worli Sea Face....so I shot misery cavorting with hope ,, the poor mans gardens near MET , every morning is a hub of hash smokers sleeping drunks , the security instead of sitting at the gate ,, sleeps at the back in their room..
Will our local representatives see all this ,, not now .. let them first finish beautifying Bandra Bandstand , Bandra Talao.. and before their term ends they might just do something .. to add salt to injury.
So as a hobbyist unlearning street photography I shoot all this and as photographer there must be a purpose to what we shoot ,, is it to enlighten or entertain.. who the fuck has time to shoot the homeless the beggars ..perhaps a few bloggers like me ,,if you have a camera bring it out.. dont let your cosmic eye rust ..
Let yourself be silently drawn by the stronger pull of what you really love. ~Rumi
Work in the invisible world at least as hard as you do in the visible. ~Rumi
MORELLA
Αυτο καθ’ αυτο μεθ’ αυτου, μονο ειδες αει [[αιει]] ον
Itself — alone by itself — eternally one and single.
PLATO — Symp.
WITH a feeling of deep yet most singular affection I regarded my friend Morella. Thrown by accident into her society many years ago, my soul, from our first meeting, burned with fires it had never known. But the fires were not of Eros — and bitter and tormenting to my eager spirit was the gradual conviction that I could in no manner define their unusual meaning, or regulate their vague intensity. Yet we met, and Fate bound us together at the altar, and I never spoke of love, or dreamed of passion. She, however, shunned society and attaching herself to me alone rendered me happy. It is a happiness to wonder. It is a happiness to think.
Morella’s erudition was profound. As I hope for life her talents also were of no common order — her powers of mind were gigantic. I felt this, and in many matters became her pupil. Rare and rich volumes were opened for my use; but my wife, perhaps influenced by her Presburg education, laid before me, as I took occasion to remark, chiefly those speculative writings which have, from causes to me unknown, been neglected in these latter days, and thrown aside, whether properly or not, among the mass of that German morality which is indeed purely wild, purely vague, and at times purely fantastical. These — these speculative writings were, for what reasons I could not imagine, Morella’s favourite and constant study, and that in process of time they became my own should be attributed to the simple but effectual influence of habit and example. In all this, if I think aright, my powers of thought predominated. My convictions, or I forget myself, were in no manner acted upon by my imagination; nor was any tincture of the mysticism which I read to be discovered, unless I greatly err, either in my meditations or my deeds. Feeling deeply persuaded of this I abandoned myself more implicitly to the guidance of my wife, and entered with a bolder spirit into the intricacy of her studies. And then — then when poring over forbidden pages I felt the consuming thirst for the unknown, would Morella place her cold hand upon mine, and rake up from the ashes of a dead philosophy words whose singular import burned themselves in upon my memory: and then hour after hour would I linger by her side, and listen to the music of her thrilling voice, until at length its melody was tinged with terror, and I grew pale, and shuddered inwardly at those too unearthly tones — and thus, suddenly, Joy faded into Horror, and the most beautiful became the most hideous as Hinnon became Ge-Henna.
It is unnecessary to state the exact character of those disquisitions which, growing out of the volumes I have mentioned, formed for so long a time almost the sole conversation of Morella and myself. By the learned in what might be called theological morality they will be readily conceived, and by the unlearned they would at all events be little understood. The wild Pantheism of Fitche, the modified Παλιγγενεσια of the Pythagoreans, and above all the doctrines of Identity as urged by Schelling were the points of discussion presenting the most of beauty to the imaginative Morella. That kind of identity which is not improperly called ‘personal’ Mr Lock determines, truly I think, to consist in the sameness of a rational being. And since by person we understand an intelligent essence having reason, and since there is a consciousness which always accompanies thinking, it is this consciousness which makes every one to be that which he calls ‘himself’ — thereby distinguishing him from other beings that think, and giving him his personal identity. But the “principium individuationis”, the notion of that identity which at death is or is not lost forever was to me at all times a consideration of intense interest, not more from the exciting and mystical nature of its consequences, than from the marked and agitated manner in which Morella mentioned them.
But indeed the time had now arrived when my wife’s society oppressed me like a spell. I could no longer bear the touch of her wan fingers, nor the low tones of her musical language, nor the lustre of her eyes. And she knew all this, but did not upbraid: she seemed conscious of my weakness or my folly, and smiling called it — Fate. Yet she was woman, and pined away daily. In time the crimson spot settled steadily upon the cheek, and the blue veins upon the pale forehead became prominent: and one instant my nature melted into pity, but in the next I met the glance of her melancholy eyes, and my soul sickened and became giddy with the giddiness of one who gazes downwards into some dreary and fathomless abyss.
Shall I then say that I longed with an earnest and consuming desire for the moment of Morella’s decease? I did: but the fragile spirit clung to its tenement of clay for many days — for many weeks and irksome months — until at length my tortured nerves obtained the mastery over my mind, and I grew furious with delay, and with the heart of a fiend I cursed the hours and the bitter moments which seemed to lengthen and lengthen as her gentle life declined, like shadows in the dying of the day.
But one autumnal evening when the winds lay still in Heaven Morella called me to her side. It was that season when the beautiful Halcyon is nursed* — there was a dim mist over all the Earth, and a warm glow upon the waters, and amid the rich November leaves of the forest a rainbow from the firmament had surely fallen. As I came she was murmuring in a low under-tone which trembled with fervor some words of a catholic hymn.
Sancta Maria! turn thine eyes
Upon the sinner’s sacrifice
Of fervent prayer, and humble love,
From thy holy throne above.
At morn, at noon, at twilight dim
Maria! thou hast heard my hymn: [back of page:]
In Joy and Woe — in Good and Ill
Mother of God! be with me still.
When my hours flew gently by,
And no storms were in the sky,
My soul — lest it should truant be —
Thy love did guide to thine and thee.
Now — when clouds of Fate oe’rcast
All my Present, and my Past,
Let my Future radiant shine
With sweet hopes of thee and thine.
“It is a day of days” — said Morella — “a day of all days, either to live or die. It is a fair day for the sons of Earth and Life — ah! more fair for the daughters of Heaven and Death!” I turned towards her and she continued.
“I am dying — yet shall I live. Therefore for me, Morella, thy wife, hath the charnel-house no terrors — mark me! — not even the terrors of the worm. The days have never been when thou couldst love me; but her whom in life thou didst abhor in death thou shalt adore. I repeat that I am dying — but within me is a pledge of that affection — ah, how little! — which thou didst feel for me — Morella. And when my spirit departs shall the child live — thy child and mine, Morella’s. But thy days shall be days of sorrow — sorrow, which is the most lasting of impressions, as the cypress is the most enduring of trees. For the hours of thy happiness are past, and Joy is not gathered twice in a life, as the roses of Pæstum twice in a year. Thou shalt not, then, play the Teian with Time, but, being ignorant of the flowers and the vine, thou shalt walk the earth with thy shroud around thee, like Moslemin at Mecca”.
“How knowest thou this” — I demanded eagerly — “how knowest thou all this, Morella?” But she turned away her face upon the pillow, and a slight tremor coming over her limbs, she thus died, and I heard her voice no more.
Yet, as she had predicted, the child — to which in dying she had given life, and which breathed not till the mother breathed no more — the child, a daughter, lived. And she grew strangely in size, and in intelligence, and I loved her with a love more fervent and more holy than I thought it possible to feel on earth.
∞∞∞∞∞∞∞
Notes:
This fragment is all that Poe apparently wrote of this version, with about half of the lower portion of the back page remaining blank. No footnote appears to have been written for the reference in the sixth paragraph.
This manuscript is currently in the collection of the Huntington Library, San Mariono, CA (HM 1726). Poe is said to have given the unfinished manuscript to Mrs. Sarah P. Simmons, who lived on Amity Street, in Baltimore, MD.
A typographical error appears in Mabbott’s text (p. 226), where in the third paragraph of the story (beginning “It is unnecessary . . .”) the phrase “always accompanies thinking, it is this consciounsess . . .” appears as “always accompanies thinking, it it this consciounsess . . .” Mabbott also changes, without comment, the second to last word in the Greek portion of the motto from “αει,” as it clearly appears in the manuscript and is printed in the Southern Literary Messenger (although in transliteration), to “αιει,” as it appears in Tales of the Grotesque and Arabesque and thereafter.
∞∞∞∞∞∞∞
[S:1 - MS, 1835] - Edgar Allan Poe Society of Baltimore - Works - Tales - Morella (Text-01)
“For the unlearned, old age is winter;
for the learned it is the season of the harvest.” - - - The Talmud
“In seed time learn, in harvest teach, in winter enjoy.” - - - William Blake (English visionary Mystic, Poet, Painter and Engraver. 1757-1827)
The biggest a-HA moment ever... thanks to my amazing gestalt method co-un-learning crew yesterday...
I created the above concept map almost exactly five years ago for a #CCK08 course blog post: connectirmeli.wordpress.com/2008/10/03/cck08-concept-map-...
- My motivation and intention was to learn to put connective learning in practice in all fields of life (and art - I add now). Today I can say that what the first connectivist MOOC was about... is to collect and connect your personal theory of use and then unlearn every single box of it. For me the process has taken five years. This photo 2013/365/286 completes my second week of learning (instead of the neverending feeling unlearning) - at last!!!
"Further, Argyris says in “Good Communication that Blocks Learning”: Each of us has what I call an espoused theory of action based on principles and precepts that fit our intellectual backgrounds and commitments. But most of us have quite a different theory-in-use to which we resort in moments of stress. And very few of us are aware of the contradiction between the two. In short, most of us are consistently inconsistent in the way we act... azuregate.net/2013/01/28/the-utility-of-double-loop-learn...
With gratitude and <3 <3 <3 <3 for you all who have witnessed and given aesthetic feedback during the next Personal Learning Ecosystem (un)construction process...
Through my pictures without bombast, without justification or pontification, without glorification I show you Shiasm, events and processions that happen here in Mumbai , shot by me .
I give you a ringside view, and my basic viewer is the westener , someome wjo wont see all this, perhaps in his part of the world.
I am not an evangelist, or a promoter of the religion I was born into, I record events for the unborn Shia chld too, who will be more net savvy than I am hopefully.
And Shia children are adults when it comes to anything pertaining to Ghame Hussain.
I have kept my Haji Malang pictures on hold and even the pictures I shot of Firoze Rafaee and his astounding acts of body mutilation..
And I shall shoot Good Friiday and the 14 Stations of the Cross, I will shoot the burning of Holika and if Jayant Dhulp invites me I shall go to shoot the bullock cart race at Alibagh on Holi day.
An event I have tried never to miss.
Here at Flickr I am happy that I can have the same picture in various sets, I dont have to break my head on categories a feature that at Word Press drove me round the bend srolling over 150 categories with an injured right hand and a single typing finger, , I did away with it, so just one category Firoze Shakir Bollywoods Most Wanted.
Even Buzznet has separate galleries for your pictures and tagging is blogger friendly and mass edit a million times better than Flickr..loading of the interface at Flickr is pure pristine pain in the ass..
And if you uploaded pictures through flickr uploader and if there is a power failure , you have to again put your pictures into sets and organizer of flickr is no help whatsoever.
Or maybe I am yet not that net savvy.
I feel blogging tools should be competently minimal, and blogger friendly.
And a robot that runs Flickr perhaps may not understand the human woes of an incorrigible photo blogger.
And Word Verification at Blogspot is a tombstone on photoblogging that says as your epitaph you are a positive spam..I proved it , I dont post at Bloggerspot ..
A picture is worth a million words but sometimes you have to give it an apt title and some explanation too..and pictures and specially words are prone to get misinterpreted.
I have learnt one basic thing in 9 months at Flickr, I have gone mellow, mature , no more attacking those who leave hate comments on my post with vicious retaliation through poetry, I simply delete the comment..
I dont block anyone - does not help.
And I dont cry and weep tears to Flickr Support ... Luckily I am an Indian and not a Scotsman.
He and his friends flagged my post at Flickr, after having driven me insane at Poem Hunter, Flickr deleted that post, fine by me,I learnt a lesson in community guidelines the hard way..but it helped.
The white man is more sensitive than a colored man when his stone washed ass gets kicked..and here at Flickr after being racially illtreated at Poem Hunter, I dont even broach the word Racist or Racism...
All that has gone , I post pictures you like it see it or move along I am still unlearning poetry and photography.
My account at Ipernity exists my Moharam pictures are there undeleted.
But I have quit posting at Ipernity, completely , saying Moharam pictures corrupts minors made me go and see Nice Jewish Girls pictures all over again for their pictorially aesthetic values, and today everyone knows what one has to see.
I am against child porn and child abuse.
But dictang what one must see or not see is an insult to a progressive human brain, and freedom of expression, freedom of expression does not imply hurting religious leaders or human religious sentiments..
If Yazid was indeed a good man , I dont think he would ever be cursed beyond redemption..
These are my personal views take it with a pinch of salt. and some pepper.
It would seem that I'm pretty colorful these past 25 days.
7. Day 7: Great Big White World
9. Day 9: Not Waving But Drowning
10. Day 10: Guess I'll Go Eat Worms
12. Day 12: Love is in... My Socks??
14. Day 14: Stolen Weekend Moments
15. Day 15: Unlearning the Past
16. Day 16: One advantage of bowling over golf is that you never lose a bowling ball.
17. Day 17: !@#!^&%@#*&%@% (ARGH)
18. Day 18: By the Glow of the Monitor
19. Day 19: The eye sees a thing more clearly in dreams than the imagination awake.
20. Day 20: Everything's Just Ducky
22. Day 22: And the Oscar Goes To..
23. Day 23: Little Red Riding Hood
24. Day 24: The Smallest Universe
25. Day 25: Love
Created with fd's Flickr Toys.
196,113 items / 1,605,815 views
Aiee means mother in Marathi.
That is what both Marziya and I call her .. with respect and with devotion for her station in life.
She stays at Chinchpokli road Bandra
I have been shooting her for a long time now but we hardly talk , she smiles considers me mad shooting her pictures , but when Marziya held the camera in her hand and took this shot she realized perhaps , even madness gives birth to creativity.. whether Marziya is a product of my street madness I dont know,but Marziya at 3 years makes me unlearn photography, from a manual which is not written by any eminent photographer.
I taught Marziya to hold the camera when she was very young, and camera etiquette , Marziya will never take the camera without placing the strap around her fragile neck, and the Nikon D 80 is a heavy camera for a child.
I made Marziya take the next few shots too , and she does it with a passion that is clearly from within the soul of the camera.
Marziya at times is very impulsive , she likes to shoot pictures when she is in a mood, otherwise she refuses to take the camera in her hand.
Even when she stands before my camera I have to ask her , or she will turn her face or howl at me, so she knows when to stop and when to begin .
Every morning she wears her Press Card ,Marzya has her Press Card too of Bandra Times , when we go down to the bazar to pick up the newspapers , she shoots the Desi Murgiwala , or we come back home , without shooting anything.
Marziya does not get intimidated by crowds that gather around her when she shoots she just looks through them, she sees what she has shot avidly on my sons lap top given to me as my computer is at the repairers , , but most of the time I show her pictures I shot when she was born, 11900 on my Flickr stream, she has only seen a few and she knows the chubby kid is her, she will tell me proudly Dada that is me.
So I teach my elder sons daughter Marziya Shakir 3 year old the art of living in peace with a camera, mans gift to Humanity.
And I want Marziya Shakir to be able to see life and shoot good pictures , and here photography is a means to an end not for money fame or iconic glory.
After seeing some of the shit that I come across in newspapers I think Marziya is million light years away from the way they handle their high end cameras.
And Marziya Shakir has her own Nikon D 80 a present from her Guru her Godfather Dr Glenn Losack MD of Manhattan New York.. in a way Glenn is my Guru too..
The first lesson in photography Marziya learnt is humility , she kissed the hand of the Marathi lady Aiee after she has taken all the shots.
And than I shot them both together.
update 8 Aug 2011
And Marziya got another gift from another kind Uncle , almost a son and a loving friend to me, did he read my inner mind as both my cameras were in very bad shape , overworked overused and attacked by the vagaries of rain blood and gulal, the cameras have slipped from my hands too , I sometimes dont strap them round my neck.. but that was long time back..
And the Nikon D 3100 is Marziyas I wont use it save in the house to shoot her and Nerjis Asif Shakir her 22 day old sister , already waiting in the wings , the feel of the camera on the first day of your life , a few hours after having stayed 9 months in the womb could change your life too, but than every kid does not have crazy Malang grand father like me..Asif Nerjis Shakir was born as Google+kid but she is on her own now at Facebook + .Thank you Marc Zuckerburg for allowing Nerjis Asif Shakir to use Facebook as a blog on the first day of her life..
And Indiblogger Rene Ranvin God of Blogs is her proud godfather .. he is Marziyas and my own god father too..
And thank you Uncle out there for the Nikon D 3100..
In the strict sense, an act of religion offered to God in acknowledgment of His supreme perfection and dominion, and of the creature's dependence upon Him; in a looser sense, the reverence shown to any person or object possessing, inherently or by association, a sacred character or a high degree of moral excellence. The rational creature, looking up to God, whom reason and revelation show to be infinitely perfect, cannot in right and justice maintain an attitude of indifference. That perfection which is infinite in itself and the source and fulfilment of all the good that we possess or shall possess, we must worship, acknowledging its immensity, and submitting to its supremacy. This worship called forth by God, and given exclusively to Him as God, is designated by the Greek name latreia (latinized, latria), for which the best translation that our language affords is the word Adoration. Adoration differs from other acts of worship, such as supplication, confession of sin, etc., inasmuch as it formally consists in self-abasement before the Infinite, and in devout recognition of His transcendent excellence. An admirable example of adoration is given in the Apocalypse 7:11-12: "And all the angels stood round about the throne, and about the ancients, and about the living creatures; and they fell before the throne upon their faces, and adored God, saying: Amen. Benediction and glory, and wisdom, and thanksgiving, honour, and power, and strength to our God. forever and ever. Amen." The revealed precept to adore god was spoken to Moses upon Sinai and reaffirmed in the words of Christ: "The Lord thy God thou shalt adore, and Him only shalt thou serve" (Matthew 4:10).
The primary and fundamental element in adoration is an interior act of mind and will; the mind perceiving that God's perfection is infinite, the will bidding us to extol and worship this perfection. Without some measure of this interior adoration "in spirit and in truth" it is evident that any outward show of divine worship would be mere pantomime and falsehood. But equally evident is that the adoration felt within will seek outward expression. Human nature demands physical utterance of some sort for its spiritual and emotional moods; and it is to this instinct for self-expression that our whole apparatus of speech and gesture is due. To Suppress this instinct in religion would be as unreasonable as to repress it in any other province of our experience. Moreover, it would do religious grievous harm to check its tendency to outward manifestation, since the external expression reacts upon the interior sentiment, quickening, strengthening, and sustaining it. As St Thomas teaches: "it is connatural for us to pass from the physical signs to the spiritual basis upon which they rest" (Summa II-II:48:2). It is to be expected, then, that men should have agreed upon certain conventional actions as expressing adoration of the Supreme Being. Of these actions, one has pre-eminently and exclusively signified adoration, and that is sacrifice. Other acts have been widely used for the same purpose, but most of them — sacrifice always excepted — have not been exclusively reserved for Divine worship; they have also been employed to manifest friendship, or reverence for high personages. Thus Abram "fell flat on his face" before the Lord (Genesis 17:3). This was clearly an act of adoration in its highest sense; yet that it could have other meaning, we know from, e.g., 1 Samuel 20:41, which says that David adored "falling on his face to the ground" before Jonathan, who had come to warn him of Saul's hatred. In like manner Gen xxxi; 3 narrates that Jacob, on meeting his brother Esau "bowed down with he face to the ground seven times". We read of other forms of adoration among the Hebrews, such as taking off the shoes (Exodus 3:5), bowing (Genesis 24:26), and we are told that the contrite publican stood when he prayed, and that St. Paul knelt when he worshipped with the elders of Ephesus. Among the early Christians it was common to adore God, standing with outstretched arms and facing the east. Finally, we ought perhaps to mention the act of pagan adoration which seems to contain the etymological explanation of our word adoration. The word adoratio very probably originated from the phrase (manum) ad os (mittere), which designated the act of kissing the hand to the statue of the god one wished to honour. Concerning the verbal manifestation of adoration — that is, the prayer of praise - explanation is not necessary. The connection between our inner feelings and their articulate utterance is obvious.
Thus far we have spoken of the worship given directly to God as the infinitely perfect Being. It is clear that adoration in this sense can be offered to no finite object. Still, the impulse that leads us to worship God's perfection in itself will move us also to venerate the traces and bestowals of that perfection as it appears conspicuously in saintly men and women. Even to inanimate objects, which for one reason or another strikingly recall the excellence, majesty, love, or mercy of God, we naturally pay some measure of reverence. The goodness which these creatures possess by participation or association is a reflection of God's goodness; by honouring them in the proper way we offer tribute to the Giver of all good. He is the ultimate end of our worship in such cases as He is the source of the derived perfection which called it forth. But, as was intimated above, whenever the immediate object of our veneration is a creature of this sort, the mode of worship which we exhibit towards it is fundamentally different from the worship which belongs to God alone. Latria, as we have already said, is the name of this latter worship; and for the secondary kind, evoked by saints or angels, we use the term dulia. The Blessed Virgin, as manifesting in a sublimer manner than any other creature the goodness of God, deserves from us a higher recognition and deeper veneration than any other of the saints; and this peculiar cultus due to her because of her unique position in the Divine economy, is designated in theology hyperdulia, that is dulia in an eminent degree. It is unfortunate that neither our own language nor the Latin possesses in its terminology the precision of the Greek. The word latria is never applied in any other sense than that of the incommunicable adoration which is due to God alone. But in English the words adore and worship are still sometimes used, and in the past were commonly so used, to mean also inferior species of religious veneration and even to express admiration or affection for persons living upon the earth. So David "adored" Jonathan. In like manner Miphiboseth "fell on his face and worshipped" David (2 Samuel 9:6). Tennyson says that Enid in her true heart, adored the queen. Those who perforce adopted these modes of expression understood perfectly well what was meant by them and were in no danger of thereby encroaching upon the rights of the Divinity. It is hardly needful to remark that Catholics, too, even the most unlearned, are in no peril of confounding the adoration due to God with the religious honour given to any finite creature even when the word worship, owing to the poverty of our language, is applied to both. The Seventh General Council, in 757, puts the matter in a few words when it says that "true latria is to be given to God alone"; and the Council of Trent (Sess. XXV) makes clear the difference between invocation of saints and idolatry.
A few words may be added in conclusion on the offences which conflict with the adoration of God. They may be summed up under three categories:
* worship offered to false gods;
* worship offered to the true God, but in a false, unworthy and scandalous manner; and
* blasphemy.
The first class comprises sins of idolatry. The second class embraces sins of superstition. These may take manifold forms, to be treated under separate titles. Suffice it to say that vain observances which neglect the essential thing in the worship of God and make much of purely accidental features or which bring it into contempt through fantastic and puerile excesses, are emphatically repudiated in Catholic theology. Honouring, or pretending to honour, God by mystic numbers or magical phrases, as though adoration consisted chiefly in the number or the physical utterance of the phrases, belongs to the Jewish Cabbala or pagan mythology, not to the worship of the Most High. (see BLASPHEMY; IDOLATRY; MARY; SAINTS; WORSHIP.)
courtesy
How can we let this happen and
Just keep our eyes closed ‘till the end
Try to unlearn all that you’ve learnt
Try to listen to your heart
No, we can’t understand the universe
by just using our minds
We are so afraid of all the things unknown
Heres a piece I did for Design For Humanity is Billabong’s charitable initiative.
It's been a few years since I've worked with them but this years show is sure to impress.
Design for Humanity Art Auction 2012 : UNLEARN | RELEARN
Wednesday July 25th doors open at 7pm until close of auction at 11:30pm.
Artist include:
Maya Hayuk, Justin Krietemeyer, Chris Bettig, Lisa Solberg, Deedee Cheriel, Damion Silver, Mark Warren Jacques, Magda Wosinska, Paige Smith, Brooke Reidt, John Antoski, Eric Shaw, Emma Garr, Lauren Ward, Jim Mangan,Malia James, Lindey Byrnes, Sophie St.-Onge, Danielle Petach, Tyler Warren, Andy Davis, Daniella Manini, Ryan Milner, Tom Jackson, Robert “Sticky” Shaw, Scott Massey, Brigitte Sire, Gareth Stehr, Lindsay Perry, and J Everette Perry
For more info check out:
Set: www.flickr.com/photos/connectirmeli/sets/72157631494094958/
Vieraista tutuiksi was an interactive event for sharing who we are and how we live our creativity true. - The special target group was people with disabilities - all ages included.
Activities:
- Borrow a real person from the library for 20 minutes - s/he shares who s/he is and you get a great opportunity to unlearn
- Build and rebuild your own sculpture - by Alexander Reichstein
- Paint with dessert cream kind of paint
- Produce iron wire art
- Visualize your dream
-> Feel more through my pics
- I walked by a locker room and couldn't help checking what was in a couple of cans on a shelf. - The label #1 said 'scent for the arrival to the workplace' and the label #2 'scent for the departure from the workplace'. There's so much within the procedures developed for the disabled the rest of us could daily utilize...
Markus Kaski (Senior Physician, Rinnekoti Foundation) says in an interview (slide 99) that events like this help us get acquainted with people who are relatively lightly disabled. - Events like this are fantastic, but we mustn't forget the much more severely disabled people living in our society and being members of our communities...
This year's event was hosted by Rinnekoti Foundation - the programme in Finnish www.kulttuuripaivat.fi/wp-content/uploads/2012/09/Kulttuu...
The referred article (slides 98-99) in Finnish: www.esse.fi/nakoislehdet_2012/esse_12_35/esse_12_35.pdf
July 18, 2013
Day 199/365
A lazy shot, but this shows why I'm avoiding the outdoors. Moving from the Southern US to Toronto, I've learned b to live with the cold winters. However, I've also unlearned how to deal with the heat. I'm sure it's way hotter in other places right now, but this is more than I can stand. The fahrenheit equivalent temperatures are 90 degrees, feels like 106.
MORELLA
Αυτο καθ’ αυτο μεθ’ αυτου, μονο ειδες αει [[αιει]] ον
Itself — alone by itself — eternally one and single.
PLATO — Symp.
WITH a feeling of deep yet most singular affection I regarded my friend Morella. Thrown by accident into her society many years ago, my soul, from our first meeting, burned with fires it had never known. But the fires were not of Eros — and bitter and tormenting to my eager spirit was the gradual conviction that I could in no manner define their unusual meaning, or regulate their vague intensity. Yet we met, and Fate bound us together at the altar, and I never spoke of love, or dreamed of passion. She, however, shunned society and attaching herself to me alone rendered me happy. It is a happiness to wonder. It is a happiness to think.
Morella’s erudition was profound. As I hope for life her talents also were of no common order — her powers of mind were gigantic. I felt this, and in many matters became her pupil. Rare and rich volumes were opened for my use; but my wife, perhaps influenced by her Presburg education, laid before me, as I took occasion to remark, chiefly those speculative writings which have, from causes to me unknown, been neglected in these latter days, and thrown aside, whether properly or not, among the mass of that German morality which is indeed purely wild, purely vague, and at times purely fantastical. These — these speculative writings were, for what reasons I could not imagine, Morella’s favourite and constant study, and that in process of time they became my own should be attributed to the simple but effectual influence of habit and example. In all this, if I think aright, my powers of thought predominated. My convictions, or I forget myself, were in no manner acted upon by my imagination; nor was any tincture of the mysticism which I read to be discovered, unless I greatly err, either in my meditations or my deeds. Feeling deeply persuaded of this I abandoned myself more implicitly to the guidance of my wife, and entered with a bolder spirit into the intricacy of her studies. And then — then when poring over forbidden pages I felt the consuming thirst for the unknown, would Morella place her cold hand upon mine, and rake up from the ashes of a dead philosophy words whose singular import burned themselves in upon my memory: and then hour after hour would I linger by her side, and listen to the music of her thrilling voice, until at length its melody was tinged with terror, and I grew pale, and shuddered inwardly at those too unearthly tones — and thus, suddenly, Joy faded into Horror, and the most beautiful became the most hideous as Hinnon became Ge-Henna.
It is unnecessary to state the exact character of those disquisitions which, growing out of the volumes I have mentioned, formed for so long a time almost the sole conversation of Morella and myself. By the learned in what might be called theological morality they will be readily conceived, and by the unlearned they would at all events be little understood. The wild Pantheism of Fitche, the modified Παλιγγενεσια of the Pythagoreans, and above all the doctrines of Identity as urged by Schelling were the points of discussion presenting the most of beauty to the imaginative Morella. That kind of identity which is not improperly called ‘personal’ Mr Lock determines, truly I think, to consist in the sameness of a rational being. And since by person we understand an intelligent essence having reason, and since there is a consciousness which always accompanies thinking, it is this consciousness which makes every one to be that which he calls ‘himself’ — thereby distinguishing him from other beings that think, and giving him his personal identity. But the “principium individuationis”, the notion of that identity which at death is or is not lost forever was to me at all times a consideration of intense interest, not more from the exciting and mystical nature of its consequences, than from the marked and agitated manner in which Morella mentioned them.
But indeed the time had now arrived when my wife’s society oppressed me like a spell. I could no longer bear the touch of her wan fingers, nor the low tones of her musical language, nor the lustre of her eyes. And she knew all this, but did not upbraid: she seemed conscious of my weakness or my folly, and smiling called it — Fate. Yet she was woman, and pined away daily. In time the crimson spot settled steadily upon the cheek, and the blue veins upon the pale forehead became prominent: and one instant my nature melted into pity, but in the next I met the glance of her melancholy eyes, and my soul sickened and became giddy with the giddiness of one who gazes downwards into some dreary and fathomless abyss.
Shall I then say that I longed with an earnest and consuming desire for the moment of Morella’s decease? I did: but the fragile spirit clung to its tenement of clay for many days — for many weeks and irksome months — until at length my tortured nerves obtained the mastery over my mind, and I grew furious with delay, and with the heart of a fiend I cursed the hours and the bitter moments which seemed to lengthen and lengthen as her gentle life declined, like shadows in the dying of the day.
But one autumnal evening when the winds lay still in Heaven Morella called me to her side. It was that season when the beautiful Halcyon is nursed* — there was a dim mist over all the Earth, and a warm glow upon the waters, and amid the rich November leaves of the forest a rainbow from the firmament had surely fallen. As I came she was murmuring in a low under-tone which trembled with fervor some words of a catholic hymn.
Sancta Maria! turn thine eyes
Upon the sinner’s sacrifice
Of fervent prayer, and humble love,
From thy holy throne above.
At morn, at noon, at twilight dim
Maria! thou hast heard my hymn: [back of page:]
In Joy and Woe — in Good and Ill
Mother of God! be with me still.
When my hours flew gently by,
And no storms were in the sky,
My soul — lest it should truant be —
Thy love did guide to thine and thee.
Now — when clouds of Fate oe’rcast
All my Present, and my Past,
Let my Future radiant shine
With sweet hopes of thee and thine.
“It is a day of days” — said Morella — “a day of all days, either to live or die. It is a fair day for the sons of Earth and Life — ah! more fair for the daughters of Heaven and Death!” I turned towards her and she continued.
“I am dying — yet shall I live. Therefore for me, Morella, thy wife, hath the charnel-house no terrors — mark me! — not even the terrors of the worm. The days have never been when thou couldst love me; but her whom in life thou didst abhor in death thou shalt adore. I repeat that I am dying — but within me is a pledge of that affection — ah, how little! — which thou didst feel for me — Morella. And when my spirit departs shall the child live — thy child and mine, Morella’s. But thy days shall be days of sorrow — sorrow, which is the most lasting of impressions, as the cypress is the most enduring of trees. For the hours of thy happiness are past, and Joy is not gathered twice in a life, as the roses of Pæstum twice in a year. Thou shalt not, then, play the Teian with Time, but, being ignorant of the flowers and the vine, thou shalt walk the earth with thy shroud around thee, like Moslemin at Mecca”.
“How knowest thou this” — I demanded eagerly — “how knowest thou all this, Morella?” But she turned away her face upon the pillow, and a slight tremor coming over her limbs, she thus died, and I heard her voice no more.
Yet, as she had predicted, the child — to which in dying she had given life, and which breathed not till the mother breathed no more — the child, a daughter, lived. And she grew strangely in size, and in intelligence, and I loved her with a love more fervent and more holy than I thought it possible to feel on earth.
∞∞∞∞∞∞∞
Notes:
This fragment is all that Poe apparently wrote of this version, with about half of the lower portion of the back page remaining blank. No footnote appears to have been written for the reference in the sixth paragraph.
This manuscript is currently in the collection of the Huntington Library, San Mariono, CA (HM 1726). Poe is said to have given the unfinished manuscript to Mrs. Sarah P. Simmons, who lived on Amity Street, in Baltimore, MD.
A typographical error appears in Mabbott’s text (p. 226), where in the third paragraph of the story (beginning “It is unnecessary . . .”) the phrase “always accompanies thinking, it is this consciounsess . . .” appears as “always accompanies thinking, it it this consciounsess . . .” Mabbott also changes, without comment, the second to last word in the Greek portion of the motto from “αει,” as it clearly appears in the manuscript and is printed in the Southern Literary Messenger (although in transliteration), to “αιει,” as it appears in Tales of the Grotesque and Arabesque and thereafter.
∞∞∞∞∞∞∞
[S:1 - MS, 1835] - Edgar Allan Poe Society of Baltimore - Works - Tales - Morella (Text-01)
Press L to view larger and on black!
"This is happiness, to be everything at once. Be unblinded, be unlearned, be unbridled and unburned. This is happiness. I'm fearless and I'm free, with the open road and the world beneath my feet."
He is called Dronacharya , by the people who are very close to him, there was a splinter group called the Acharya Club that he was the honorary member, there would be get together s by this esoteric group that I found highly prejudiced towards the newcomers, the have seen it all type of guys, I dont know what happened to them
photographers the moment conceit and arrogance find residence in their souls I think doomsday has arrived.
I saw at Mr Maheshwaris house on one such gathering the other hidden face of photography, God save you from wounded photographers scarred by camera societies , every photographer wants to leave his name on the posterior of a benumbed posterity , that here lies in the chronilcles Mr XYZ President of Photographic Socitey of India…even it was for a few months only a defeated cause a defeated death …of the Art of Photography.
Mr KG Maheshwari helps a lot of photographic societies through the Maheshwari Foundation , another person that really extols him and his work is the great press photographer Anil Bhartiya, this is a genuine sincere admiration I have seen. Mr Anil Bhartiya heads his Camera Club NPPA, and he takes his students for Sand dune shootings at Jaisalmer , rain shoots at Malshej Ghats , they visited Bandipur and Kashmir too.
There are some photographers who dont like Mr KG Maheshwari s style of Photography , and will reject his prints where they sit as Judges of Photographic Salons.. KGM , Jatkar and I were consistent salon exhibitors there excuse Oh Maheshwariji has not changed his Style , this from a Master of Fine Arts and Photography.
Makes me puke all the more severely..Mr Devanand the thespian actor whose clothes I had styled for some films, who liked my change a day every day attire told me..Fashion may go out of Style but Style never goes out of Fashion.. Dev Saab has never changed his Style…so should we reject his contribution to Cinema and his Filmography.
But Mr Maheshwari is not bothered he does all he can , he is a gifted photographer..
Alll camera clubs should be shut down per se..
pathetic pilloried politics, secretaries who become lords of photography fiefdoms , old farts that are a disgrace to everything that photography stands for, ghost editors of newsletters who shamefully , venomously destroy instead of create.. the new photographer well he shoul join Mr Shrikant Malushtes classes if he is rich and loaded the very best being Girish Mistrys Shari Academy, , I for once searched chose my Gurus began my quest of Unlearning Photography, its all about big bucks the Stock agency wallahs of Mumbai have destroyed the purity of photography with their crass Marwari commercialism.. myopic megalomania..
I stand by what I have hereby seen in 5 years at the Photographic Society of India , it shames me calling myself a Photographer belonging to any club.
I gave my soul to the Photo Blog .. the photo blog dubbed me Photographerno 1.
And to be a photographer you need to be a poet from within rejuvenate your vision. shoot home made events as a salve to the wounds given to your soul by camera clubs..
I was a member of the Photographic Society of America.. it was the most depressing time of my picto unreality…I paid in Dollars now realize that money could have given joy to so many underpriviliged children in the backwaters of a poverty ridden existence.
The Photographic Society of America is pure pictorial hogwash…
The politics in camera clubs would shame even a harlot burning in helll…
update
I try not to write much about Mr KGMaheshwari as he comes from an illustrious industrialist family, they detest publicity, KGM is a very private person.. we hardly talk nowadays…I respect his silence which is as golden as his speech and my speechlessness to my Master.
April 4th, 2007
Each to his own intoxication
Overcoming a moment before
It dies living in the lap of nature
But searching for elusive Paradise
Million light years away from earth
Yet banging his head in the face of
The mountain God from far hears
His pleas fearless fortitude and his
Spiritual sighs ...Tara my Hijra mystic
Friend finds succor through my being
Touching the soul of my poetry ...that
Within me as a dormant volcano lies
Neither man not Woman Tara child of a
Doting mother Khamakhya ..has come here
To offer her humility as her sacrifice ...
Homeless beauty she strives a chilling
Moment a man in disguise ...enraptured
Melodies lyrical musings on the sly ..
Caught in a cusp between here and the sky
Dedicated to the Sada Suhagin Hijras of
Khamakhya ....Tantric call for the unlearned wise ...seize the moment says the Mother
Before it completely disappears from the cosmic eye .....Farewell Goodbye
This was shot at Chor Bazar the Market of Thieves , all memories of times gone by come here to be recycled and sold.. each statue basks in the penury of public glare , I used the mans hand , which will soon decay , the story of the Statue will move to a new house , an American will buy ir for her house in Sunny California..yes even staute weeps.. they bleed only lovers can see this...
This is my earlier poem.
He who is intoxicated with wine will be sober again in the course of the night,but he who is intoxicated by the cupbearer Sakhi,will not recover his senses until the day of judgement.. saadi.
We attract hearts by the qualities we display, we retain them by the qualities we possess.suard
I love her .. she knows it.. yet she feigns, pretends she knows nothing.. yes she has a blocked nose.. the sinus of her soul.Banished from her kingdom.. in the wild wilderness a traveller blogged in the misery of the written word..we may not meet .. papered wings.. I am learning to fly to once again like a voyeur merged in the darkness of the night perched precariously on her window sill.. I want to call out her name .Peace.. Oh Peace..but she will wake and hurt her herself as she sleep walks in her dreams..her negligee silken, caresses her being.. her tresses like tender baby hands. .kiss her back to sleep..
she punishes me, everlastingly ... my guilt.. I love her everlastingly .
I wrote something amazing on love at Buzznet , I pressed the wrong key the post disappeared completely , I dont save , it hurt but Love is a page that disappears , love means only loving you dont to be loved in exchange..marriage is the enemy of love Divorce is ultimate release ..
Love has to be there unconditionally ..love is not a fucked Valentine Day Card..
Love is Gods reflection , a grey zone ..monochromatic melody..and more .
I am now re editing my poems as I post them here at Flickr there by unlearning to unlove..
Love is fresh , never stales never stagnates..
love is where her soul and his mind that mates
love is love it never impersonates
fuck trembling doors fuck unopen gates
yes under the lamp post in tungsten light
this blogger waits ..
sycophancy mother of unkindness
oh how she hates
my poems like my love never curdles
or outdates
All this freshly written ..the introduction that is at the feet of my poem
the bare feat of my poem