Paldies par laba vēlējumiem. Uzskatiet tos par bumerangiem.

Paldies par laba vēlējumiem. Uzskatiet tos par bumerangiem.

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[Jan. 26th, 2024|10:45 pm]

[

Fonā

Kaleida - Hollow

]

Biju ciemos pie mammas, viņa uz atvadām iedeva samizdatu (jeb pašizdokli, kā rosinājusi teikt lat. val. kom.) mašīnaprakstītas viegli nodzeltējušas lapas.

"Cilvēki, kas klejo Nācaretes apkaimē 2000 gadu atpakaļ, bija jauni, kas ir aizmirsts, un viņi tiek tradicionāli reprezentēti kā veci no sākuma, kas runā dīvainas lietas un dažkārt uzvedas neprātīgi. Bet ja ir līdzība starp to laiku un mūsējo, tad tā ir vajadzība atrast mērķi /nozīmi/. Ja kādam tā nav, tas dzīvo pastāvīgās bailēs. Viņš domā, ka bailes rada ārēji notikumi, un nav šaubu, ka tie atbrīvo bailes, bet kaut kas, ar ko mēs nevaram tikt galā, plūst no mums pašiem. Tas ir mūsu pašu vājums un šis ir mērķa /nozīmes/ trūkums. Tāpēc ir tieša sakarība starp drosmi un mērķi.
[..]
Dzīves vietā stājas rutīna, izjūtas kļūst rezignētas - aprašana ar nenozīmību. Šad un tad mēs pat dumpojamies, bet tas - tikai pieklājības pēc. Mēs radām lielu konfliktu, skandālu, bet, kā likums, ne pārāk lielu, lai tas neapdraudētu mūsu stāvokli, kaut ko pietiekami banālu, lai citi to atzītu ar simpātijām, piem. dzeram līdz nemaņai. Ir kauns no sevis paša un bieži tajā pat laikā - pilnīgs kauna trūkums."

/Svētki, Jerzy Grotowski, Theatre quarterly 1973.g.vd. III Nr.10

Jautājums: Ar JD domāti hipiju vai tomēr panku subkultūras pieraksti?

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[Jan. 23rd, 2024|10:18 pm]

[

Fonā

The Acid - Basic Instinct

]

Beidzot noskatījos tvinpīku un sapratu, kas tas gnidrologam par punduri. Lavkrafta grāmatai ar cthulhu esmu pusē. Lai gan tā ir nejauša sakritība, tomēr nedaudz šķiet, ka manas darbības ir cibiņiskas darbības nevis realitāte tur ārā.

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[Jan. 22nd, 2024|06:48 pm]

[

Fonā

Kraked Unit - L'air des cendres

]

Otrais slepkava: Vai nodursim viņu aizmigušu?
Pirmais slepkava: Nē, uzmodies viņš varētu teikt, ka mums trūka dūšas.
Otrais slepkava: Uzmodies! Viņš neuzmodīsies ātrāk kā pastarā tiesā.
Pirmais slepkava: Nu jā, un tad viņš teiks, ka nodūrām viņu miegā.

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[Jan. 12th, 2024|10:53 pm]

[

Fonā

Niccolò Paganini - Caprice for Solo Violin, Op. 1 No. 24

]

Nova labi uzsvēra par līdzpriecāšanos. patiešām, neapzināti ar to aizraujos, tikai nezināju, ka tas ir šitais, nu, laimīguma papildcēlonis. kuru līdzsvaro līdzbēdas, bu.

Drīz tie maksās Dievam īri. Noskan vēl aiz viņiem balss, Bet tie zūd, kur druvai gals.

Pīšanās ar lietu zinātājiem uzņem komiskus apgriezienus. Kārtējais kā tas gadījās. Neironizējiet par mani tik ļoti, lūdzu.

Kā lai līdz piektdienai kaut cik pieklājīgi paspēj sagatavoties (nekā, protams, ka nekā).

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

Brief reflection on killing the Christmas carp

You take a kitchen-mallet
and a knife
and hit
the right spot, so it doesn’t jerk, for
jerking means only complications and reduces profit.

And the watchers already narrow their eyes, already admire the
dexterity,
already reach for their purses. And paper is ready
for wrapping it up. And smoke rises from chimneys.
And Christmas peers from windows, creeps along the ground
and splashes in barrels.

Such is the law of happiness.

I am just wondering if the carp is the right creature.

A far better creature surely would be one
which—stretched out—held flat—pinned down—
would turn its blue eye
on the mallet, the knife, the purse, the paper,
the watchers and the chimneys
and Christmas,

And quickly

say something. For instance

These are my happiest days; these are my golden days.
Or
The starry sky above me and the moral law within me,
Or
And yet it moves.

Or at least
Hallelujah!

/ Miroslav Holub

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[Jan. 4th, 2024|10:51 pm]

[

Fonā

Linkin Park - My December

]

Secinājums, kas labāk izskaidro dažas man nesaprotamas līdzcilvēku reakcijas: Ja objektīva labā nav, tad moralizēšana ir emocionāla manipulācija.

/ no diskusijas par Alisdēra Makintaira "Pēc tikuma"

Vakar salasījos dzeju par nāvi. Man patika Filipa Lārkina versija. Par kuru Milošs ir komentējis, ka tā labi parāda modernismu, kurš ieēdās intelektuāļos. No intelligent contemporary is spared the pressure exerted in our world by the void, the absurd, the anti-meaning, all of which are part of the intellectual atmosphere we subsist in. Cik neārstējami slims un reizē labs tas dzejas gabals. Svešāds, bet reizē pilnīgi uztverams smeldzīgs izmisums.
Varu tikai izjust kārtējo pateicību par draugu, kurš ļāvis man paraudzīties cauri (varbūt garām?) un rast prieku tur, tajā šķietami cilvēkam vairs neaizsniedzamajā vietā pirms kara un sērgas, burtiski jebkura kara un sērgas. Mēs visi izdzīvosim. Jātiek pāri tiltam. Jus in bello.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Aubade

I work all day, and get half-drunk at night.
Waking at four to soundless dark, I stare.
In time the curtain-edges will grow light.
Till then I see what’s really always there:
Unresting death, a whole day nearer now,
Making all thought impossible but how
And where and when I shall myself die.
Arid interrogation: yet the dread
Of dying, and being dead,
Flashes afresh to hold and horrify.

The mind blanks at the glare. Not in remorse
—The good not done, the love not given, time
Torn off unused—nor wretchedly because
An only life can take so long to climb
Clear of its wrong beginnings, and may never;
But at the total emptiness for ever,
The sure extinction that we travel to
And shall be lost in always. Not to be here,
Not to be anywhere,
And soon; nothing more terrible, nothing more true.

This is a special way of being afraid
No trick dispels. Religion used to try,
That vast moth-eaten musical brocade
Created to pretend we never die,
And specious stuff that says No rational being
Can fear a thing it will not feel, not seeing
That this is what we fear—no sight, no sound,
No touch or taste or smell, nothing to think with,
Nothing to love or link with,
The anaesthetic from which none come round.

And so it stays just on the edge of vision,
A small unfocused blur, a standing chill
That slows each impulse down to indecision.
Most things may never happen: this one will,
And realisation of it rages out
In furnace-fear when we are caught without
People or drink. Courage is no good:
It means not scaring others. Being brave
Lets no one off the grave.
Death is no different whined at than withstood.

Slowly light strengthens, and the room takes shape.
It stands plain as a wardrobe, what we know,
Have always known, know that we can’t escape,
Yet can’t accept. One side will have to go.
Meanwhile telephones crouch, getting ready to ring
In locked-up offices, and all the uncaring
Intricate rented world begins to rouse.
The sky is white as clay, with no sun.
Work has to be done.
Postmen like doctors go from house to house.

/Philip Larkin

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	[Jan. 3rd, 2024\|10:51 pm]
Suddenly I saw the cold and rook-delighting heaven That seemed as though ice burned and was but the more ice [..] /The Cold Heaven by William Butler Yeats
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	[Dec. 30th, 2023\|05:49 pm]
"Tad kaut kas iekoda trollītim Muminam astē: kodiena vieta sūrstēja kā ugunī. Viņš uzlēca kājās un acumirklī aptvēra, kas noticis. Iedzeltenās mīzenes! Mazas, atriebības kāras iedzeltenās mīzenes; tās zālē čumēja un mudžēja, tās skrēja šurp no visām malām – nu jau vēl viena iekoda viņam ķepā. Trollītis Mumins lēnām atkāpās; acīs, kā no iebirušiem gružiem, grauza vilšanās, viņš bija drausmīgi aizvainots. Saprotams, ka skudras bija dzīvojušas te pirms viņa. Bet tāds, kas dzīvo zemē, jau neredz neko no tā, kas atrodas augšā; tādai mīzenei nav nekādas nojausmas ne par putniem, ne mākoņiem, nedz ko citu, kas ir skaists un svarīgs, sacīsim, trollītis Mumins. Taisnības ir dažādas. Saskaņā ar vienu taisnību, kas varbūt ir daudz sarežģītāka, bet pilnīgi pareiza, klajums pieder viņam, nevis iedzeltenajām skudrām. Kaut tikai varētu panākt, lai viņas to saprot! Viņas taču gluži labi var dzīvot kaut kur citur. Mazlietiņ nost, tikai dažus metrus nostāk. Vai ir iespējams to kaut kā viņām paskaidrot? Varbūt ļaunākajā gadījumā varētu novilkt robežlīniju un apgabalu sadalīt? [..] Piegājis klāt, trollītis ierunājās: – Māmiņ! Ja tu esi nolūkojis kādu šausmīgi patīkamu un skaistu vietu, ko esi atradis un padarījis par savu, un tad tu atklāj, ka tur dzīvo vesels lērums citu būtņu, kas negrib vākties prom, – vai tām ir tiesības palikt, kaut arī tās pat neapjēdz, ka vieta ir skaista? – Ir jau gan, – māmiņa atteica un apsēdās aļģēs. – Bet ja tās tikpat labi justos kādā – kādā atkritumu kaudzē! – viņas dēls izsaucās. – Tad jau ar tām var apspriesties, – māmiņa domāja. – Un varbūt palīdzēt pārvākties. Ir ļoti grūti pārvākties, ja ilgi esi dzīvojis vienā un tajā pašā vietā."
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	[Dec. 25th, 2023\|11:53 am]
This graphic print has almost everything you need - born Jesus, Mary, star and moon, angels, a notebook, three wisdoms and... two cows.
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	[Dec. 22nd, 2023\|10:16 pm]
Uzcepu piparkūkas peļu un jenotu formās. A. gan saka, ka tas esot āpsis nevis jenots, multeņu āpsis, ja precīzāk.
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	[Dec. 18th, 2023\|12:42 am]
Man bieži liecies, ka tas, ka esmu laimīga mazina manu produktivitāti. Bet te nu es vakarā esmu gan laimīga, gan daudz padarījusi. Palikusi vēl viena lieta, kuras uzsākšana nav atkarīga no manis, jāpietur īkšķīši. Ja tas arī izdotos, tad es laikam būtu jau pavisam nepieklājīgi priecīga. --------------------------------------- "Uzskatu, ka pati lielākā žēlsirdība pasaulē ir cilvēka prāta nespēja vienkopus sasaistīt visu tajā rodamo. Mēs dzīvojam uz rāmas neziņas salas, ko apņēmušas melnas bezgalības jūras, un mums nav lemts ceļot tālu." /Ktulu aicinājums, H.F. Lavkrafts
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	[Dec. 6th, 2023\|10:48 am]
meli ir kā mats mutē
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	[Nov. 24th, 2023\|11:23 pm]

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	[Nov. 12th, 2023\|11:37 pm]
Funkcija, caur kuru meklēt labāko iespējamo risinājumu citiem, ir taisnīgums; funkcija, caur kuru meklēt labāko iespējamo risinājumu sev, ir mērenība.
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	[Oct. 31st, 2023\|10:42 pm]
Un vai tu jau apdziedāji pasaules radīšanu, m? Vai arī slapsties pa kaktiem kā Kedmons. Caedmon, the cow-herd, found it impossible to contribute any improvised verses when it was his turn to take harp and keep the banquet lively. But he always managed to find a way of dodging these crises by contriving to be at his yard-work when the harp was being passed. He would be out among the cattle, busy being busy. Then, one night when he was in the byre stalls as usual, he fell asleep and an angel appeared and commanded him to sing the creation of the world; and he did so, in the poem known ever since as Caedmon's Hymn. Nu scilun herga hefenricæs uard metudæs mehti and his modgithanc uerc uuldurfadur sue he uundra gihuæs eci dryctin or astelidæ. he ærist scop ældu barnum hefen to hrofæ halig sceppend tha middingard moncynnæs uard eci dryctin æfter tiadæ firum foldu frea allmehtig Now let us praise Heaven-Kingdom's guardian, the Maker's might and his mind's thoughts, the work of the glory-father—of every wonder, eternal Lord. He established a beginning. He first shaped for men's sons Heaven as a roof, the holy Creator; then middle-earth mankind's guardian, eternal Lord, afterwards prepared the earth for men, the Lord almighty. ------------------------------------------------ Cædmon's Hymn is a short Old English poem attributed to Cædmon, a supposedly illiterate and unmusical cow-herder who was, according to the Northumbrian monk Bede (d. 735), miraculously empowered to sing in honour of God the Creator. The poem is Cædmon's only known composition. The poem has a claim to being the oldest surviving English poem.
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[Oct. 30th, 2023|10:59 pm]

[

Fonā

Woven Hand - My Russia (Standing On Hands)

]

O bird on the wire,
What is the world to you?

/George O'Neil, Sparrow

Some call my neighborhood Neos Kosmos, the New World. But we are on the borders of Neos Kosmos. We live across the paved-over trickle that was the river, Kallirrhois (“the beautifully flowing”), from the old-town area of Athens, the Plaka, where, on Byron street, beneath the Acropolis, you can buy calendars with ancient Greek pornography. The real name of our neighborhood, known by the post office but none of the taxi drivers, is Cynosargous—the dog Argos, who waited on a dungheap for the exile’s return. The exile’s return, of course, is death.

/A.E. Stallings, Athens: Peripatetic Fragments. A new world in the old.

-------------------------------------------------------
Daži to sauc par jauno pasauli, daži vienkārši par neatbilstību starp mierinājuma vārdiem, neskaidriem pierakstiem un vēl neskaidrākām atmiņām.

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	[Sep. 29th, 2023\|12:37 pm]
When Time magazine published its issue on the 100 most influential people of the 20th century, the columnist and pundit Peggy Noonan wrote the profile for her former boss, Ronald Reagan. She began by recounting Clare Boothe Luce’s quip that every president is remembered for a sentence: “He freed the slaves.” “He made the Louisiana Purchase.” Sometimes a presidency boils down, fairly or not, to a single word. Watergate. Lewinsky. Obamacare. The same parlor game applies to popes and papacies. “He called the Council.” “He changed the Mass.” “He resigned.” What will Pope Francis’s sentence be? His most famous catchphrase, “Who am I to judge?” appeared early, just months after ascending to Peter’s chair, and set a tone of openness or ambiguity (depending on one’s point of view) that would become a hallmark of his pontificate. His legacy, though, will more likely be captured by another phrase, uttered during that same trip to World Youth Day in Rio de Janeiro. During his remarks on Copacabana beach, the Holy Father went off-script and exhorted the millions of young people there, “¡Hagan lío!”—“Make a mess!” Among the possibilities for Pope Francis’s sentence, a leading contender would have to be, “He made a mess.” https://www.firstthings.com/web-exclusives/2023/09/cleaning-up-the-popes-mess
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[Sep. 27th, 2023|08:31 pm]

[

Sajūta

domīgs

]

Nevaru saprast, vai man nevajadzētu dienasgrāmatai jaunu fona tapeti. Latvieši nav bijuši valodas vērti.

German linguist Gottfried Hensel’s Linguistic Map, 1741, Nuremberg. In some languages the first lines of the Lord’s prayer – “Our father who is in heaven”.

----------------------------------------------------------

kur tu biji, kad modās jūra,

vārnu spārni asi un stūraini

vēstīja nenovēršamu karu,

vējš saplēsa buras, un svētais Juris,

nespēja noturēt pilsētas mūrus,

kad ābelēm nolūza visi zari?

kur tu biji, kad ugunskuri

pārvērta mājas par melnu rūsu,

kad pamalē smirdēja kritušo trūdi?

es spīdēju degošo māju rūtīs,

es dziedāju mirstošo kareivju krūtīs,

es sargāju viņu dvēseles dūrē,

pirms atvērās durvis.

/Ruta Štelmahere, Vidus.Laiks

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	[Sep. 19th, 2023\|02:19 pm]
Vai lietuvieši dabūja kvalitatīvāku kristietību par mūsējo? (retorisks jautājums) Žemaitijans and the Council of Constance (1416). The Polish-Lithuanian and Teutonic conflict about what sort of Christianity was better. The complaint, or rather appeal, of the Žemaitijans is a remarkable text. Its authorship is unknown and, in the modern sense, cannot be established because a number of hands must have been at work before the final draft was made ready for use. The text includes a list of complaints levelled against the Teutonic Order in 1407. It includes references to more recent events, but its essence is to be seen in a general appeal of the Žemaitijans to enjoy what today would be called human rights: freedom and right to property. It was the Teutonic Knights who attacked the Žemaitijans in order to subdue and exterminate them. It was they who were eager to enjoy material goods to the full and who neglected taking care of people’s souls altogether. The Teutonic Order was portrayed as an institution driven by mean secular desires, avarice, disregarding totally, as it were, the injunction to love one’s neighbour. The appeal opens and closes with the stated desire of the Žemaitijans to be admitted to the bosom of the Mother Church. The decision of the Council was made in August 1416. Archbishop John of Lviv and Bishop Peter of Vilnius were authorized to accomplish whatever might be necessary for the conversion of the people and the establishment of Church organization in Žemaitija. The mission to Žemaitija was thus made independent of the claims of the archdiocese of Riga. /The Conversion of Lithuania. From Pagan Barbarians to Late Medieval Christians, 352-354
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