Poems about troulbled daughter
Poetry Corner: May 15 "Invictus" by William Ernest Henley
2024.05.16 00:47 lazylittlelady Poetry Corner: May 15 "Invictus" by William Ernest Henley
Dear Poetry Fanciers,
Welcome back for a special Victorian edition of Poetry Corner, brought to you by u/NightAngelRogue and a splendid accompaniment for our upcoming read of The Thrilling Adventures of Lovelace and Babbage. Just a reminder, if there is a special poem you would like to feature in Poetry Corner, just send me a message and we'll get it the schedule!
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ Joke:
Q: Nelson Mandela, Tuberculosis and Long John Silver walk in a bar. Who are they talking about as they go in?
A: Probably William Ernest Henley (1849-1903).
____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Poet, journalist, literary critic, editor, publisher, translator and Victorian-extraordinaire, Henley, was a good friend to Robert Louis Stevenson, who he inspired to write the character "Long John Silver" in Treasure Island. Stevenson, writing to Henley-" I will now make a confession: It was the sight of your maimed strength and masterfulness that begot Long John Silver ... the idea of the maimed man, ruling and dreaded by the sound, was entirely taken from you". The friendship was a tumultuous and long one.
Henley's sickly daughter, Margaret, was the inspiration of "Wendy" in J.M. Barrie's Peter Pan. She would not live long past her 5th birthday, the only child Henley had with his wife, Hannah "Anna" Johnston Boyle. Tragedy had long painted his life even before this sad event. He was diagnosed with a rare form of tuberculosis at age 12, that affected his bones. His left leg had to be amputated below the knee when Henley was a young man, and he was often in the hospital with various abscesses that need to be drained. Frequent illness kept him out of school and interrupted his professional work. Henley eventually sought out the advice of Joseph Lister, who was pioneering new techniques, including antiseptic operating conditions and doing groundbreaking research on wounds, when his right foot become affected by the tuberculosis. Still, his ill-health did not keep him from practicing his art. While Lister kept him under observation at the Royal Infirmary of Edinburgh, from 1873-75, Henly wrote and published a collection of poems, which includes today's selection, In Hospital (1903). This collection of poems is notable also because it was one of the earliest examples of free verse in English poetry. Henley and others in his group became known as the "Henley Regatta" for their championing of realism, such as the poor working conditions in the Victorian underbelly, in opposition to the Decadent movement in France and the Aesthetic movement closer to home. This would be the last collection of poetry and the most impactful of his work; his death would follow later that year. Unfortunately, a fall from a carriage reawakened the latent tuberculosis hiding inside him, which carried him off age 53. He was buried next to his daughter, in Cockaney Hatley, Bedfordshire. His wife would later also be buried alongside her family.
His legacy is one that is both inspiring and rather dispiriting. His poetry was used for jingoistic and imperialist causes, and to champion war, though much of it was about personal striving and inner resolve-the mythical "Stiff Upper Lip" of the Victorian era. This led to push back in the literary world, as D.H. Lawrence's short story, "England, My England and Other Stories" took flight from one of the lines from "Pro Rege Nostro", which is more patriotic than his usual work. Admittedly, he counted himself as a conservative and supported the imperial effort, as much of Victorian society did at this time. Still, his work fell into obscurity, with the main exception of "Invictus"-Latin for "unconquered". It is well known that Nelson Mandela recited this poem to his fellow inmates in Robben Island as a reminder to stay strong and keep one's dignity. There are also, of course, the Invictus Games, which are held for injured and sick service men and women and veterans in the UK.
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Winston Churchill to the House of Commons, September 9, 1941:
"“The mood of Britain is wisely and rightly averse from every form of shallow or premature exultation. This is no time for boasts or glowing prophecies, but there is this—a year ago our position looked forlorn, and well nigh desperate, to all eyes but our own. Today we may say aloud before an awe-struck world, ‘We are still masters of our fate. We still are captain of our souls.'” (link)
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Sidney Low, in "Some Memories and Impressions – William Ernest Henley". The Living Age (1897–1941) describing his friend:
"... to me he was the startling image of Pan come to Earth and clothed—the great god Pan...with halting foot and flaming shaggy hair, and arms and shoulders huge and threatening, like those of some Faun or Satyr of the ancient woods, and the brow and eyes of the Olympians." (link)
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Andrzej Diniejko on Henley as "poet as a patient" and his work predating modern forms of poetry "not only in form, as experiments in free verse containing abrasive narrative shifts and internal monologue, but also in subject matter". (link)
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
"Invictus"
by William Ernest Henley
Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.
In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody but unbowed.
Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.
It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
This poem is in the public domain.
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Some things to discuss might be the title. How does the defiant spirit of this "Unconquered" opening play throughout the lines of the poem? There is also a reference to the Bible Verse Matthew 7:14 in the poem, "Because strait is the gate, and narrow is the way, which leadeth unto life, and few there be that find it". Why do you think this is included? What lines stand out to you? How do you see him fit into the Victorian literary furniture, if you will? Have you heard this poem before? How does this fit in with the melancholy feel of the Bonus Poem, if you read it? What other poets do you enjoy from this era of literature?
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Bonus Poem: We'll Go No More a-Roving
Bonus Link #1: "Love Blows As the Wind Blows" (1911) song-cycle by George Butterworth, with Henley's poetry put to music and song.
Bonus Link #2: A literary review of the Victorian Era.
Bonus Link #3: Read the other poems included in the collection, In Hospital.
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
If you missed last's month poem, you can find it here.
submitted by lazylittlelady to bookclub [link] [comments]
Welcome back for a special Victorian edition of Poetry Corner, brought to you by u/NightAngelRogue and a splendid accompaniment for our upcoming read of The Thrilling Adventures of Lovelace and Babbage. Just a reminder, if there is a special poem you would like to feature in Poetry Corner, just send me a message and we'll get it the schedule!
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ Joke:
Q: Nelson Mandela, Tuberculosis and Long John Silver walk in a bar. Who are they talking about as they go in?
A: Probably William Ernest Henley (1849-1903).
____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Poet, journalist, literary critic, editor, publisher, translator and Victorian-extraordinaire, Henley, was a good friend to Robert Louis Stevenson, who he inspired to write the character "Long John Silver" in Treasure Island. Stevenson, writing to Henley-" I will now make a confession: It was the sight of your maimed strength and masterfulness that begot Long John Silver ... the idea of the maimed man, ruling and dreaded by the sound, was entirely taken from you". The friendship was a tumultuous and long one.
Henley's sickly daughter, Margaret, was the inspiration of "Wendy" in J.M. Barrie's Peter Pan. She would not live long past her 5th birthday, the only child Henley had with his wife, Hannah "Anna" Johnston Boyle. Tragedy had long painted his life even before this sad event. He was diagnosed with a rare form of tuberculosis at age 12, that affected his bones. His left leg had to be amputated below the knee when Henley was a young man, and he was often in the hospital with various abscesses that need to be drained. Frequent illness kept him out of school and interrupted his professional work. Henley eventually sought out the advice of Joseph Lister, who was pioneering new techniques, including antiseptic operating conditions and doing groundbreaking research on wounds, when his right foot become affected by the tuberculosis. Still, his ill-health did not keep him from practicing his art. While Lister kept him under observation at the Royal Infirmary of Edinburgh, from 1873-75, Henly wrote and published a collection of poems, which includes today's selection, In Hospital (1903). This collection of poems is notable also because it was one of the earliest examples of free verse in English poetry. Henley and others in his group became known as the "Henley Regatta" for their championing of realism, such as the poor working conditions in the Victorian underbelly, in opposition to the Decadent movement in France and the Aesthetic movement closer to home. This would be the last collection of poetry and the most impactful of his work; his death would follow later that year. Unfortunately, a fall from a carriage reawakened the latent tuberculosis hiding inside him, which carried him off age 53. He was buried next to his daughter, in Cockaney Hatley, Bedfordshire. His wife would later also be buried alongside her family.
His legacy is one that is both inspiring and rather dispiriting. His poetry was used for jingoistic and imperialist causes, and to champion war, though much of it was about personal striving and inner resolve-the mythical "Stiff Upper Lip" of the Victorian era. This led to push back in the literary world, as D.H. Lawrence's short story, "England, My England and Other Stories" took flight from one of the lines from "Pro Rege Nostro", which is more patriotic than his usual work. Admittedly, he counted himself as a conservative and supported the imperial effort, as much of Victorian society did at this time. Still, his work fell into obscurity, with the main exception of "Invictus"-Latin for "unconquered". It is well known that Nelson Mandela recited this poem to his fellow inmates in Robben Island as a reminder to stay strong and keep one's dignity. There are also, of course, the Invictus Games, which are held for injured and sick service men and women and veterans in the UK.
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Winston Churchill to the House of Commons, September 9, 1941:
"“The mood of Britain is wisely and rightly averse from every form of shallow or premature exultation. This is no time for boasts or glowing prophecies, but there is this—a year ago our position looked forlorn, and well nigh desperate, to all eyes but our own. Today we may say aloud before an awe-struck world, ‘We are still masters of our fate. We still are captain of our souls.'” (link)
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Sidney Low, in "Some Memories and Impressions – William Ernest Henley". The Living Age (1897–1941) describing his friend:
"... to me he was the startling image of Pan come to Earth and clothed—the great god Pan...with halting foot and flaming shaggy hair, and arms and shoulders huge and threatening, like those of some Faun or Satyr of the ancient woods, and the brow and eyes of the Olympians." (link)
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Andrzej Diniejko on Henley as "poet as a patient" and his work predating modern forms of poetry "not only in form, as experiments in free verse containing abrasive narrative shifts and internal monologue, but also in subject matter". (link)
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
"Invictus"
by William Ernest Henley
Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.
In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody but unbowed.
Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.
It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
This poem is in the public domain.
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Some things to discuss might be the title. How does the defiant spirit of this "Unconquered" opening play throughout the lines of the poem? There is also a reference to the Bible Verse Matthew 7:14 in the poem, "Because strait is the gate, and narrow is the way, which leadeth unto life, and few there be that find it". Why do you think this is included? What lines stand out to you? How do you see him fit into the Victorian literary furniture, if you will? Have you heard this poem before? How does this fit in with the melancholy feel of the Bonus Poem, if you read it? What other poets do you enjoy from this era of literature?
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Bonus Poem: We'll Go No More a-Roving
Bonus Link #1: "Love Blows As the Wind Blows" (1911) song-cycle by George Butterworth, with Henley's poetry put to music and song.
Bonus Link #2: A literary review of the Victorian Era.
Bonus Link #3: Read the other poems included in the collection, In Hospital.
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
If you missed last's month poem, you can find it here.
2024.05.16 00:40 Consistent_Pen_3391 Time management after work: how to balance kids homework, chores, professional development, fun/connection?
I have difficulty with routine/time management at home. I am home from work around 4pm M-F. My husband handles the kids, school drop off/pick-up, most of the cleaning and cooking. I have a toddler and kindergartner.
I always struggle with when to do my kid’s homework and piano practice. My daughter is ONLY in Kindergarten but I can’t get consistent with her tasks. she has to read a tiny bit nightly, learn a new sentence-poem by memory every week, and study some sight words every week. We aim to do piano practice for 10-15m each day. However, we usually end up practicing piano 1-2x a week so her progress is super slow. We do her homework reading also 1-2x a week. It sounds ridiculous but I can’t figure out how to get consistent with this.
Usually by the time I finish work, she’ll be playing outside or be doing some screen time (educational stuff). And I want a little break after work, too. Then the kids want to play/connect, which I think is healthy to do after school so we do that. And then it’s just about dinner time.. after dinner often I want to do some chores/cleaning.. and then I’ll realize we’re out of time to do homework/music or I just feel tired. Keep in mind my husband does most the cooking so I don’t even have to do that.
On top of this, I have a self-paced course I’ve been meaning to get to for professional development but I keep putting it off because I feel like I have no time.
Should I make a schedule? I’ve never been good at sticking to that.. I don’t know ahead of time which exact day we’ll bathe the kids or which exact day I’ll wash my hair.. or which day we’ll end up playing outside for hours eally enjoying ourselves..
submitted by Consistent_Pen_3391 to workingmoms [link] [comments]
I always struggle with when to do my kid’s homework and piano practice. My daughter is ONLY in Kindergarten but I can’t get consistent with her tasks. she has to read a tiny bit nightly, learn a new sentence-poem by memory every week, and study some sight words every week. We aim to do piano practice for 10-15m each day. However, we usually end up practicing piano 1-2x a week so her progress is super slow. We do her homework reading also 1-2x a week. It sounds ridiculous but I can’t figure out how to get consistent with this.
Usually by the time I finish work, she’ll be playing outside or be doing some screen time (educational stuff). And I want a little break after work, too. Then the kids want to play/connect, which I think is healthy to do after school so we do that. And then it’s just about dinner time.. after dinner often I want to do some chores/cleaning.. and then I’ll realize we’re out of time to do homework/music or I just feel tired. Keep in mind my husband does most the cooking so I don’t even have to do that.
On top of this, I have a self-paced course I’ve been meaning to get to for professional development but I keep putting it off because I feel like I have no time.
Should I make a schedule? I’ve never been good at sticking to that.. I don’t know ahead of time which exact day we’ll bathe the kids or which exact day I’ll wash my hair.. or which day we’ll end up playing outside for hours eally enjoying ourselves..
2024.05.15 19:01 The_Shoe1990 Some words of inspiration
I've been alienated by mom from my 8 year old daughter for 5 years now. I've been fighting through the courts to see her again and, needless to say, it has been a painfully slow process. I feel like we're just now starting to make progress, but I've learned to temper my expectations.
Here is a poem I read that has given me encouragement in my darkest of moments over these years that, I believe, is especially applicable to PA. I've almost committed it to memory at this point. I don't know if I'm allowed to post something like this here, but I just wanted to give everyone (in particular, the dads) something to help keep them fighting the good fight.
. . . .
"If" by Rudyard Kipling
If you can keep your head when all about you Are losing theirs and blaming it on you; If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you, But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired of waiting, Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies, Or, being hated, don't give way to hating, And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise;
If you can dream - and not make dreams your master; If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim; If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools, Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken, And stoop and build them up with worn-out tools;
If you can make one heap of all your winnings And risk it all on one turn of pitch-and-toss, And lose, and start again at your beginnings And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew To serve your turn long after they are gone, And so hold on when there is nothing in you Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue, Or walk with kings - nor lose the common touch; If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you; If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute With sixty seconds worth of distance run, Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it, And - which is more - you'll be a Man, my son.
submitted by The_Shoe1990 to ParentalAlienation [link] [comments]
Here is a poem I read that has given me encouragement in my darkest of moments over these years that, I believe, is especially applicable to PA. I've almost committed it to memory at this point. I don't know if I'm allowed to post something like this here, but I just wanted to give everyone (in particular, the dads) something to help keep them fighting the good fight.
. . . .
"If" by Rudyard Kipling
If you can keep your head when all about you Are losing theirs and blaming it on you; If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you, But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired of waiting, Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies, Or, being hated, don't give way to hating, And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise;
If you can dream - and not make dreams your master; If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim; If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools, Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken, And stoop and build them up with worn-out tools;
If you can make one heap of all your winnings And risk it all on one turn of pitch-and-toss, And lose, and start again at your beginnings And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew To serve your turn long after they are gone, And so hold on when there is nothing in you Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue, Or walk with kings - nor lose the common touch; If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you; If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute With sixty seconds worth of distance run, Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it, And - which is more - you'll be a Man, my son.
2024.05.15 15:00 0hhanna [HELP] What is the poem?
I’m looking for a poem that I heard on TikTok. I accidentally unsaved it, and would love to find it again. Its s by a woman. It’s a fairly long poem, so I’ll just share what I remember from the beginning:
‘One: your father talks like an ocean spilling words like a spilled drink.. covering.. everything. Your mother… doesn’t say anything.’
… can’t remember this part
‘You only hear about you mother’s premarital life from your father, he talks of how he tamed her, saved her.’
Something about how ‘Icarus could have just as well drowned as burned - and your mothers mouth is a saltwater darkness’
Later in the poem it’s about the daughter’s own struggles with trusting men:
‘leave before they realise you’re not worth staying for (and later in the poem: before they realise you’re not worth scaring for.’)
Hope someone knows it🤞
submitted by 0hhanna to Poetry [link] [comments]
‘One: your father talks like an ocean spilling words like a spilled drink.. covering.. everything. Your mother… doesn’t say anything.’
… can’t remember this part
‘You only hear about you mother’s premarital life from your father, he talks of how he tamed her, saved her.’
Something about how ‘Icarus could have just as well drowned as burned - and your mothers mouth is a saltwater darkness’
Later in the poem it’s about the daughter’s own struggles with trusting men:
‘leave before they realise you’re not worth staying for (and later in the poem: before they realise you’re not worth scaring for.’)
Hope someone knows it🤞
2024.05.15 00:07 shelalanagig A birthday poem from uBPD Mum 12 days late
TLDR uBPD Mum wrote her twin daughters a birthday poem but sent it twelve days late, full of innacuracies and with a request to visit one of them. The request is for a fictional exhibition in a specific date range. She forwarded her original message to the other twin without to editing out the visit request or making an attempt to cover the fact it was written for the first twin and sent to the other as an after thought.
Context A birthday poem sent to me an hour after it was sent to my twin sister. It was also 12 days after our actual birthday, neither of us heard from uBPD mum on the day (I've asked her not to contact me but she thinks that my sister & I are 1 entity so even though my sister is still in contact with her, mum treats her like she is not). My sister (Twin1) trained in fine art in the city she now works in. She is not currently making art so has no idea what exhibition uBPD mum refers to in the poem. I have marked lies/inaccuracies with an * I've asterisked the line about being a proud mum and gran because if she was so proud, why does she make no mention of wanting to see her 2 grand sons on this trip to the city to see my sister at her exhibition? She hasn't seen her grandsons in at least a year despite visiting near by their city in our small country twice last year. She didn't even tell my sister she was in the area until my sister phoned to wish uBPD mum happy birthday on her birthday February this year.
Poem
Twin1 and Twin2 38 today * That's just not possible no way Where has the time gone Times flies sadly that's so true Doesn't seem that long ago when Myself and Twin2 went to the zoo.
You were and are my sunshine of Hometown on Gala My beautiful twin daughters living in bonnie Hometown Bay A prouder mum I could not be how you both excelled and now you both have your own family You get to experience the love and joy like I had and still have as I reflect on my wonderful family tree When you hurried home excitedly to show all the things you had lovingly made for me
You were always caring and sharing Even at such a young age so helpful too. Remember girls I was on the phone to uBPD Gran When you flushed Twin2 nappy down the loo I was panic stricken and mortified when the neighbour below said it had flooded her too.
I loved my plants* .it was a not easy to maintain with two Mischieves monkeys who tipped them upside down . It was funny but I also did frown Before you knew it we were back to laughing and getting along Happy again and full of song
Love shack was your favourite tune I loved that song too you could sing it to the moon Love shack baby love shack Oh to hear you sing that song would bring It all right back
The time we all got such a fright Twin 1 When you accidentally bumped into a light Well lamp post * Out of the three of us who was startled the most?
You were fine ,you got a war wound scar Was it the left or right side I can't remember I think it was your right eye It was so long ago at the time you were very shy
Twin 2 walked into a gate * I was dumstruck only seconds too late* You got a scar on your eyes too By then I was beside myself and did not know what to do !
Almost in the space of a year You each have a scar by your eye Which side they are on your eye is unclear Now you parents yourself you know what I mean How quickly things can happen Even when your close by to the scene
Bless the wee lady above is in Hometown She used to shout girls you whoo seconds later it was raining milkyways all over you I could only chuckle when I realised I too Along with uBPD dister we went to our neighbour for our daily rations of sweeties too * And to this day I believe my mum never knew.
Remember when you got up early and Oh my you got hold of the butter I think I was in a flutter Butter in the rods of the Wendy house it was everywhere If I recall righghtly it was in your hair.
You used to trick people switching places * Sometimes you did trip up on your laces You tried to fool me but that was not so easy * However tricking your pals and strangers was easy peasy.*
The things you have done this uBPD Mum and gran could not be more proud of you You won a camera for your ambulance picture Twin2 you designed the school logo in highschool too Is there no end to your talents You both excelled and followed your career Which I never regretted not being able to As th minute I knew I was expecting I always prioritised you* and am a proud mum of twins with 5 wonderful grandchildren too*
The trips we went to beech and picnics with aunt The endless pictures are wonderful memories of happy times with you I still have her special multi coloured umbrella Where we often seemed shelter under it too
So many more memories this is some of them I just want to ask you Twin 1 can I come with my friend M or F and see your exhibition* city between 23 rd and 29 th Sept I love seeing all that you can do and have done
Your pictures in the cafe The story about wellies and where they travelled from faraway I believe it was Canada And you made a wellington cast Now it's a focal point for tourists and everyone to see.*
I often look at the screen you both made me made before I moved country All the gifts over the years cards and mementos each one speaks words to me When you gave me the picture and chair for my birthday .
That incredible exhibition in the gallery when you made a clear curtain and even there there is a story
I understand if you say no don't come .I hope and pray one day we will all Be together again surrounded by my family.Until that joyous day comes remember I carry love in my heart for you all eternally❤️
submitted by shelalanagig to raisedbyborderlines [link] [comments]
Context A birthday poem sent to me an hour after it was sent to my twin sister. It was also 12 days after our actual birthday, neither of us heard from uBPD mum on the day (I've asked her not to contact me but she thinks that my sister & I are 1 entity so even though my sister is still in contact with her, mum treats her like she is not). My sister (Twin1) trained in fine art in the city she now works in. She is not currently making art so has no idea what exhibition uBPD mum refers to in the poem. I have marked lies/inaccuracies with an * I've asterisked the line about being a proud mum and gran because if she was so proud, why does she make no mention of wanting to see her 2 grand sons on this trip to the city to see my sister at her exhibition? She hasn't seen her grandsons in at least a year despite visiting near by their city in our small country twice last year. She didn't even tell my sister she was in the area until my sister phoned to wish uBPD mum happy birthday on her birthday February this year.
Poem
Twin1 and Twin2 38 today * That's just not possible no way Where has the time gone Times flies sadly that's so true Doesn't seem that long ago when Myself and Twin2 went to the zoo.
You were and are my sunshine of Hometown on Gala My beautiful twin daughters living in bonnie Hometown Bay A prouder mum I could not be how you both excelled and now you both have your own family You get to experience the love and joy like I had and still have as I reflect on my wonderful family tree When you hurried home excitedly to show all the things you had lovingly made for me
You were always caring and sharing Even at such a young age so helpful too. Remember girls I was on the phone to uBPD Gran When you flushed Twin2 nappy down the loo I was panic stricken and mortified when the neighbour below said it had flooded her too.
I loved my plants* .it was a not easy to maintain with two Mischieves monkeys who tipped them upside down . It was funny but I also did frown Before you knew it we were back to laughing and getting along Happy again and full of song
Love shack was your favourite tune I loved that song too you could sing it to the moon Love shack baby love shack Oh to hear you sing that song would bring It all right back
The time we all got such a fright Twin 1 When you accidentally bumped into a light Well lamp post * Out of the three of us who was startled the most?
You were fine ,you got a war wound scar Was it the left or right side I can't remember I think it was your right eye It was so long ago at the time you were very shy
Twin 2 walked into a gate * I was dumstruck only seconds too late* You got a scar on your eyes too By then I was beside myself and did not know what to do !
Almost in the space of a year You each have a scar by your eye Which side they are on your eye is unclear Now you parents yourself you know what I mean How quickly things can happen Even when your close by to the scene
Bless the wee lady above is in Hometown She used to shout girls you whoo seconds later it was raining milkyways all over you I could only chuckle when I realised I too Along with uBPD dister we went to our neighbour for our daily rations of sweeties too * And to this day I believe my mum never knew.
Remember when you got up early and Oh my you got hold of the butter I think I was in a flutter Butter in the rods of the Wendy house it was everywhere If I recall righghtly it was in your hair.
You used to trick people switching places * Sometimes you did trip up on your laces You tried to fool me but that was not so easy * However tricking your pals and strangers was easy peasy.*
The things you have done this uBPD Mum and gran could not be more proud of you You won a camera for your ambulance picture Twin2 you designed the school logo in highschool too Is there no end to your talents You both excelled and followed your career Which I never regretted not being able to As th minute I knew I was expecting I always prioritised you* and am a proud mum of twins with 5 wonderful grandchildren too*
The trips we went to beech and picnics with aunt The endless pictures are wonderful memories of happy times with you I still have her special multi coloured umbrella Where we often seemed shelter under it too
So many more memories this is some of them I just want to ask you Twin 1 can I come with my friend M or F and see your exhibition* city between 23 rd and 29 th Sept I love seeing all that you can do and have done
Your pictures in the cafe The story about wellies and where they travelled from faraway I believe it was Canada And you made a wellington cast Now it's a focal point for tourists and everyone to see.*
I often look at the screen you both made me made before I moved country All the gifts over the years cards and mementos each one speaks words to me When you gave me the picture and chair for my birthday .
That incredible exhibition in the gallery when you made a clear curtain and even there there is a story
I understand if you say no don't come .I hope and pray one day we will all Be together again surrounded by my family.Until that joyous day comes remember I carry love in my heart for you all eternally❤️
2024.05.14 20:21 Ill_Variation_2480 TTPD's new nickname "Female Rage: The Musical" should upset you.
Edit: If you are going to comment on the length of this post, please don't. This is not a simple snark but rather an actual critical think piece about feminism and Taylor Swift.
Taylor's target demographic has always been young or adolescent girls, more so when Swift herself was one. She made music that spoke to the awkward misfit, cultivating a para-social relationship with fans on MySpace, then later twitter, Instagram, and YouTube, where Taylor posted relatable vlogs showcasing the life of a homegrown American girl. Taylor had a delayed public "growing up" and, compared to her female pop contemporaries, Swift never "gratuitously sexualized her image and seems pathologically averse to controversy" (and, apparently, never even had a sip of alcohol until she turned 21). She was more than happy to spin this narrative to allude to an inherent moral superiority above other women in the industry (Better Than Revenge, heard of it?), engaging in the very slut-shaming that she herself endured (the Madonna and Whore archetypes). The victim complex arose with the need to prove Taylor as a different type of pop girl. Based upon her holy and clean image, Swift had been dubbed "a feminist's nightmare", and that "[To Swift] other girls are obstacles; undeserving enemies who steal Taylor’s soulmates with their bewitching good looks and sexual availability." Feminism and Tennessee-Christian country values don't exactly mix, it seems.
Years later, Swift befriended Lena Dunham and thus experienced white feminism osmosis, where Dunham taught Swift that real feminists defend rapists, makes insensitive jokes about rape and abortion, and prioritize all-white casts. Swift then declared herself a feminist in 2014, saying,
There was that time in 2015 Taylor said that Nicki Minaj was "invited to any stage [she is] on" (as if Taylor expects to have access to every stage, award, and platform that Nicki might not otherwise have as a black female artist...yikes!) in response to Nicki's criticism of the white + thin VMA nominations. Later, Nicki responded with confusion, as Swift continued, "It’s unlike you to pit women against each other. Maybe one of the men took your slot..". Of course, this 'beef' was 'squashed' when Nicki performed with Taylor at the VMAs, with Nicki quite literally only having 38 seconds of stage time without Taylor. Maybe all that parading around with a legion of famous white women - similar to the way Taylor might've done with her numerous 1989-era handbags - was in fact a stance against gender inequality, and that this display of "girl power" should be enough to constitute Swift as a feminist icon.
Even while Swift says that Dunham informed her feminist outlook, she dances around the exact contents of those beliefs: "what she believes, what she says, what she stands for" is not exactly insightful towards what beliefs Swift might have inherited. Taylor never broaches women's rights topics such femicide, FGM, forced pregnancy & marriage, sex trafficking, women in slavery, women's financial and political oppression, women's educational rights, women's health, or women's autonomy, so we can assume she only gives a fuck about "girls supporting girls" (whatever that fucking means).
Despite some questionable (and sometimes vindictive) behavior, Taylor as a young woman did not deserve every media lashing that she received. We cannot deny that most headlines and criticisms perpetuated a misogynistic rhetoric which has plagued Swift for a majority of her career. Acknowledging events such as the development of her ED, her sexual assault trial, "Famous" lyric and MV depiction of Taylor, and the explicit Twitter deepfakes, for example, as both disgusting and unfortunate things that happened to a young woman in Hollywood does not negate the fact that Taylor is mostly a performative feminist.
This was over 11 years ago, and it is still the only notable philanthropic contribution Taylor Swift has made.
For a woman of her net worth and stature, and a woman who recognizes the difficulties for women in film and music, you would think that Taylor Swift might establish a scholarship program for women to study the arts or something. Perhaps Swift might even consider becoming a member of organizations that support female artists, or one that supports LGBTQ+ causes (since she is now proudly an ally), yet she remains superficial with her graces. Broader philanthropy, such as donating relief aid to Palestinian women or women impacted by violence and discrimination will probably never receive any financial support from Miss Swift because then she'd be using her money towards philanthropies involving anyone but white entertainers.
She even says herself in Miss Americana, "My entire moral code as a kid and now is a need to be thought of as 'good'." Well, she's certainly thought of as good, though her actions say otherwise. She's more than happy to do a vaguely altruistic song and dance for a clip-worthy interview quote and mass appeasement, then fuck off to one of her mansions on a 20 minute private jet flight, rather than actually contribute to anything pertaining to the causes she has endorsed. Yet, far too many people continue to give a woman such as her their money, time, and energy, and she hoards these resources to herself.
The reason political anthems such as "The Man" and "Only the Young" of the Lover era feel disingenuous and corporate is because, well, it is. Taylor has taken every opportunity to advance her career or public image at the expense of other women. What is truly genuine to Taylor's outlook on other women is vying for male attention, taking down female competition, and vocalizing feminist injustices only if they directly impact her and her money. Some will argue that it's satisfactory for a woman with such a huge platform to even TALK about feminism, but that just isn't enough. It's even less impressive when you candidly look at the scope of her feminist lens: "If I was the man, then I'd be THE MAN", or "I really resent the ‘Be careful, buddy, she’s going to write a song about you’ angle, because it trivialises what I do", and, of course, "We all got crowns". Feminism, but only when it happens to me. It gets worse when you look at Taylor's track record of copying other famous women and removing other female artists as potential threats to her pop prowess.
It's good for PR to align yourself with certain blanket feminist and political beliefs, therefore good for branding, therefore good for ticketing and merchandise sales, therefore good for business. And Taylor Swift is a business.
She's not a feminist. Taylor Swift is a capitalist.
Swift, through her company, TAS Rights Managements, has also trademarked over 200 phrases, including "1989", where she owns the property rights to this calendar year on keychains, phone cases, sunglasses, stationary, bags, beverage ware, clothing, entertainment services, your subconscious, and, of course, Christmas ornaments.
The vapid consumerism in Swiftie culture is, frankly, disgusting. Bravado's sustainability statement is non-existent, the quality control is abysmal, and the materials they use are horrible. The materials, such as acrylic and polyester, are made from petrochemicals. This means they are non-renewable, shed microplastics, and are quite toxic in production. The manufacturing process to make all of those lazy-rushed Eras Tour logo graphic tees is a huge blow to environmental well-being. Apparently, though, Swifties don't give a fuck. They sell out products in seconds and either have to face the manufactured scarcity or buy from a scalper that resells for 200% of the already ridiculous retail price. This doesn't include the environmental impact of vinyl records, CD, and cassette production, of which Taylor produces many variants that sell unsustainable amounts.
If we're talking about women's rights violations, why is no one acknowledging the women that work in the inhumane sweatshop conditions that have to pump out fugly t-shirts and hats? The millions of plastic microfiber dander they are inhaling, or the toxic dyes that touch their bare skin? Are they being compensated fairly for their skilled labour and are they in safe working environments? Do these women have minimal bargaining power, and do they have authority over their worker's rights? Is Taylor Swift female raging at their injustices? Does Taylor Swift ever feels bad that her wealth was built on the backs of women of color, disadvantaged by the demands of the global economy and garment industry? Do you think she ever says a little white feminist prayer for them before she goes to sleep at night?
What's even crazier is not that Taylor herself doesn't care, it's that Swifties don't care. There CANNOT BE ethical billionaires. You only make a billion dollars if you are exploiting other human beings for capital gain. Based on public perception of the possible "Female Rage: The Musical" trademark, it seems like Swifties are already asking for merch with this phrase. "If Taylor made it, I'd buy it." Oh, cool. So not only do you champion Miss Swift's avarice and billionaire status, but you also are unashamed to admit to your blind consumption of her music and merchandise, no matter where they might originate in production or sincerity. Just as Swift takes and takes and takes, Swifties' consumerism of Taylor Swift cannot be quelled.
The tortured artist's most vulnerable and sincere poetry...available now in 21 different versions!
Yet Taylor Swift still has no grounds to be claiming that TTPD best exemplifies female rage and therefore she, in the context of this album, is female rage incarnate. As the daughter of a stock broker and mutual fund marketing executive, Taylor was born into wealth and allowed privileges like trips and subsequent relocation to Nashville all so that she might get a record deal. Her father even invested at least $120,000 into the then-fledgling label, Big Machine Records, which ensured Taylor's place with Borchetta after leaving her dead-end development deal with Sony. The fact that her parents were able to buy her a fucking brand new guitar for Christmas and pay for music lessons says so much about the financial security and safety of her childhood.
Money is privilege and protection, and despite Swift's experiences with misogyny and loser boyfriends, she does not know what female rage is.
Her rage is derived from her frustrations with her obsessive fans pulling the moral superiority card on Taylor in response to her rebound with Matty Healy. That's literally it. She's just pissed that the monster she created is no longer obediant, it's become a feral, sovereign entity that depletes the world of its natural resources and thinks it is more intelligent than it actually is because it's mommy has started to talk to it with big words. Apparently, 'illicit', 'elegy', 'nonchalant', and 'precocious' are considerably big words for the oafish monster, and I find it strange that this level of literacy is present in a group of fans that allegedly have GPAs of 3.5 or higher, but I digress.
Taylor Swift has never been one paycheck away from destitution. Taylor Swift has never experienced racial discrimination. She may have instances of gender discrimination, but she possesses the ideal white, blonde American beauty standard and therefore reaps the benefits of being a conventionally attractive woman. Taylor Swift has sufficient social capital. Taylor Swift is a billionaire woman prolonging her victimhood though she, as a woman, has mostly had control over her image and music (unlike her contemporaries). Taylor Swift is NOT entitled to be championed for her "female rage", nor should she be. Taylor Swift has never even been the struggling artist, for fuck's sake. I don't give a fuck if she's trying to fill the empty lunch tables of her past. Taylor Swift purporting herself, her unpolished album, and her lukewarm feminism as a musical bleeding with female rage is asinine.
Fame is somewhat of a choice. If at any moment Taylor feels that she is misunderstood, misconstrued, or overwhelmed by public opinion, she can LEAVE the public eye - Lord knows she has the retirement fund and residuals to do so. In "I Can Do It With a Broken Heart", the TTPD song about meeting the demands of your career-zenith mega-tour while in the relationship trenches, Taylor ends the song by rambling,
It's funny. Taylor Swift often said that being famous wasn't hard, that she "isn't complaining". I'm sure it is difficult to always have to present in a good mood, else you'll end up misrepresented in the media, and I'm sure it's invasive to virtually have no privacy or semblance of anonymity. Still, Taylor Swift shows up each night of tour and performs. For a majority of her career, she has penned her sad songs while on the road. Most of "Red", her breakup album, was written in the thick of the Speak Now World tour. Now, some Swifties say they almost "feel bad" for attending the Eras Tour with Swift's revelations in this song, that they have had a 'dimmed experience' upon hearing Taylor's misery whilst performing. Despite the fact that Taylor said that "this was the happiest she's ever been" at Gilette Stadium in May, the lyrics "boohoo, woe is me, smile for the cameras and make the fans happy!!!" are jarring for Eras attendees.
While Taylor Swift was making double-digit millions a night in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil and feeling miserable, Ana Clara Benevides Machado passed away due to heat exposure. The concert promoters, Time For Fun, are now the subject of a criminal investigation due to their lack of adequate hydration and safety. Taylor Swift cancelled the Sunday show that was to follow and offered VIP tent tickets to Benevides Marchado's family, which was a kind gesture, but perhaps incongruous to the incident of which they were offered as consolation. Everyone grieves differently, of course, but I'm not sure attending the very show at the very same venue that my daughter or sister passed away in two days prior, where the singer CONTINUED the show despite her death, would be healthy for closure.
There was no female rage at the show as Swift never saw Benevides Machado pass out. There was no female rage towards the disregard for fans as humans while Swift elected to proceed with her Brazil tour dates despite the country being in historic heatwaves (at risk of overheatting herself). If Taylor Swift was so shaken by touring with a broken heart or a fan's passing, she wouldn't have added an additional North American leg of Eras just two months after the Matty breakup. She's brokenhearted but willing to mend the cracks with your money and move onward with her worldwide female rage induced pillaging.
No matter what happens, even if you die at a Taylor Swift concert, Taylor collects a big fat check and flies away. She doesn't know you as anything other than a conversion rate or earning potential despite what her nearly 20-year long parasocial relationship with fans might otherwise indicate. She knows that, while some Swifties are without disposable income, they feel obligated to spend on a "48 Hours Only!" exclusive vinyl variant instead of necessities because they are so entrenched in Taylor Swift's intoxicating celebrity, they'll prioritize materialistic fandom before their needs. This is good enough for her because this means she can expand her real estate portfolio and finance her cat's lavish lifestyles. They're worth an estimated $100 million dollars. Her three cats could pool their net worth and solve world hunger.
While you and I might be denied bereavement leave and barely surviving the current political and economic climate, Taylor Swift has to, instead of gets to, perform for stadiums at full attendance for three nights in a row across the globe. You and I might be replaced by AI at our longtime jobs, but Taylor Swift is threatened with losing more and more money each time you listen to a "Stolen Version" of her songs. If we don't buy every variant of all of her albums, then who is going to pay for the fucking cats?
It is tone deaf to spend as she spends and lives as she lives in this economy, but this is her reality. She was able to donate $100,000 to all of her tour truck drivers, and that's wonderful, but it leads me to wonder about the ethos of the 2020s where one woman can hoard such life-changing amounts of money. Remember in 2014 when she gave a fan $90 ($120 in today's money) to get Chipotle because she had no fucking clue how much it cost? This is a 34-year-old woman who is increasingly out of touch with the reality for working class people and women in general. Normal everyday adults must wake up and go to their thankless jobs, and yet Taylor Swift, despite all her riches, incessantly references the lows of her life and career as a public figure and entertainer to farm sympathy and drive sales. And still, the corporate women have latched onto "I cry a lot, but I am so productive! It's an art!" as their cubicle battle cry.
Do you think that, from up in her private jet, Taylor Swift gazes at the world through her poetic, tortured eyes, and thinks, "All the little people, in their cars, walking, going about their lives...all those girls that don't support girls...do they know that I've made an album about female rage?"
TLDR: Taylor Swift is a bad feminist and is delusional to think that the TTPD eras set exemplifies female rage at women's injustice.
submitted by Ill_Variation_2480 to travisandtaylor [link] [comments]
Introduction
Pertaining to Taylor Swift, "Female Rage" has deviated from its intended meaning after Swift debuted a new performance of The Tortured Poets Department during the Eras Tour. Now, according to Swift's use of the phrase, female rage is interpreted as public backlash against Swift's dating choices rather than as a response to the broader injustices against women and women's rights. This post examines Taylor Swift's flawed feminism, philanthropy, branding, and the controversial trademark petition for the phrase "Female Rage: The Musical". Swift's background as an entertainer, indeterminate politics, and alignment with capitalism over feminism pervades her legacy, again threatening her public tolerance as not just an individual but as a brand.Once Upon a Female Rage...
If you were cognizant in the early 2010's, you've heard countless jabs at Taylor Swift in the media. Magazines, radio, or online. Music critics did not take her seriously as a songwriter; parents put a woman on an unrealistic pedestal as the ideal role model for their children; she dated too much and used men as lyrical fodder. No matter the story, it inevitably spread, conjoined with everyone's respective opinions, and you'd be left to wonder, "Why does everyone hate this girl so much?"Taylor's target demographic has always been young or adolescent girls, more so when Swift herself was one. She made music that spoke to the awkward misfit, cultivating a para-social relationship with fans on MySpace, then later twitter, Instagram, and YouTube, where Taylor posted relatable vlogs showcasing the life of a homegrown American girl. Taylor had a delayed public "growing up" and, compared to her female pop contemporaries, Swift never "gratuitously sexualized her image and seems pathologically averse to controversy" (and, apparently, never even had a sip of alcohol until she turned 21). She was more than happy to spin this narrative to allude to an inherent moral superiority above other women in the industry (Better Than Revenge, heard of it?), engaging in the very slut-shaming that she herself endured (the Madonna and Whore archetypes). The victim complex arose with the need to prove Taylor as a different type of pop girl. Based upon her holy and clean image, Swift had been dubbed "a feminist's nightmare", and that "[To Swift] other girls are obstacles; undeserving enemies who steal Taylor’s soulmates with their bewitching good looks and sexual availability." Feminism and Tennessee-Christian country values don't exactly mix, it seems.
Years later, Swift befriended Lena Dunham and thus experienced white feminism osmosis, where Dunham taught Swift that real feminists defend rapists, makes insensitive jokes about rape and abortion, and prioritize all-white casts. Swift then declared herself a feminist in 2014, saying,
"Becoming friends with Lena – without her preaching to me, but just seeing why she believes what she believes, why she says what she says, why she stands for what she stands for – has made me realize that I’ve been taking a feminist stance without actually saying so."I suppose the male-centric songwriting subject that permeates Swift's discography contained covert feminism and that we just didn't see that. Perhaps, the "Bad Blood" song and music video were written only in jest and not about poor Katy Perry, for Swift, as a feminist, would "never make it a girl fight" or tear other women down (though all Katy did was date your terrible ex-boyfriend and allegedly steal three backup dancers from your tour). In 2013, Swift said, in response to Tina Fey and Amy Poehler's joke towards her serial dating, "There is a special place in hell for women who don't help other women."
There was that time in 2015 Taylor said that Nicki Minaj was "invited to any stage [she is] on" (as if Taylor expects to have access to every stage, award, and platform that Nicki might not otherwise have as a black female artist...yikes!) in response to Nicki's criticism of the white + thin VMA nominations. Later, Nicki responded with confusion, as Swift continued, "It’s unlike you to pit women against each other. Maybe one of the men took your slot..". Of course, this 'beef' was 'squashed' when Nicki performed with Taylor at the VMAs, with Nicki quite literally only having 38 seconds of stage time without Taylor. Maybe all that parading around with a legion of famous white women - similar to the way Taylor might've done with her numerous 1989-era handbags - was in fact a stance against gender inequality, and that this display of "girl power" should be enough to constitute Swift as a feminist icon.
Even while Swift says that Dunham informed her feminist outlook, she dances around the exact contents of those beliefs: "what she believes, what she says, what she stands for" is not exactly insightful towards what beliefs Swift might have inherited. Taylor never broaches women's rights topics such femicide, FGM, forced pregnancy & marriage, sex trafficking, women in slavery, women's financial and political oppression, women's educational rights, women's health, or women's autonomy, so we can assume she only gives a fuck about "girls supporting girls" (whatever that fucking means).
Despite some questionable (and sometimes vindictive) behavior, Taylor as a young woman did not deserve every media lashing that she received. We cannot deny that most headlines and criticisms perpetuated a misogynistic rhetoric which has plagued Swift for a majority of her career. Acknowledging events such as the development of her ED, her sexual assault trial, "Famous" lyric and MV depiction of Taylor, and the explicit Twitter deepfakes, for example, as both disgusting and unfortunate things that happened to a young woman in Hollywood does not negate the fact that Taylor is mostly a performative feminist.
Get Your Fucking Ass Up and Be a Philanthropist, It Seems Like Nobody Wants to Be a Philanthropist These Days
In 2013, Taylor Swift cut the ribbon at the grand opening of the Taylor Swift Education Center at the Country Music Hall of Fame in Nashville, Tennessee. The donation amount - $4 million - was the largest individual artist gift ever donated to the Country Music Hall of Fame, which is, of course, mentioned on Swift's website. The two-story facility features three classrooms, an instrument room, and an interactive children's exhibit gallery. Swift also performed at "All for the Hall" charity shows and has donated numerous artifacts from her career (such as notable guitars, tour costumes, etc) to the museum.This was over 11 years ago, and it is still the only notable philanthropic contribution Taylor Swift has made.
For a woman of her net worth and stature, and a woman who recognizes the difficulties for women in film and music, you would think that Taylor Swift might establish a scholarship program for women to study the arts or something. Perhaps Swift might even consider becoming a member of organizations that support female artists, or one that supports LGBTQ+ causes (since she is now proudly an ally), yet she remains superficial with her graces. Broader philanthropy, such as donating relief aid to Palestinian women or women impacted by violence and discrimination will probably never receive any financial support from Miss Swift because then she'd be using her money towards philanthropies involving anyone but white entertainers.
She even says herself in Miss Americana, "My entire moral code as a kid and now is a need to be thought of as 'good'." Well, she's certainly thought of as good, though her actions say otherwise. She's more than happy to do a vaguely altruistic song and dance for a clip-worthy interview quote and mass appeasement, then fuck off to one of her mansions on a 20 minute private jet flight, rather than actually contribute to anything pertaining to the causes she has endorsed. Yet, far too many people continue to give a woman such as her their money, time, and energy, and she hoards these resources to herself.
I Like Some of the Taylor's Songs, But What the Fuck Does She Know About Feminism?
Swift continued with her self-proclaimed feminist campaign, positioning herself as a political activist and LGBTQ+ ally in the Miss Americana documentary. The primary focus of the documentary consists of the sexual assault trial, Andrea Swift's cancer diagnosis, Taylor's ED and body dysmorphia, media scrutiny, and, largely, finally speaking up about her politics publicly, mostly her opposition to the 2018 Tennessee Republican senate candidate, Marsha Blackburn, and Blackburn's beliefs. Swift says, following a scene discussing her experience during the trial,"I just couldn't really stop thinking about it. And I just thought to myself, next time there is any opportunity to change anything, you had better know what you stand for and what you want to say."We must ask ourselves, though: when has Swift ever spoken up to change anything? Okay, pulling her entire catalogue from Spotify because they didn't pay their artists enough and similarly pulling her catalogue from Apple Music are changes that she leveraged due to her revenue potential and power, but they are not pertinent to the average woman's rights. Moreover, these are issues that directly impacted Taylor's income, which was enough reason for her to protest in the first place. Swift has sold the most units for a female artist in first week sales, is the first female artist with 100k monthly Spotify listeners, is the first female artist to win the Album of the Year Grammy 4 times, and is the first female artist to do X, Y, and Z, all while being inoffensive and family-friendly to boot. The actual Taylor Swift seems unwilling to compromise the brand of Taylor Swift by contributing in meaningful ways to feminist causes, especially if it is for women outside of America and Hollywood.
The reason political anthems such as "The Man" and "Only the Young" of the Lover era feel disingenuous and corporate is because, well, it is. Taylor has taken every opportunity to advance her career or public image at the expense of other women. What is truly genuine to Taylor's outlook on other women is vying for male attention, taking down female competition, and vocalizing feminist injustices only if they directly impact her and her money. Some will argue that it's satisfactory for a woman with such a huge platform to even TALK about feminism, but that just isn't enough. It's even less impressive when you candidly look at the scope of her feminist lens: "If I was the man, then I'd be THE MAN", or "I really resent the ‘Be careful, buddy, she’s going to write a song about you’ angle, because it trivialises what I do", and, of course, "We all got crowns". Feminism, but only when it happens to me. It gets worse when you look at Taylor's track record of copying other famous women and removing other female artists as potential threats to her pop prowess.
It's good for PR to align yourself with certain blanket feminist and political beliefs, therefore good for branding, therefore good for ticketing and merchandise sales, therefore good for business. And Taylor Swift is a business.
She's not a feminist. Taylor Swift is a capitalist.
I Can't Pay Those Sweatshop Workers a Livable Wage or Benefits! How Else Would I Make My Billions?
Recently, Taylor's team filed to trademark the phrase "Female Rage: The Musical" after Taylor said during Paris N1 of the Eras Tour,"So you were the first ones to see The Tortured Poets at the Eras Tour...or as I like to call it, 'Female Rage: The Musical'."This trademark petition was filed last week on Saturday, and news comes about just as numerous unofficial fan-made merch designs have cropped up with this phrase plastered on Fruit of the Loom basics. I'm of the opinion Swift's team motioned for a trademark so that they can send out cease & desists to all those that make knockoff merch, which disrupts potential sales for Bravado, UMG's choice merchandising company; however, since it was filed earlier, perhaps Swift has bigger plans with the bizarre use of the gendered phrase. One Swiftie referred to the phrase "female rage" as "a funny Eras Tour joke". Could it be a possible fourth version of the Eras Tour Movie? Whatever the reason, the motion to capitalize off of such a concept is disgusting, but not unsurprising, for a woman that profits on her vain feminism.
Swift, through her company, TAS Rights Managements, has also trademarked over 200 phrases, including "1989", where she owns the property rights to this calendar year on keychains, phone cases, sunglasses, stationary, bags, beverage ware, clothing, entertainment services, your subconscious, and, of course, Christmas ornaments.
The vapid consumerism in Swiftie culture is, frankly, disgusting. Bravado's sustainability statement is non-existent, the quality control is abysmal, and the materials they use are horrible. The materials, such as acrylic and polyester, are made from petrochemicals. This means they are non-renewable, shed microplastics, and are quite toxic in production. The manufacturing process to make all of those lazy-rushed Eras Tour logo graphic tees is a huge blow to environmental well-being. Apparently, though, Swifties don't give a fuck. They sell out products in seconds and either have to face the manufactured scarcity or buy from a scalper that resells for 200% of the already ridiculous retail price. This doesn't include the environmental impact of vinyl records, CD, and cassette production, of which Taylor produces many variants that sell unsustainable amounts.
If we're talking about women's rights violations, why is no one acknowledging the women that work in the inhumane sweatshop conditions that have to pump out fugly t-shirts and hats? The millions of plastic microfiber dander they are inhaling, or the toxic dyes that touch their bare skin? Are they being compensated fairly for their skilled labour and are they in safe working environments? Do these women have minimal bargaining power, and do they have authority over their worker's rights? Is Taylor Swift female raging at their injustices? Does Taylor Swift ever feels bad that her wealth was built on the backs of women of color, disadvantaged by the demands of the global economy and garment industry? Do you think she ever says a little white feminist prayer for them before she goes to sleep at night?
What's even crazier is not that Taylor herself doesn't care, it's that Swifties don't care. There CANNOT BE ethical billionaires. You only make a billion dollars if you are exploiting other human beings for capital gain. Based on public perception of the possible "Female Rage: The Musical" trademark, it seems like Swifties are already asking for merch with this phrase. "If Taylor made it, I'd buy it." Oh, cool. So not only do you champion Miss Swift's avarice and billionaire status, but you also are unashamed to admit to your blind consumption of her music and merchandise, no matter where they might originate in production or sincerity. Just as Swift takes and takes and takes, Swifties' consumerism of Taylor Swift cannot be quelled.
The tortured artist's most vulnerable and sincere poetry...available now in 21 different versions!
I Am Tortured Poet, Hear Me Whinge
Look - even if Taylor's intention is to characterize TTPD as more "tortured" and "angry", the main thread of the album is "I was ghosted by my decade-long situationship with a controversial indie boy and my fucking stupid fans wrote a 'Speak Up Now' open letter prompting me to drop him" anger, which is adequately expressed in the lyrics and performances. The extent of Taylor's "female rage" on TTPD is on tracks such as "Who's Afraid of Little Old Me?", which contends with relentless media scrutiny; "But Daddy I Love Him", where Swift firmly states she'll date whoever she likes no matter how "Sarahs and Hannahs" may react; and "The Albatross", a track mythologizing her reputation and the consequences of dating her. Of course, these coincide with deep psychological wounds that formed during Swift's early years in the media, and so, from her feminist perspective, these subjects tackle the misogyny and double standards that she faced.Yet Taylor Swift still has no grounds to be claiming that TTPD best exemplifies female rage and therefore she, in the context of this album, is female rage incarnate. As the daughter of a stock broker and mutual fund marketing executive, Taylor was born into wealth and allowed privileges like trips and subsequent relocation to Nashville all so that she might get a record deal. Her father even invested at least $120,000 into the then-fledgling label, Big Machine Records, which ensured Taylor's place with Borchetta after leaving her dead-end development deal with Sony. The fact that her parents were able to buy her a fucking brand new guitar for Christmas and pay for music lessons says so much about the financial security and safety of her childhood.
Money is privilege and protection, and despite Swift's experiences with misogyny and loser boyfriends, she does not know what female rage is.
Her rage is derived from her frustrations with her obsessive fans pulling the moral superiority card on Taylor in response to her rebound with Matty Healy. That's literally it. She's just pissed that the monster she created is no longer obediant, it's become a feral, sovereign entity that depletes the world of its natural resources and thinks it is more intelligent than it actually is because it's mommy has started to talk to it with big words. Apparently, 'illicit', 'elegy', 'nonchalant', and 'precocious' are considerably big words for the oafish monster, and I find it strange that this level of literacy is present in a group of fans that allegedly have GPAs of 3.5 or higher, but I digress.
Taylor Swift has never been one paycheck away from destitution. Taylor Swift has never experienced racial discrimination. She may have instances of gender discrimination, but she possesses the ideal white, blonde American beauty standard and therefore reaps the benefits of being a conventionally attractive woman. Taylor Swift has sufficient social capital. Taylor Swift is a billionaire woman prolonging her victimhood though she, as a woman, has mostly had control over her image and music (unlike her contemporaries). Taylor Swift is NOT entitled to be championed for her "female rage", nor should she be. Taylor Swift has never even been the struggling artist, for fuck's sake. I don't give a fuck if she's trying to fill the empty lunch tables of her past. Taylor Swift purporting herself, her unpolished album, and her lukewarm feminism as a musical bleeding with female rage is asinine.
Sigh Try and Come For My Job, Poors
Out there in the world right now is a 23-year-old woman, a recent college grad, who works as a barista. She has to wake up and get ready to go into a minimum wage job because she cannot get a job in her field. She doesn't have healthcare benefits or sick time, so she has to go into work no matter how she's feeling. All day long she is berated by vicious customers and creepy men, and, exhausted from being on her feet, she knows she has to go home to her shitty roommate that never does the dishes and her roommate's shitty dog. To comfort herself, she considers getting a treat, but thinks against it when she remembers that matcha lattes cost $15 and they taste like milky dirt. She knows that she needs to buy groceries this week, and so the woman resolves to go home, but notices that her gas tank is low. She goes to put gas in the car, but the pump stops at $27.86 because that's all that she has in her checking account. The woman, bereft and reeling, sinks into the driver's seat. "Well," she thinks, her head in her hands, "at least I don't have Taylor Swift's job. I just couldn't imagine."Fame is somewhat of a choice. If at any moment Taylor feels that she is misunderstood, misconstrued, or overwhelmed by public opinion, she can LEAVE the public eye - Lord knows she has the retirement fund and residuals to do so. In "I Can Do It With a Broken Heart", the TTPD song about meeting the demands of your career-zenith mega-tour while in the relationship trenches, Taylor ends the song by rambling,
"You know you're good when you can even do it with a broken heart...you know you're good...and I'm good, cause I'm miserable, and no one even knows!...try and come for my job."Yeah, obviously we wouldn't know, you recently passed the billionaire threshold and are the most famous and in-demand performer in the world right now. Taylor Swift makes an estimated $10 to $13 million dollars A NIGHT on the Eras Tour. Furthermore, the Eras Tour movie grossed $261.6 million globally, (which, as the producer, Taylor takes home 57% of the ticket sales) not counting the streaming revenue from Amazon Prime Video and the estimated $75 million deal that Disney paid to have it on Disney+. We're not even considering the income from cheap plastic popcorn buckets and drink cups plastered with colored squares in her Era-specific likeness.
It's funny. Taylor Swift often said that being famous wasn't hard, that she "isn't complaining". I'm sure it is difficult to always have to present in a good mood, else you'll end up misrepresented in the media, and I'm sure it's invasive to virtually have no privacy or semblance of anonymity. Still, Taylor Swift shows up each night of tour and performs. For a majority of her career, she has penned her sad songs while on the road. Most of "Red", her breakup album, was written in the thick of the Speak Now World tour. Now, some Swifties say they almost "feel bad" for attending the Eras Tour with Swift's revelations in this song, that they have had a 'dimmed experience' upon hearing Taylor's misery whilst performing. Despite the fact that Taylor said that "this was the happiest she's ever been" at Gilette Stadium in May, the lyrics "boohoo, woe is me, smile for the cameras and make the fans happy!!!" are jarring for Eras attendees.
While Taylor Swift was making double-digit millions a night in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil and feeling miserable, Ana Clara Benevides Machado passed away due to heat exposure. The concert promoters, Time For Fun, are now the subject of a criminal investigation due to their lack of adequate hydration and safety. Taylor Swift cancelled the Sunday show that was to follow and offered VIP tent tickets to Benevides Marchado's family, which was a kind gesture, but perhaps incongruous to the incident of which they were offered as consolation. Everyone grieves differently, of course, but I'm not sure attending the very show at the very same venue that my daughter or sister passed away in two days prior, where the singer CONTINUED the show despite her death, would be healthy for closure.
There was no female rage at the show as Swift never saw Benevides Machado pass out. There was no female rage towards the disregard for fans as humans while Swift elected to proceed with her Brazil tour dates despite the country being in historic heatwaves (at risk of overheatting herself). If Taylor Swift was so shaken by touring with a broken heart or a fan's passing, she wouldn't have added an additional North American leg of Eras just two months after the Matty breakup. She's brokenhearted but willing to mend the cracks with your money and move onward with her worldwide female rage induced pillaging.
No matter what happens, even if you die at a Taylor Swift concert, Taylor collects a big fat check and flies away. She doesn't know you as anything other than a conversion rate or earning potential despite what her nearly 20-year long parasocial relationship with fans might otherwise indicate. She knows that, while some Swifties are without disposable income, they feel obligated to spend on a "48 Hours Only!" exclusive vinyl variant instead of necessities because they are so entrenched in Taylor Swift's intoxicating celebrity, they'll prioritize materialistic fandom before their needs. This is good enough for her because this means she can expand her real estate portfolio and finance her cat's lavish lifestyles. They're worth an estimated $100 million dollars. Her three cats could pool their net worth and solve world hunger.
While you and I might be denied bereavement leave and barely surviving the current political and economic climate, Taylor Swift has to, instead of gets to, perform for stadiums at full attendance for three nights in a row across the globe. You and I might be replaced by AI at our longtime jobs, but Taylor Swift is threatened with losing more and more money each time you listen to a "Stolen Version" of her songs. If we don't buy every variant of all of her albums, then who is going to pay for the fucking cats?
It is tone deaf to spend as she spends and lives as she lives in this economy, but this is her reality. She was able to donate $100,000 to all of her tour truck drivers, and that's wonderful, but it leads me to wonder about the ethos of the 2020s where one woman can hoard such life-changing amounts of money. Remember in 2014 when she gave a fan $90 ($120 in today's money) to get Chipotle because she had no fucking clue how much it cost? This is a 34-year-old woman who is increasingly out of touch with the reality for working class people and women in general. Normal everyday adults must wake up and go to their thankless jobs, and yet Taylor Swift, despite all her riches, incessantly references the lows of her life and career as a public figure and entertainer to farm sympathy and drive sales. And still, the corporate women have latched onto "I cry a lot, but I am so productive! It's an art!" as their cubicle battle cry.
Do you think that, from up in her private jet, Taylor Swift gazes at the world through her poetic, tortured eyes, and thinks, "All the little people, in their cars, walking, going about their lives...all those girls that don't support girls...do they know that I've made an album about female rage?"
Conclusion/TLDR
Thank you for reading. I would love to hear your critical insights towards this entire ordeal: TTPD, the trademark, the implications of it all.TLDR: Taylor Swift is a bad feminist and is delusional to think that the TTPD eras set exemplifies female rage at women's injustice.
2024.05.14 14:01 Zappingsbrew A post talking about 400 words
abandon, ability, able, about, above, absence, absolute, absolutely, abstract, abundance, academy, accent, accept, access, accident, accompany, accomplish, according, account, accurate, achieve, achievement, acid, acknowledge, acquire, across, action, active, activity, actor, actual, actually, adapt, addition, additional, address, adequate, adjust, administration, admire, admission, admit, adolescent, adopt, adult, advance, advantage, adventure, advertise, advice, advise, adviser, advocate, affair, affect, afford, afraid, after, afternoon, again, against, age, agency, agenda, agent, aggressive, ago, agree, agreement, agriculture, ahead, aid, aim, air, aircraft, airline, airport, alarm, album, alcohol, alive, all, alliance, allow, ally, almost, alone, along, already, also, alter, alternative, although, always, amateur, amazing, ambition, ambulance, among, amount, analysis, analyst, analyze, ancient, and, anger, angle, angry, animal, anniversary, announce, annual, another, answer, anticipate, anxiety, any, anybody, anymore, anyone, anything, anyway, anywhere, apart, apartment, apologize, apparent, apparently, appeal, appear, appearance, apple, application, apply, appoint, appointment, appreciate, approach, appropriate, approval, approve, approximately, architect, area, argue, argument, arise, arm, armed, army, around, arrange, arrangement, arrest, arrival, arrive, art, article, artist, artistic, as, ashamed, aside, ask, asleep, aspect, assault, assert, assess, assessment, asset, assign, assignment, assist, assistance, assistant, associate, association, assume, assumption, assure, at, athlete, athletic, atmosphere, attach, attack, attempt, attend, attention, attitude, attorney, attract, attraction, attractive, attribute, audience, author, authority, auto, available, average, avoid, award, aware, awareness, away, awful, baby, back, background, bad, badly, bag, balance, ball, ban, band, bank, bar, barely, barrel, barrier, base, baseball, basic, basically, basis, basket, basketball, bath, bathroom, battery, battle, be, beach, bear, beat, beautiful, beauty, because, become, bed, bedroom, bee, beef, beer, before, begin, beginning, behavior, behind, being, belief, believe, bell, belong, below, belt, bench, bend, beneath, benefit, beside, besides, best, bet, better, between, beyond, bicycle, big, bike, bill, billion, bind, biological, bird, birth, birthday, bit, bite, black, blade, blame, blanket, blind, block, blood, blow, blue, board, boat, body, bomb, bombing, bond, bone, book, boom, boot, border, boring, born, borrow, boss, both, bother, bottle, bottom, boundary, bowl, box, boy, boyfriend, brain, branch, brand, brave, bread, break, breakfast, breast, breath, breathe, brick, bridge, brief, briefly, bright, brilliant, bring, broad, broken, brother, brown, brush, buck, budget, build, building, bullet, bunch, burden, burn, bury, bus, business, busy, but, butter, button, buy, buyer, by, cabin, cabinet, cable, cake, calculate, call, camera, camp, campaign, campus, can, Canadian, cancer, candidate, cap, capability, capable, capacity, capital, captain, capture, car, carbon, card, care, career, careful, carefully, carrier, carry, case, cash, cast, cat, catch, category, Catholic, cause, ceiling, celebrate, celebration, celebrity, cell, center, central, century, CEO, ceremony, certain, certainly, chain, chair, chairman, challenge, chamber, champion, championship, chance, change, changing, channel, chapter, character, characteristic, characterize, charge, charity, chart, chase, cheap, check, cheek, cheese, chef, chemical, chest, chicken, chief, child, childhood, Chinese, chip, chocolate, choice, cholesterol, choose, Christian, Christmas, church, cigarette, circle, circumstance, cite, citizen, city, civil, civilian, claim, class, classic, classroom, clean, clear, clearly, client, climate, climb, clinic, clinical, clock, close, closely, closer, clothes, clothing, cloud, club, clue, cluster, coach, coal, coalition, coast, coat, code, coffee, cognitive, cold, collapse, colleague, collect, collection, collective, college, colonial, color, column, combination, combine, come, comedy, comfort, comfortable, command, commander, comment, commercial, commission, commit, commitment, committee, common, communicate, communication, community, company, compare, comparison, compete, competition, competitive, competitor, complain, complaint, complete, completely, complex, complexity, compliance, complicate, complicated, component, compose, composition, comprehensive, computer, concentrate, concentration, concept, concern, concerned, concert, conclude, conclusion, concrete, condition, conduct, conference, confidence, confident, confirm, conflict, confront, confusion, Congress, congressional, connect, connection, consciousness, consensus, consequence, conservative, consider, considerable, consideration, consist, consistent, constant, constantly, constitute, constitutional, construct, construction, consultant, consume, consumer, consumption, contact, contain, container, contemporary, content, contest, context, continue, continued, contract, contrast, contribute, contribution, control, controversial, controversy, convention, conventional, conversation, convert, conviction, convince, cook, cookie, cooking, cool, cooperation, cop, cope, copy, core, corn, corner, corporate, corporation, correct, correspondent, cost, cotton, couch, could, council, count, counter, country, county, couple, courage, course, court, cousin, cover, coverage, cow, crack, craft, crash, crazy, cream, create, creation, creative, creature, credit, crew, crime, criminal, crisis, criteria, critic, critical, criticism, criticize, crop, cross, crowd, crucial, cry, cultural, culture, cup, curious, current, currently, curriculum, custom, customer, cut, cycle, dad, daily, damage, dance, danger, dangerous, dare, dark, darkness, data, database, date, daughter, day, dead, deal, dealer, dear, death, debate, debt, decade, decide, decision, deck, declare, decline, decrease, deep, deeply, deer, defeat, defend, defendant, defense, defensive, deficit, define, definitely, definition, degree, delay, deliver, delivery, demand, democracy, Democratic, Democrat, demonstrate, demonstration, deny, department, depend, dependent, depending, depict, depression, depth, deputy, derive, describe, description, desert, deserve, design, designer, desire, desk, desperate, despite, destroy, destruction, detail, detailed, detect, detection, detective, determine, develop, developing, development, device, devil, dialogue, diet, differ, difference, different, differently, difficult, difficulty, dig, digital, dimension, dining, dinner, direct, direction, directly, director, dirt, disability, disagree, disappear, disaster, discipline, disclose, discover, discovery, discrimination, discuss, discussion, disease, dish, dismiss, disorder, display, dispute, distance, distinct, distinction, distinguish, distribute, distribution, district, diverse, diversity, divide, division, divorce, DNA, do, doctor, document, dog, domestic, dominant, dominate, door, double, doubt, down, downtown, dozen, draft, drag, drama, dramatic, dramatically, draw, drawer, drawing, dream, dress, drink, drive, driver, drop, drug, dry, due, during, dust, duty, dwell, dying, dynamic, each, eager, ear, earlier, early, earn, earnings, earth, earthquake, ease, easily, east, eastern, easy, eat, economic, economy, edge, edit, edition, editor, educate, education, educational, educator, effect, effective, effectively, efficiency, efficient, effort, egg, eight, either, elderly, elect, election, electric, electrical, electricity, electronic, element, elementary, eliminate, elite, else, elsewhere, e-mail, embrace, emerge, emergency, emission, emotion, emotional, emphasis, emphasize, employ, employee, employer, employment, empty, enable, encounter, encourage, end, enemy, energy, enforcement, engage, engine, engineer, engineering, English, enhance, enjoy, enormous, enough, ensure, enter, enterprise, entertain, entertainment, entire, entirely, entrance, entry, environment, environmental, episode, equal, equally, equipment, equivalent, era, error, escape, especially, essay, essential, essentially, establish, establishment, estate, estimate, etc, ethics, ethnic, European, evaluate, evaluation, evening, event, eventually, ever, every, everybody, everyday, everyone, everything, everywhere, evidence, evolution, evolve, exact, exactly, exam, examination, examine, example, exceed, excellent, except, exception, exchange, exciting, executive, exercise, exhibit, exhibition, exist, existence, existing, expand, expansion, expect, expectation, expense, expensive, experience, experiment, expert, explain, explanation, explode, explore, explosion, expose, exposure, express, expression, extend, extension, extensive, extent, external, extra, extraordinary, extreme, extremely, eye, fabric, face, facility, fact, factor, factory, faculty, fade, fail, failure, fair, fairly, faith, fall, false, familiar, family, famous, fan, fantasy, far, farm, farmer, fashion, fast, fat, fate, father, fault, favor, favorite, fear, feature, federal, fee, feed, feel, feeling, fellow, female, fence, festival, few, fewer, fiber, fiction, field, fifteen, fifth, fifty, fight, fighter, fighting, figure, file, fill, film, final, finally, finance, financial, find, finding, fine, finger, finish, fire, firm, first, fish, fishing, fit, fitness, five, fix, flag, flame, flat, flavor, flee, flesh, flight, float, floor, flow, flower, fly, focus, folk, follow, following, food, foot, football, for, force, foreign, forest, forever, forget, form, formal, formation, former, formula, forth, fortune, forward, found, foundation, founder, four, fourth, frame, framework, free, freedom, freeze, French, frequency, frequent, frequently, fresh, friend, friendly, friendship, from, front, fruit, frustration, fuel, fulfill, full, fully, fun, function, fund, fundamental, funding, funeral, funny, furniture, furthermore, future, gain, galaxy, gallery, game, gang, gap, garage, garden, garlic, gas, gate, gather, gay, gaze, gear, gender, gene, general, generally, generate, generation, genetic, gentleman, gently, German, gesture, get, ghost, giant, gift, gifted, girl, girlfriend, give, given, glad, glance, glass, global, glove, go, goal, God, gold, golden, golf, good, govern, government, governor, grab, grace, grade, gradually, graduate, grain, grand, grandmother, grant, grass, grave, gray, great, green, grocery, ground, group, grow, growing, growth, guarantee, guard, guess, guest, guide, guideline, guilty, gun, guy, habit, habitat, hair, half, hall, hand, handful, handle, hang, happen, happy, harbor, hard, hardly, hat, hate, have, he, head, headline, headquarters, health, healthy, hear, hearing, heart, heat, heaven, heavily, heavy, heel, height, helicopter, hell, hello, help, helpful, hence, her, herb, here, heritage, hero, herself, hey, hi, hide, high, highlight, highly, highway, hill, him, himself, hip, hire, his, historic, historical, history, hit, hold, hole, holiday, holy, home, homeless, honest, honey, honor, hope, horizon, horror, horse, hospital, host, hot, hotel, hour, house, household, housing, how, however, huge, human, humor, hundred, hungry, hunter, hunting, hurt, husband, hypothesis, ice, idea, ideal, identification, identify, identity, ignore, ill, illegal, illness, illustrate, image, imagination, imagine, immediate, immediately, immigrant, immigration, impact, implement, implication, imply, importance, important, impose, impossible, impress, impression, impressive, improve, improvement, incentive, incident, include, including, income, incorporate, increase, increased, increasingly, incredible, indeed, independence, independent, index, indicate, indication, individual, industrial, industry, infant, infection, inflation, influence, inform, information, ingredient, initial, initially, initiative, injury, inner, innocent, inquiry, inside, insight, insist, inspire, install, instance, instead, institute, institution, institutional, instruction, instructor, instrument, insurance, intellectual, intelligence, intend, intense, intensity, intention, interaction, interest, interested, interesting, internal, international, Internet, interpret, interpretation, intervention, interview, introduce, introduction, invasion, invest, investigation, investigator, investment, investor, invite, involve, involved, involvement, Iraqi, Irish, iron, Islamic, island, Israeli, issue, it, Italian, item, its, itself, jacket, jail, Japanese, jet, Jew, Jewish, job, join, joint, joke, journal, journalist, journey, joy, judge, judgment, juice, jump, junior, jury, just, justice, justify, keep, key, kick, kid, kill, killer, killing, kind, king, kiss, kitchen, knee, knife, knock, know, knowledge, lab, label, labor, laboratory, lack, lady, lake, land, landscape, language, lap, large, largely, last, late, later, Latin, latter, laugh, launch, law, lawsuit, lawyer, lay, layer, lead, leader, leadership, leading, leaf, league, lean, learn, learning, least, leather, leave, left, leg, legacy, legal, legend, legislation, legislative, legislator, legitimate, lemon, length, less, lesson, let, letter, level, liberal, library, license, lie, life, lifestyle, lifetime, lift, light, like, likely, limit, limitation, limited, line, link, lip, list, listen, literary, literature, little, live, living, load, loan, local, locate, location, lock, long, long-term, look, loose, lose, loss, lost, lot, lots, loud, love, lovely, lover, low, lower, luck, lucky, lunch, luxury, machine, mad, magazine, mail, main, mainly, maintain, maintenance, major, majority, make, maker, makeup, male, mall, man, manage, management, manager, manner, manufacturer, manufacturing, many, map, margin, mark, market, marketing, marriage, married, marry, mask, mass, massive, master, match, material, math, matter, may, maybe, mayor, me, meal, mean, meaning, meanwhile, measure, measurement, meat, mechanism, media, medical, medication, medicine, medium, meet, meeting, member, membership, memory, mental, mention, menu, mere, merely, mess, message, metal, meter, method, Mexican, middle, might, military, milk, million, mind, mine, minister, minor, minority, minute, miracle, mirror, miss, missile, mission, mistake, mix, mixture, mm-hmm, mode, model, moderate, modern, modest, mom, moment, money, monitor, month, mood, moon, moral, more, moreover, morning, mortgage, most, mostly, mother, motion, motivation, motor, mountain, mouse, mouth, move, movement, movie, Mr, Mrs, Ms, much, multiple, murder, muscle, museum, music, musical, musician, Muslim, must, mutual, my, myself, mystery, myth, naked, name, narrative, narrow, nation, national, native, natural, naturally, nature, near, nearby, nearly, necessarily, necessary, neck, need, negative, negotiate, negotiation, neighbor, neighborhood, neither, nerve, nervous, net, network, never, nevertheless, new, newly, news, newspaper, next, nice, night, nine, no, nobody, nod, noise, nomination, nominee, none, nonetheless, nor, normal, normally, north, northern, nose, not, note, nothing, notice, notion, novel, now, nowhere, nuclear, number, numerous, nurse, nut, object, objective, obligation, observation, observe, observer, obtain, obvious, obviously, occasion, occasionally, occupation, occupy, occur, ocean, odd, odds, of, off, offense, offensive, offer, office, officer, official, often, oh, oil, okay, old, Olympic, on, once, one, ongoing, onion, online, only, onto, open, opening, operate, operating, operation, operator, opinion, opponent, opportunity, oppose, opposed, opposite, opposition, option, or, orange, order, ordinary, organic, organization, organize, orientation, origin, original, originally, other, others, otherwise, ought, our, ours, ourselves, out, outcome, outside, oven, over, overall, overcome, overlook, owe, own, owner, pace, pack, package, page, pain, painful, paint, painter, painting, pair, pale, Palestinian, palm, pan, panel, panic, pant, paper, paragraph, parent, park, parking, part, participant, participate, participation, particle, particular, particularly, partly, partner, partnership, party, pass, passage, passenger, passion, past, patch, path, patient, pattern, pause, pay, payment, PC, peace, peak, peer, pen, penalty, people, pepper, per, perceive, percentage, perception, perfect, perfectly, perform, performance, perhaps, period, permanent, permission, permit, person, personal, personality, personally, personnel, perspective, persuade, pet, phase, phenomenon, philosophy, phone, photo, photographer, phrase, physical, physically, physician, piano, pick, picture, pie, piece, pile, pilot, pine, pink, pipe, pitch, place, plan, plane, planet, planning, plant, plastic, plate, platform, play, player, please, pleasure, plenty, plot, plus, PM, pocket, poem, poet, poetry, point, police, policy, political, politically, politician, politics, poll, pollution, pool, poor, pop, popular, population, porch, port, portion, portrait, portray, pose, position, positive, possess, possession, possibility, possible, possibly, post, pot, potato, potential, potentially, pound, pour, poverty, powder, power, powerful, practical, practice, prayer, preach, precisely, predict, prediction, prefer, preference, pregnancy, pregnant, preparation, prepare, prescription, presence, present, presentation, preserve, president, presidential, press, pressure, pretend, pretty, prevent, previous, previously, price, pride, priest, primarily, primary, prime, principal, principle, print, prior, priority, prison, prisoner, privacy, private, probably, problem, procedure, proceed, process, processing, processor, proclaim, produce, producer, product, production, profession, professional, professor, profile, profit, program, progress, progressive, project, prominent, promise, promote, prompt, proof, proper, properly, property, proportion, proposal, propose, prosecutor, prospect, protect, protection, protein, protest, proud, prove, provide, provider, province, provision, psychological, psychology, public, publication, publicity, publish, publisher, pull, punishment, purchase, pure, purpose, pursue, push, put, qualify, quality, quarter, quarterback, quarterly, queen, quest, question, quick, quickly, quiet, quietly, quit, quite, quote, race, racial, radiation, radical, radio, rail, rain, raise, range, rank, rapid, rapidly, rare, rarely, rate, rather, rating, ratio, raw, reach, react, reaction, reader, reading, ready, real, reality, realize, really, reason, reasonable, recall, receive, recent, recently, reception, recipe, recipient, recognition, recognize, recommend, recommendation, record, recording, recover, recovery, recruit, red, reduce, reduction, refer, reference, reflect, reflection, reform, refugee, refuse, regard, regarding, regardless, regime, region, regional, register, regular, regularly, regulate, regulation, regulator, reinforce, reject, relate, relation, relationship, relative, relatively, relax, release, relevant, relief, religion, religious, rely, remain, remaining, remarkable, remember, remind, remote, remove, repeat, repeatedly, replace, replacement, reply, report, reporter, represent, representation, representative, Republican, reputation, request, require, requirement, research, researcher, resemble, reservation, resident, residential, resign, resist, resistance, resolution, resolve, resort, resource, respect, respond, response, responsibility, responsible, rest, restaurant, restore, restriction, result, retain, retire, retirement, return, reveal, revenue, review, revolution, rhythm, rice, rich, rid, ride, rifle, right, ring, rise, risk, river, road, rock, role, roll, romantic, roof, room, root, rope, rose, rough, roughly, round, route, routine, row, rub, rubber, rude, ruin, rule, run, running, rural, rush, Russian, sacred, sad, safe, safety, sake, salad, salary, sale, sales, salt, same, sample, sanction, sand, satellite, satisfaction, satisfied, satisfy, sauce, save, saving, say, scale, scandal, scare, scatter, scenario, scene, schedule, scheme, scholar, scholarship, school, science, scientific, scientist, scope, score, scream, screen, script, sea, search, season, seat, second, secondary, secret, secretary, section, sector, secure, security, see, seed, seek, seem, segment, seize, select, selection, self, sell, Senate, senator, send, senior, sense, sensitive, sentence, separate, sequence, series, serious, seriously, servant, serve, service, session, set, setting, settle, settlement, seven, several, severe, sex, sexual, shade, shadow, shake, shall, shallow, shape, share, sharp, she, sheet, shelf, shell, shelter, shift, shine, ship, shirt, shock, shoe, shoot, shooting, shop, shopping, short, shortly, shot, should, shoulder, shout, show, shower, shrug, shut, shy, sibling, sick, side, sigh, sight, sign, signal, significant, significantly, silence, silent, silver, similar, similarly, simple, simply, sin, since, sing, singer, single, sink, sir, sister, sit, site, situation, six, size, ski, skill, skin, skirt, sky, slave, sleep, slice, slide, slight, slightly, slip, slow, slowly, small, smart, smell, smile, smoke, smooth, snap, snow, so, so-called, soccer, social, society, soft, software, soil, solar, soldier, sole, solid, solution, solve, some, somebody, somehow, someone, something, sometimes, somewhat, somewhere, son, song, soon, sophisticated, sorry, sort, soul, sound, soup, source, south, southern, Soviet, space, Spanish, speak, speaker, special, specialist, species, specific, specifically, specify, speech, speed, spend, spending, spin, spirit, spiritual, split, spoil, sponsor, sport, spot, spray, spread, spring, square, squeeze, stability, stable, staff, stage, stain, stair, stake, stand, standard, standing, star, stare, start, state, statement, station, statistical, status, stay, steady, steal, steel, steep, stem, step, stick, still, stimulate, stimulus, stir, stock, stomach, stone, stop, storage, store, storm, story, straight, strange, stranger, strategic, strategy, stream, street, strength, strengthen, stress, stretch, strike, string, strip, stroke, strong, strongly, structural, structure, struggle, student, studio, study, stuff, stupid, style, subject, submit, subsequent, substance, substantial, substitute, succeed, success, successful, successfully, such, sudden, suddenly, sue, suffer, sufficient, sugar, suggest, suggestion, suicide, suit, summer, summit, sun, super, supply, support, supporter, suppose, supposed, Supreme, sure, surely, surface, surgery, surprise, surprised, surprising, surprisingly, surround, survey, survival, survive, survivor, suspect, sustain, swear, sweep, sweet, swim, swing, switch, symbol, symptom, system, table, tactic, tail, take, tale, talent, talk, tall, tank, tap, tape, target, task, taste, tax, taxi, tea, teach, teacher, teaching, team, tear, technical, technique, technology, teen, teenager, telephone, telescope, television, tell, temperature, temporary, ten, tend, tendency, tennis, tension, tent, term, terms, terrible, territory, terror, terrorist, test, testimony, testing, text, than, thank, thanks, that, the, theater, their, them, theme, themselves, then, theory, therapy, there, therefore, these, they, thick, thin, thing, think, thinking, third, thirty, this, those, though, thought, thousand, threat, threaten, three, throat, through, throughout, throw, thus, ticket, tie, tight, time, tiny, tip, tire, tissue, title, to, tobacco, today, toe, together, toilet, token, tolerate, tomato, tomorrow, tone, tongue, tonight, too, tool, tooth, top, topic, toss, total, totally, touch, tough, tour, tourist, tournament, toward, towards, tower, town, toy, trace, track, trade, tradition, traditional, traffic, tragedy, trail, train, training, transfer, transform, transformation, transition, translate, translation, transmission, transmit, transport, transportation, travel, treat, treatment, treaty, tree, tremendous, trend, trial, tribe, trick, trip, troop, trouble, truck, true, truly, trust, truth, try, tube, tunnel, turn, TV, twelve, twenty, twice, twin, two, type, typical, typically, ugly, ultimate, ultimately, unable, uncle, undergo, understand, understanding, unfortunately, uniform, union, unique, unit, United, universal, universe, university, unknown, unless, unlike, until, unusual, up, upon, upper, urban, urge, us, use, used, useful, user, usual, usually, utility, utilize, vacation, valley, valuable, value, variable, variation, variety, various, vary, vast, vegetable, vehicle, venture, version, versus, very, vessel, veteran, via, victim, victory, video, view, viewer, village, violate, violation, violence, violent, virtually, virtue, virus, visibility, visible, vision, visit, visitor, visual, vital, voice, volume, voluntary, volunteer, vote, voter, voting, wage, wait, wake, walk, wall, wander, want, war, warm, warn, warning, wash, waste, watch, water, wave, way, we, weak, weakness, wealth, wealthy, weapon, wear, weather, web, website, wedding, week, weekend, weekly, weigh, weight, welcome, welfare, well, west, western, wet, what, whatever, wheel, when, whenever, where, whereas, whether, which, while, whisper, white, who, whole, whom, whose, why, wide, widely, widespread, wife, wild, wildlife, will, willing, win, wind, window, wine, wing, winner, winter, wipe, wire, wisdom, wise, wish, with, withdraw, within, without, witness, woman, wonder, wonderful, wood, wooden, word, work, worker, working, workout, workplace, works, workshop, world, worried, worry, worth, would, wound, wrap, write, writer, writing, wrong, yard, yeah, year, yell, yellow, yes, yesterday, yet, yield, you, young, your, yours, yourself, youth, zone.
submitted by Zappingsbrew to u/Zappingsbrew [link] [comments]
2024.05.14 06:04 SwampRaiderTTU Point Omega/Week Two/Chapters: "Anonymity" and Ch. 1/pages 3-37 [Scribner edition]
The novel begins September 3, 2006, a Sunday. In "physical time," our reality, Andre Agassi played and lost his final match of his career. Steve Irwin, the croc hunter, would die the following day from a stingray's three barbed venomous spinal blades puncturing his heart. Senator Barak Obama was still denying he was intending to run for President (he would announce in February 2007.) The number 1 song in America and the UK is Sexyback by Justin Timberlake. Egypt warned of Palestinian terror attacks against Israelis vacationing in Sinai. Charlie Sheen turned 41. 200 Taliban are killed in a major battle in Kandahar, Afghanistan. Iraqi leaders announce the capture of the #2 leader of Al Qaeda. Europe's space agency purposely crash-lands a lunar probe into the moon.
In short, nothing, on balance seems to have happened in the world that has any particular world-historical or even US-historical import. Just a day. Even searching back 4 extra days from September 3 - since we are told that the man viewing the art installation is now on his fifth straight day in the museum - nothing all that *important* seems to have happened on any of those dates, the way saying a novel is starting on June 6, 1944, or (obviously) September 10, 2001, or July 16, 1945 or November 22, 1962 would be of course trying to tell us something.
Q: why is Delillo's purpose (is there one?) for telling us this specific date? Why is it important that the man is there on September 3, 2006 watching this: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a31q2ZQcETw over and over.
Q: who is the man? Delillo himself? Just a random unnamed character? Is it definitely Finley and Elster who are the two men who come into the room? The description of the older man "long white hair braided at the nape" [p.7, Scribner] certainly seems to suggest it is Elster, described in Ch. 1 as a man "with silvery hair, as always, was braided down into a short ponytail." If it is definitely them, what does it mean they attended a museum show together? Anything?
This is not the first Delillo novel to open with a scene where a movie, and anonymous characters' responses to watching it, is central to the narrative - Players opens with a movie being shown on a plane that is basically a silent movie of a terrorist machine-gun attack on waspy golfers, only accompanied by a pianist (yes a pianist) in the airplane bar filling in the suspense with improvised show tunes - and it is not the first to open with an examination of an art installation - Underworld, after the fantastic baseball game section - opens at Klara Sax's airplane bomber art installation commune. But this opening seems to introduce two characters obliquely, and of course only if you've paid close attention to the description of Elster's hair could you think back to it being him, perhaps.
"The nature of the film permitted total concentration and also depended on it." "The less there was to see, the harder he looked, the more he saw." [p.5, Scribner]
Q:Who is this person watching and why should we care?
Q: Did the opening sequence provide you any insight other than , perhaps, confusion? Something other than "what the hell did I just read?" What? Does your reaction to the opening sequence change when you know (if you did before this post) that the Psycho installation was and is real?
Moving on to Chapter 1 [p. 17, Scribner], we learn that we are on Day 10 of a 12-day period of time that relates the initial relationship between Elster and Finley. Finley, who is probably in his early to mid-30s and 73-year-old Elster are spending time at Elster's house in the desert to record a one-take movie of Elster's testimony of what it was like to serve in an administration that went to war under less than honest circumstances.
Our narrator is Jim Finley, a documentary filmmaker who has made exactly one film about Jerry Lewis's telethon appearances - Lewis, a "rampaging comic" to whom Elster would merely be a "straight man." [p.27] Elster, who Finley also describes as "not a man who might make space for even the gentlest correction," [p.22] is a non-political theorist being brought in to an administration to provide narrative to their war. I've seen references to him being based on Paul Wolfowitz, the political scientists who became Deputy SecDef in the Bush II Administration who famously nearly swallowed his comb to wet it to comb his hair in an image that likely sealed his fate in D.C. as unserious and ridiculous who was then shuffled off to the World Bank, but would Delillo ape the man AND mention him in the narrative? If so, that seems clumsy.
Q: Do you even take Elster serious as a character or believable as a "brain" behind the narrative of an administration going to war? A man who speaks in bad koans and aphorisms like "Time becomes blind." [p.23] and who reads Louis Zukovsky into the night? (Zukovsky famously worked on an epic poem called "A" for over almost 50 years, finally finishing it a few years before his death in 1978.)
Finley tells us: "To Elster, sunset was human invention, our perceptual arrangement of light and space into elements of wonder." [p.18, Scribner]. Elster has come to the desert to seek - something - we know not what and are not told definitively - but his narrative of what his role was in Washington was to create a interpretation of the "closed world" for the "plotters, the strategists" [p. 28] and ends up delivering to Finley what I think Finley was after - the cynical idea that Elster was giving form and shape to the government's bullshit narrative - "The state has to lie. There is no lie in war or in preparation for war that can't be defended. We went beyond this. We tried to create new realities overnight, careful sets of words that resemble advertising slogans in memorability and repeatability."
Q: Is Elster ultimately right? Did the country have a "shadowy need" [p.34] for such a narrative? See, for instance: "Let's roll." [probably in reality, "Let's roll it" referring to a beverage cart to break into the cockpit.]
"Shock and awe." "Global War on Terror" "Slam dunk" "WMDs" "The Surge" And perhaps most infamously "Enhanced Interrogation Techniques"
At the ends of the chapter, we get what counts as a cliffhanger in this slim novel: Elster's adult daughter would be coming for a visit, Jessie who was "otherworldly" [p. 36].
submitted by SwampRaiderTTU to DonDeLillo [link] [comments]
In short, nothing, on balance seems to have happened in the world that has any particular world-historical or even US-historical import. Just a day. Even searching back 4 extra days from September 3 - since we are told that the man viewing the art installation is now on his fifth straight day in the museum - nothing all that *important* seems to have happened on any of those dates, the way saying a novel is starting on June 6, 1944, or (obviously) September 10, 2001, or July 16, 1945 or November 22, 1962 would be of course trying to tell us something.
Q: why is Delillo's purpose (is there one?) for telling us this specific date? Why is it important that the man is there on September 3, 2006 watching this: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a31q2ZQcETw over and over.
Q: who is the man? Delillo himself? Just a random unnamed character? Is it definitely Finley and Elster who are the two men who come into the room? The description of the older man "long white hair braided at the nape" [p.7, Scribner] certainly seems to suggest it is Elster, described in Ch. 1 as a man "with silvery hair, as always, was braided down into a short ponytail." If it is definitely them, what does it mean they attended a museum show together? Anything?
This is not the first Delillo novel to open with a scene where a movie, and anonymous characters' responses to watching it, is central to the narrative - Players opens with a movie being shown on a plane that is basically a silent movie of a terrorist machine-gun attack on waspy golfers, only accompanied by a pianist (yes a pianist) in the airplane bar filling in the suspense with improvised show tunes - and it is not the first to open with an examination of an art installation - Underworld, after the fantastic baseball game section - opens at Klara Sax's airplane bomber art installation commune. But this opening seems to introduce two characters obliquely, and of course only if you've paid close attention to the description of Elster's hair could you think back to it being him, perhaps.
"The nature of the film permitted total concentration and also depended on it." "The less there was to see, the harder he looked, the more he saw." [p.5, Scribner]
Q:Who is this person watching and why should we care?
Q: Did the opening sequence provide you any insight other than , perhaps, confusion? Something other than "what the hell did I just read?" What? Does your reaction to the opening sequence change when you know (if you did before this post) that the Psycho installation was and is real?
Moving on to Chapter 1 [p. 17, Scribner], we learn that we are on Day 10 of a 12-day period of time that relates the initial relationship between Elster and Finley. Finley, who is probably in his early to mid-30s and 73-year-old Elster are spending time at Elster's house in the desert to record a one-take movie of Elster's testimony of what it was like to serve in an administration that went to war under less than honest circumstances.
Our narrator is Jim Finley, a documentary filmmaker who has made exactly one film about Jerry Lewis's telethon appearances - Lewis, a "rampaging comic" to whom Elster would merely be a "straight man." [p.27] Elster, who Finley also describes as "not a man who might make space for even the gentlest correction," [p.22] is a non-political theorist being brought in to an administration to provide narrative to their war. I've seen references to him being based on Paul Wolfowitz, the political scientists who became Deputy SecDef in the Bush II Administration who famously nearly swallowed his comb to wet it to comb his hair in an image that likely sealed his fate in D.C. as unserious and ridiculous who was then shuffled off to the World Bank, but would Delillo ape the man AND mention him in the narrative? If so, that seems clumsy.
Q: Do you even take Elster serious as a character or believable as a "brain" behind the narrative of an administration going to war? A man who speaks in bad koans and aphorisms like "Time becomes blind." [p.23] and who reads Louis Zukovsky into the night? (Zukovsky famously worked on an epic poem called "A" for over almost 50 years, finally finishing it a few years before his death in 1978.)
Finley tells us: "To Elster, sunset was human invention, our perceptual arrangement of light and space into elements of wonder." [p.18, Scribner]. Elster has come to the desert to seek - something - we know not what and are not told definitively - but his narrative of what his role was in Washington was to create a interpretation of the "closed world" for the "plotters, the strategists" [p. 28] and ends up delivering to Finley what I think Finley was after - the cynical idea that Elster was giving form and shape to the government's bullshit narrative - "The state has to lie. There is no lie in war or in preparation for war that can't be defended. We went beyond this. We tried to create new realities overnight, careful sets of words that resemble advertising slogans in memorability and repeatability."
Q: Is Elster ultimately right? Did the country have a "shadowy need" [p.34] for such a narrative? See, for instance: "Let's roll." [probably in reality, "Let's roll it" referring to a beverage cart to break into the cockpit.]
"Shock and awe." "Global War on Terror" "Slam dunk" "WMDs" "The Surge" And perhaps most infamously "Enhanced Interrogation Techniques"
At the ends of the chapter, we get what counts as a cliffhanger in this slim novel: Elster's adult daughter would be coming for a visit, Jessie who was "otherworldly" [p. 36].
2024.05.14 03:14 alyssaoftheeast A Poem I Wrote
Hey girls!
I wrote this poem last year about my experience as a trans girl and didn't really have anywhere to share it. I thought this might resonate with somebody. TW: References to Transphobia
Her
Didn't you know she's a freak?
A twisted pervert in disguise
Insatiable in libido and debauchery
She carries more than meets the eyes
Didn't you know when she cums,
even the angels shriek?
Demons summoned with every kiss
Her cunning pillow talk so sweet
Didn't you know she's snipped and botched
Always drinking crack and snorting wine
This is how she stomachs herself
A chimera worse than Frankenstein
Didn't you know she peels the girls?
Wears them like an ill-fitting suit
Mockingly she parades around
Their birthright, her loot
Didn't you know she dabbles the children?
Stealing their innocence, their youth
They say she smells of rotting flesh
Who cares if it's the truth
Don't you know to be wary of her?
Depravity and deception in every breath
She's disgusting and worthless
A danger only acceptable in death
Horrid, putrid, sordid, lurid,
the lies we weave to excuse our hate
For cruelty cannot be worn with pride
Nor unfairness, a namesake
It's easy to burn the witch,
Stake the vamp, mock the shrew
Their guilt so clear you'll never question
If they're more innocent than you
Who is she? Who am I?
I am her, she is me.
A woman, a daughter, a soul
Trapped in psychosocial duality
The me that haunts their minds
The me that haunts my own
Both enemy and protagonist
Two narratives that can't atone
Everyone's story needs a villian
Someone to battle and defeat
I seem to play the role well
They say my performance can't be beat
So I will play the role,
Reluctantly accept the acclaim
As their showering roses
Turn to stones bringing bloodied pain
Maybe when the act is over
And curtain is finally drawn
They'll see the error of their belief
They'll see that they were wrong
submitted by alyssaoftheeast to StraightTransGirls [link] [comments]
I wrote this poem last year about my experience as a trans girl and didn't really have anywhere to share it. I thought this might resonate with somebody. TW: References to Transphobia
Her
Didn't you know she's a freak?
A twisted pervert in disguise
Insatiable in libido and debauchery
She carries more than meets the eyes
Didn't you know when she cums,
even the angels shriek?
Demons summoned with every kiss
Her cunning pillow talk so sweet
Didn't you know she's snipped and botched
Always drinking crack and snorting wine
This is how she stomachs herself
A chimera worse than Frankenstein
Didn't you know she peels the girls?
Wears them like an ill-fitting suit
Mockingly she parades around
Their birthright, her loot
Didn't you know she dabbles the children?
Stealing their innocence, their youth
They say she smells of rotting flesh
Who cares if it's the truth
Don't you know to be wary of her?
Depravity and deception in every breath
She's disgusting and worthless
A danger only acceptable in death
Horrid, putrid, sordid, lurid,
the lies we weave to excuse our hate
For cruelty cannot be worn with pride
Nor unfairness, a namesake
It's easy to burn the witch,
Stake the vamp, mock the shrew
Their guilt so clear you'll never question
If they're more innocent than you
Who is she? Who am I?
I am her, she is me.
A woman, a daughter, a soul
Trapped in psychosocial duality
The me that haunts their minds
The me that haunts my own
Both enemy and protagonist
Two narratives that can't atone
Everyone's story needs a villian
Someone to battle and defeat
I seem to play the role well
They say my performance can't be beat
So I will play the role,
Reluctantly accept the acclaim
As their showering roses
Turn to stones bringing bloodied pain
Maybe when the act is over
And curtain is finally drawn
They'll see the error of their belief
They'll see that they were wrong
2024.05.13 12:18 ariel124836 Ex-judaism of ex-jew victims of the war being denied by the grieving friends and/or family, makes me worried my family would've behave the same if it was me
I don't see a thread about it, maybe I missed since I just recetly joined, and I need to vent, so I hope it's ok.
In the first days and weeks after the oct 7th my instagram have been blasted with religious figures and preachers trying to use the tragedy for their own sake. Just of the top of my head - people blaming the music festival goers for "dancing around a budha statue", people claiming that the shabat saved a couple of religious communities near the gaza border, people burning tank tops for being non-modest, etc. And one thing that have flooded my feed was a campaign of religous parents of a party victim calling for people to light shabat candles and keeping shabat because "that's the mitzva their daughter loved the most". Now, i don't know this partygoer, maybe she loved shabat, but it was a nature music festival in the very day of simchat torah (which happened to be shabat as well), someone who grew up religious and went there chose to distance themselves from jewish traditions, so I think it's more likely she didn't love shabat so much anymore, and that her family chose to remember her as the tzadikah she maybe was before leaving religion. And she wasn't the only one. There were many ex-jews in that festival because this kind of parties is kind of popular among ex-jews here in israel. You must've seen some of those "tehilim for iluy nishmat Moshe" or "keep shabath for Sarah" (fake names of course). I've also seen tweets of Haredi journalists about Yeshive buchers that were killed, ignoring the fact these boys left religion and suffered negligence from their families and friends. These stuff angered me to my core, in the first week I wrote some sort of a poem to post on facebook as a protest but ended up keeping it to myself, out of leftover fear in my agnostic mind that there may be a god and they may have a twisted kind of humor
But today this anger rose up again, it is memorial day in Israel so my feed is once again filled with victims faces and stories. One of the festival massacre victims was a good friend of my sister (and my whole family through that), i didn't really talked to her that much since high school, but i do know through social media and through my sister that she left religion and had an intense journey to find happiness and meaning in this world. So when I saw that the memorial projects for her had religious quotes about "god's glory across the earth" and how "god only puts you through tests you can overcome", and spreading Birkot Hashachar with her picture, all those feelings came up for an epic meltdown.
And yes, i'm obviously reflecting my fears or at least connecting to these victims through my own personal experience, I can't really assume stuff about someone I don't personally know. but Last week I found out my dad is in deep denial about me (he thinks I wouldn't eat a cheeseburger, Let alone pork), so i keep thinking, if I died in oct 7th or in any other way, would this be the way people remember me by? Prayers and psukim from tehilim and other stuff I don't believe in? Did I run away from religion and conservative values just for my realtives to erase everything i was by building a beit midrash in my name? Because I know they would. I don't have a family of my own yet and friends don't have the socially accepted justification to protest acts of religion of grieving parents.
I don't know why it bothers me so much, i'm very skeptical about an afterlife so why would I care about something that happens after i'm dead, but for some reason my living self can't stand the thought of my death being used to spread religious values. Would these ex-jew victims have felt the same if they knew? Is there even a way for me to fight for their memory as secular individuals without just inflicting my own believes and basically doing the same as the religious spreaders?
I don't realy have answers, as I said, it's a rant, I needed to share and it seems like the right place. Sorry for any grammar or spelling mistakes, it's the first time i wrote something this long in english.
submitted by ariel124836 to exjew [link] [comments]
In the first days and weeks after the oct 7th my instagram have been blasted with religious figures and preachers trying to use the tragedy for their own sake. Just of the top of my head - people blaming the music festival goers for "dancing around a budha statue", people claiming that the shabat saved a couple of religious communities near the gaza border, people burning tank tops for being non-modest, etc. And one thing that have flooded my feed was a campaign of religous parents of a party victim calling for people to light shabat candles and keeping shabat because "that's the mitzva their daughter loved the most". Now, i don't know this partygoer, maybe she loved shabat, but it was a nature music festival in the very day of simchat torah (which happened to be shabat as well), someone who grew up religious and went there chose to distance themselves from jewish traditions, so I think it's more likely she didn't love shabat so much anymore, and that her family chose to remember her as the tzadikah she maybe was before leaving religion. And she wasn't the only one. There were many ex-jews in that festival because this kind of parties is kind of popular among ex-jews here in israel. You must've seen some of those "tehilim for iluy nishmat Moshe" or "keep shabath for Sarah" (fake names of course). I've also seen tweets of Haredi journalists about Yeshive buchers that were killed, ignoring the fact these boys left religion and suffered negligence from their families and friends. These stuff angered me to my core, in the first week I wrote some sort of a poem to post on facebook as a protest but ended up keeping it to myself, out of leftover fear in my agnostic mind that there may be a god and they may have a twisted kind of humor
But today this anger rose up again, it is memorial day in Israel so my feed is once again filled with victims faces and stories. One of the festival massacre victims was a good friend of my sister (and my whole family through that), i didn't really talked to her that much since high school, but i do know through social media and through my sister that she left religion and had an intense journey to find happiness and meaning in this world. So when I saw that the memorial projects for her had religious quotes about "god's glory across the earth" and how "god only puts you through tests you can overcome", and spreading Birkot Hashachar with her picture, all those feelings came up for an epic meltdown.
And yes, i'm obviously reflecting my fears or at least connecting to these victims through my own personal experience, I can't really assume stuff about someone I don't personally know. but Last week I found out my dad is in deep denial about me (he thinks I wouldn't eat a cheeseburger, Let alone pork), so i keep thinking, if I died in oct 7th or in any other way, would this be the way people remember me by? Prayers and psukim from tehilim and other stuff I don't believe in? Did I run away from religion and conservative values just for my realtives to erase everything i was by building a beit midrash in my name? Because I know they would. I don't have a family of my own yet and friends don't have the socially accepted justification to protest acts of religion of grieving parents.
I don't know why it bothers me so much, i'm very skeptical about an afterlife so why would I care about something that happens after i'm dead, but for some reason my living self can't stand the thought of my death being used to spread religious values. Would these ex-jew victims have felt the same if they knew? Is there even a way for me to fight for their memory as secular individuals without just inflicting my own believes and basically doing the same as the religious spreaders?
I don't realy have answers, as I said, it's a rant, I needed to share and it seems like the right place. Sorry for any grammar or spelling mistakes, it's the first time i wrote something this long in english.
2024.05.13 12:15 JG98 Shiv Kumar Batalvi, the most prolific Panjabi poet in modern history.
 | Shiv Kumar Batalvi (July 23 1936 - May 6 1973) was a Panjabi poet, writer, and playwright who left an undeniable mark on Panjabi literature despite his short life. He was born in Bara Pind Lohtian, situated in the Shakargarh Tehsil of Gurdaspur (now Narowal District). His father, Pandit Krishan Gopal Sharma, served as the village tehsildar in the revenue department, while his mother, Shanti Devi, was a homemaker. submitted by JG98 to punjab [link] [comments] From a young age, Shiv displayed a unique personality. He would often vanish for entire days, only to be found lying under trees by the riverbank near the local Mandir outside the village. He was deeply connected to nature. This fascination with the natural world, along with exposure to local renditions of the Hindu epic Ramayana, would later find expression in his poetry's rich imagery. Batalvi appears to have been captivated by the sights and sounds of his rural surroundings. Wandering minstrel singers, snake charmers, and the like left a lasting impression on him. These elements would later become recurring metaphors in his poetry, imbuing it with a distinctly rural flavor and a deep connection to the Panjabi cultural landscape. His idyllic childhood in rural Panjab was disrupted by the trauma of Partition in 1947. At the tender age of 11, he was uprooted from his birthplace and relocated with his family to Batala, Gurdaspur district in India. Here, his father continued his work as a patwari, a revenue official. Following Partition, Shiv received his primary education in Batala. Though a bright student, his education lead him down an unconventional path. He completed his matriculation exams at Panjab University in 1953, showcasing his academic potential. However, his passion for writing and a restless spirit clashed with the confines of formal education. He embarked on a series of college enrollments, seeking an outlet for his creativity. First, he enrolled in the F.Sc. program at Baring Union Christian College in Batala. However, his artistic temperament soon led him to S.N. College in Qadian, where he joined the Arts program, a better fit for his literary aspirations. Yet, even this program couldn't hold his attention for long, and he left in his second year. Batalvi's search for the right educational path continued. He enrolled in a school at Baijnath, Himachal Pradesh, to pursue a diploma in Civil Engineering, seeking a more practical skillset. This venture also proved short-lived. Finally, he attempted to continue his studies at Govt. Ripudaman College in Nabha, but eventually left there as well. Through these educational explorations, it's evident that Batalvi struggled to find a balance between societal expectations and his own artistic calling. Despite the lack of a traditional degree, his literary pursuits during this period flourished. He found his voice within the literary community and began composing and performing his emotionally charged ghazals and songs. These works, characterized by raw talent and deep emotion, captivated audiences and laid the foundation for his future success. While still at Baijnath, Shiv had a life changing event that would shape the rest of his poetic career. At a fair, he met a young woman named Maina. Deeply affected by her, he later sought her out in her hometown, only to be met with the tragic news of her death. This profound loss inspired his elegy "Maina" and became a recurring theme in his work. The experience of separation and grief would fuel many of his future poems. The 1950s saw Batalvi fully immerse himself in the world of poetry. He honed his craft, experimenting with different styles and gaining recognition for his romantic verses. By the 1960s, he had become a rising star. His magnum opus, the epic verse play "Loona" based on the legend of Puran Bhagat, was released in 1965. "Loona" became a masterpiece, establishing a new genre of modern Panjabi kissa (narrative poem). This critical acclaim culminated in 1967 when, at the young age of 31, Batalvi became the youngest recipient of the prestigious Sahitya Akademi Award. While Shiv Kumar Batalvi's poetry wasn't just about heartbreak, it was a prominent theme. One of his most celebrated poems, "Main ik shikra yaar banaya" ("I made a hawk, my beloved"), was inspired by his unrequited love for the daughter of writer Gurbaksh Singh Preetlari. This young woman Panjab and married someone else. The poem's creation was sparked by the bittersweet news of her first child's birth. Interestingly, when asked if another poem would follow her second child's birth, Batalvi displayed his wit: "Have I become responsible for her? Am I to write a poem on her every time she gives birth to a child?" This anecdote highlights his artistic independence. Batalvi's talent transcended language barriers. "Main ik shikra yaar banaya" is a Panjabi masterpiece, but its translations retain their beauty. Legendary singers like Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan and Jagjit Singh were drawn to his work, bringing his poetry to life through song. Despite the themes of separation and longing in his poems, Batalvi found personal happiness. He married Aruna, a woman from Kiri Mangyal, Gurdaspur, in 1967. Shortly after his marriage, in 1968, Shiv relocated to Chandigarh where he began working as a professional for the State Bank of India. The couple would go onto have two children, named Meharban (1968) and Puja (1969). Eager for a break from his routine life in Chandigarh, Batalvi eagerly accepted an invitation to visit England in May 1972. Upon arrival, he was met with celebrity status within the Panjabi community. Local Indian newspapers announced his visit with fanfare, and a series of public functions and private parties were organized in his honor. Dr. Gupal Puri hosted the first major event in Coventry, attracting fans, fellow Panjabi poets, and even renowned artist S. Sobha Singh who traveled specifically to see Batalvi. The BBC even interviewed him during his stay. While these events provided opportunities for the Panjabi community to connect with Batalvi, his health unfortunately took a turn for the worse. This trip, highlighted the struggles with alcoholism that had plagued him for some time. Late nights fueled by alcohol at parties and gatherings became a pattern. Despite waking up early and attempting to resume his day with "a couple of sips of Scotch," his habits seemed to exacerbate his existing health issues. This glimpse into his struggles in England foreshadowed the tragic toll his drinking would take on him soon thereafter. Shiv Kumar Batalvi's return from England in September 1972 marked a turning point. His health had visibly deteriorated, and he became increasingly critical of what he perceived as unfair criticism of his poetry by some writers. Financial troubles added to his woes, and he felt a sense of abandonment from some friends. Despite attempts to get medical treatment in Chandigarh and Amritsar, his health continued to decline. Unwilling to die in a hospital, he left against medical advice, seeking solace first in his family home in Batala and then in his wife's village, Kiri Mangial. Tragically, Shiv Kumar Batalvi succumbed to his illness, likely liver cirrhosis, in the early hours of May 6, 1973, in Kiri Mangial. Even after his passing, Shiv Kumar Batalvi's legacy continued to grow. One of his poetry collections, titled "Alvida" (Farewell), was posthumously published in 1974 by Guru Nanak Dev University in Amritsar. His enduring impact is further reflected by the "Shiv Kumar Batalvi Award" for Best Writer, presented annually. In Batala, the Shiv Kumar Batalvi Auditorium was constructed to commemorate the 75th anniversary of his birth. This world-class facility serves as a lasting tribute to his influence and aims to inspire future generations of Panjabi artists. |
2024.05.13 05:37 Otherwise_Focus6930 I don’t have a title yet
Shame, a heavy weight upon my chest; All her love, my heart cannot digest.
Am I too distant, too cold to care? Or is there still warmth, buried somewhere?
How can I even repay the debts I owe, When my heart is infertile, and love won’t grow? I’ve longed to hold her hands– and at her eyes, say: “For you, I feel, I care, in every way.”
In her look, I see my reflection, A wandering hollow, where love should find affection.
Through the struggle we find our way, A mother’s love, a daughter’s stray. No matter how bad, we make amends, In her arms, a love that mends.
With each sunrise, a new beginning, A new chance to heal, a new living.
In her solace, I find my guide, A unique love, yet never denied. Shame may weigh upon my chest, But in the end, in her love I find my rest.
I wrote this poem and it is about the shame for struggling to express feelings to your loving mother. I’m just a freshman still learning how to write poems so pls be nice 😅🥲
submitted by Otherwise_Focus6930 to Poems [link] [comments]
Am I too distant, too cold to care? Or is there still warmth, buried somewhere?
How can I even repay the debts I owe, When my heart is infertile, and love won’t grow? I’ve longed to hold her hands– and at her eyes, say: “For you, I feel, I care, in every way.”
In her look, I see my reflection, A wandering hollow, where love should find affection.
Through the struggle we find our way, A mother’s love, a daughter’s stray. No matter how bad, we make amends, In her arms, a love that mends.
With each sunrise, a new beginning, A new chance to heal, a new living.
In her solace, I find my guide, A unique love, yet never denied. Shame may weigh upon my chest, But in the end, in her love I find my rest.
I wrote this poem and it is about the shame for struggling to express feelings to your loving mother. I’m just a freshman still learning how to write poems so pls be nice 😅🥲
2024.05.13 05:16 greentealeafy please help me find this poem! [HELP]
Saw a tiktok video I can’t find again about a daughter who brought home a card for mother’s day and glued inside was a very emotional poem about your child growing up one year at a time until they graduate and become an adult. It went along the lines of that poem “when i turn six” where it outlined each year but it was much longer and more so about your child growing up faster than you realized. If anyone can find it I would be very appreciative!!
submitted by greentealeafy to Poetry [link] [comments]
2024.05.13 02:48 Beginning_Mood_9803 I’ve waited decades for HRT and it’s very surreal it is starting in a week
(*I did my makeup here but used FaceApp for the skin and hair!)
I was raised conservative and Christian. I even went to a private Christian high school. I had written a very dark poem that I don’t even remember what it said…but I do remember how I accidentally left it in class and someone anonymously turned it in which triggered a meeting w me, my parents and the principle. My dad was so upset that my mom was so sad that I learned early on to “keep up appearances”.
Some of the usual suspects: Sneaking into moms shoes at a young age, when older I was sneaking into my sisters wardrobes. When one got married, I hated what I was wearing and was so envious of her wedding dress. I played video games as female characters (and still do even at 53 now). I was jealous of the cheerleaders in high school, as an adult I almost always went as a female character for Halloween like Elsa from frozen, Supergirl or Alice in Wonderland…the list goes on.
It was probably that last costume listed that I started thinking it was more than just cross dressing. I remember coming home from that and crying (again, adult) as I didn’t want to take that look off my face. I didn’t know it at the time but that was gender dysphoria.
I rarely dated as although I liked women and still do, there was something different in how I’d relate with them. I pushed things down, binged and purged clothes and makeup more than I can remember. Eventually about 20 yrs ago I started almost exclusively going out with women who were trans. I know there are a lot of creepy chasers out there but in my case, looking at all the signs over the years, I was clearly trying to see THEIR life, and sadly kind of live my life vicariously through them I guess. I even ended up marrying a woman that is trans and still am after five years. She knew about my background beforehand but I was still trying to convince myself and her that it was just sporadic cross dressing.
At my work, I am allowed to wear nail polish and at first I felt paranoid about this and only did a few days a week and by now it’s pretty much 24/7 where I often forget I’m even wearing it. My dysphoria starting shooting up drastically then and I suddenly started really (allowing?) getting jealous of women’s clothes and body shapes. I’d feel awful about it but it was and is relentless. Around this time my wife was getting breast implants and I found myself happy for her but almost immediately I got extremely envious. Once again the person I married was essentially living the life I wish I started DECADES ago and I hadn’t even started HRT. I wouldn’t allow myself to even consider it.
Well there was an unrelated crisis months ago where we both went into individual therapy. And one thing, the main thing, that came out of mine is that to no surprise at all getting diagnosed with gender dysphoria.
I have an appointment that was made MONTHS ago (Florida, enough said) and it’s finally a week away as of tomorrow. To say that I am excited, scared, worried and so many other adjectives is a huge understatement. I’m not going to chicken out but man my wife and I will likely be getting divorced (still be friends) and my family still doesn’t even know as they will likely be blindsighted. I predict my mom will cry and my older sister will get mad but maybe I’m wrong. My brother cut me off five years ago when he found out I was marrying someone trans. The one person in my family who DOES know this about me is my younger sister who I’m closest to. Fortunately she and I are the same politically and culturally.
Have any of you that are on HRT actually waited a certain number of months (or even a year or more?) to tell family so that you could tell how it was making you feel mentally while on it so you could know 100% you weren’t one of the rare people that STOPS taking HRT? I just don’t know when and how to break something so life changing to them. And they are in California so I can’t exactly have a face to face meeting unfortunately. Did any of you get on a video call and tell your mom or dad? My younger sister has agreed to support me in this way if I do it when she is available to be at my moms for a call. Originally I was going to call May 1. Then I thought day of the first injection on May 20…but again now I’m wondering if I should wait at least two or three months to see how I’m feeling and looking. But I’m also afraid if I wait too long that they will next see me and I will look androgynous or something. I don’t usually see them more than once every 2-3 years and I will likely look VERY different by then.
Thank you for those that made it to the end of this, I’m sorry it was so long. I’m very excited but very stressed about all the likely fallout from this too. I can only hope that because I had married someone who is trans that they don’t think she suddenly made me this way but instead that maybe it will soften the shock with it being closer in the family than a transgender daughter in law or sister in law when they essentially always had another daughtesister in our family.
submitted by Beginning_Mood_9803 to TransLater [link] [comments]
I was raised conservative and Christian. I even went to a private Christian high school. I had written a very dark poem that I don’t even remember what it said…but I do remember how I accidentally left it in class and someone anonymously turned it in which triggered a meeting w me, my parents and the principle. My dad was so upset that my mom was so sad that I learned early on to “keep up appearances”.
Some of the usual suspects: Sneaking into moms shoes at a young age, when older I was sneaking into my sisters wardrobes. When one got married, I hated what I was wearing and was so envious of her wedding dress. I played video games as female characters (and still do even at 53 now). I was jealous of the cheerleaders in high school, as an adult I almost always went as a female character for Halloween like Elsa from frozen, Supergirl or Alice in Wonderland…the list goes on.
It was probably that last costume listed that I started thinking it was more than just cross dressing. I remember coming home from that and crying (again, adult) as I didn’t want to take that look off my face. I didn’t know it at the time but that was gender dysphoria.
I rarely dated as although I liked women and still do, there was something different in how I’d relate with them. I pushed things down, binged and purged clothes and makeup more than I can remember. Eventually about 20 yrs ago I started almost exclusively going out with women who were trans. I know there are a lot of creepy chasers out there but in my case, looking at all the signs over the years, I was clearly trying to see THEIR life, and sadly kind of live my life vicariously through them I guess. I even ended up marrying a woman that is trans and still am after five years. She knew about my background beforehand but I was still trying to convince myself and her that it was just sporadic cross dressing.
At my work, I am allowed to wear nail polish and at first I felt paranoid about this and only did a few days a week and by now it’s pretty much 24/7 where I often forget I’m even wearing it. My dysphoria starting shooting up drastically then and I suddenly started really (allowing?) getting jealous of women’s clothes and body shapes. I’d feel awful about it but it was and is relentless. Around this time my wife was getting breast implants and I found myself happy for her but almost immediately I got extremely envious. Once again the person I married was essentially living the life I wish I started DECADES ago and I hadn’t even started HRT. I wouldn’t allow myself to even consider it.
Well there was an unrelated crisis months ago where we both went into individual therapy. And one thing, the main thing, that came out of mine is that to no surprise at all getting diagnosed with gender dysphoria.
I have an appointment that was made MONTHS ago (Florida, enough said) and it’s finally a week away as of tomorrow. To say that I am excited, scared, worried and so many other adjectives is a huge understatement. I’m not going to chicken out but man my wife and I will likely be getting divorced (still be friends) and my family still doesn’t even know as they will likely be blindsighted. I predict my mom will cry and my older sister will get mad but maybe I’m wrong. My brother cut me off five years ago when he found out I was marrying someone trans. The one person in my family who DOES know this about me is my younger sister who I’m closest to. Fortunately she and I are the same politically and culturally.
Have any of you that are on HRT actually waited a certain number of months (or even a year or more?) to tell family so that you could tell how it was making you feel mentally while on it so you could know 100% you weren’t one of the rare people that STOPS taking HRT? I just don’t know when and how to break something so life changing to them. And they are in California so I can’t exactly have a face to face meeting unfortunately. Did any of you get on a video call and tell your mom or dad? My younger sister has agreed to support me in this way if I do it when she is available to be at my moms for a call. Originally I was going to call May 1. Then I thought day of the first injection on May 20…but again now I’m wondering if I should wait at least two or three months to see how I’m feeling and looking. But I’m also afraid if I wait too long that they will next see me and I will look androgynous or something. I don’t usually see them more than once every 2-3 years and I will likely look VERY different by then.
Thank you for those that made it to the end of this, I’m sorry it was so long. I’m very excited but very stressed about all the likely fallout from this too. I can only hope that because I had married someone who is trans that they don’t think she suddenly made me this way but instead that maybe it will soften the shock with it being closer in the family than a transgender daughter in law or sister in law when they essentially always had another daughtesister in our family.
2024.05.12 05:55 vintageideals Tw: stillbirth Thinking of my oldest son
Tomorrow is Mother’s Day. I spent the evening with my living children. A month or so ago, I suddenly mentally relived the entire ordeal of my stillbirth, which occurred about 15.5 years ago. My late husband really began drinking and cheating a lot after that happened, and the loneliness of that time and experience really crushed me as I thought back on what I endured during it. I usually don’t feel so raw about it except for in November around his birthday. He seems to be heavier on my mind recently. I can’t imagine how difficult it would be to be a widowed single mom of five since I’m already a widowed single mom of four. But I wish he was here with us. Here is a poem I wrote for him when I was pregnant with my oldest daughter, many years ago.
The Stone
The joy on the faces Everything pink and fair How different it all feels From memories held so dear… My heart recalls a boy I carried before this little one Ducks, mint green, and yellow The pride of having a son… But there is a block of granite That is planted on a hill Engraved with proof he was ours And that he remains ours, still
Rest easy, my sweet baby boy
submitted by vintageideals to babyloss [link] [comments]
The Stone
The joy on the faces Everything pink and fair How different it all feels From memories held so dear… My heart recalls a boy I carried before this little one Ducks, mint green, and yellow The pride of having a son… But there is a block of granite That is planted on a hill Engraved with proof he was ours And that he remains ours, still
Rest easy, my sweet baby boy
2024.05.11 12:22 philthehippy Letters from, to, and about J.R.R. Tolkien sent this week (6 - 12 May)
Letter sent from, to, and about J. R. R. Tolkien include at the 'Guide to Tolkien's Letters':
JRRT to R.W. Chambers 6 May 1939 - Writing to R.W. Chambers, Tolkien expresses his fears of the propaganda circling around the developing world situation.
JRRT to Christopher Tolkien 6 May 1944 - Tolkien writes to his son on various matters. The war effort, nature, family and draws on the themes of his writing and the paralells to real-life events.
JRRT to Nicholas Thomas 6 May 1968 - A short exceprt published as Letter #303 in which Tolkien discusses Sarehole Mill.
Tolkien's Secretary to J. Bryce Milligan 7 May 1973 - Tolkien's secretary writes to a fan, noting that The Silmarillion is "far from complete".
JJRT to Adjutant, 13th Battalion 8 May 1916 - Tolkien writes to the Adjutant of the 13th Battalion requesting leave for 13 to 17 May after he has completed his signalling course. His address if his leave is granted would be 26 Hamilton Terrace, Leamington.
JRRT to Miss Hope 8 May 1959 - Tolkien sends a cheque, and thanks Miss Hope for her help, especially for beginning the task of putting his papers in order, and he comments on local elections.
JRRT to Henry Bosley Woolf 9 May 1951 - Touching on poems about dragons, Beowulf, and fellow Inkling C. S. Lewis.
JRRT to Rayner Unwin 9 May 1957 - Tolkien expresses gratitude for a letter from GA&U and contemplates the idea of retiring in July and reflects on the financial and health implications. Tolkien mentions that he has been unable to dedicate time to The Silmarillion. He finds encouragement in the positive sales reports.
JRRT to Oscar Morland 9 May 1967 - Tolkien writes to British ambassador Oscar Morland thanking him for his typed indexes, and that he will find them very useful when he has time to work on corrections and improvements.
JRRT to Professor Norman David 10 May 1966 - Tolkien writes about a bust being made of him. His daughter-in-Law is the sculpter and he has decided to have it cast in bronze at his own expense. It wil be presented to the Oxford faculty. Tolkien remarks that he used to hang his hat on the "Tsar of Russia’s bust, which he graciously presented to Merton".
JRRT to Christopher Tolkien 11 May 1944 - Tolkien writes to Christopher giving updates on The Lord of the Rings.
Christopher Tolkien to Marquette University 11 May 1986 - Christopher writes to marquette on matters of his fathers papers.
JRRT to Rayner Unwin 12 May 1955 - Tolkien replies to Rayner Unwin concerning his approval of Tolkien's map, which Christopher Tolkien reproduced.
submitted by philthehippy to TolkienGuide [link] [comments]
JRRT to R.W. Chambers 6 May 1939 - Writing to R.W. Chambers, Tolkien expresses his fears of the propaganda circling around the developing world situation.
JRRT to Christopher Tolkien 6 May 1944 - Tolkien writes to his son on various matters. The war effort, nature, family and draws on the themes of his writing and the paralells to real-life events.
JRRT to Nicholas Thomas 6 May 1968 - A short exceprt published as Letter #303 in which Tolkien discusses Sarehole Mill.
Tolkien's Secretary to J. Bryce Milligan 7 May 1973 - Tolkien's secretary writes to a fan, noting that The Silmarillion is "far from complete".
JJRT to Adjutant, 13th Battalion 8 May 1916 - Tolkien writes to the Adjutant of the 13th Battalion requesting leave for 13 to 17 May after he has completed his signalling course. His address if his leave is granted would be 26 Hamilton Terrace, Leamington.
JRRT to Miss Hope 8 May 1959 - Tolkien sends a cheque, and thanks Miss Hope for her help, especially for beginning the task of putting his papers in order, and he comments on local elections.
JRRT to Henry Bosley Woolf 9 May 1951 - Touching on poems about dragons, Beowulf, and fellow Inkling C. S. Lewis.
JRRT to Rayner Unwin 9 May 1957 - Tolkien expresses gratitude for a letter from GA&U and contemplates the idea of retiring in July and reflects on the financial and health implications. Tolkien mentions that he has been unable to dedicate time to The Silmarillion. He finds encouragement in the positive sales reports.
JRRT to Oscar Morland 9 May 1967 - Tolkien writes to British ambassador Oscar Morland thanking him for his typed indexes, and that he will find them very useful when he has time to work on corrections and improvements.
JRRT to Professor Norman David 10 May 1966 - Tolkien writes about a bust being made of him. His daughter-in-Law is the sculpter and he has decided to have it cast in bronze at his own expense. It wil be presented to the Oxford faculty. Tolkien remarks that he used to hang his hat on the "Tsar of Russia’s bust, which he graciously presented to Merton".
JRRT to Christopher Tolkien 11 May 1944 - Tolkien writes to Christopher giving updates on The Lord of the Rings.
Christopher Tolkien to Marquette University 11 May 1986 - Christopher writes to marquette on matters of his fathers papers.
JRRT to Rayner Unwin 12 May 1955 - Tolkien replies to Rayner Unwin concerning his approval of Tolkien's map, which Christopher Tolkien reproduced.
2024.05.11 10:27 MasterEk Teaching Wordsworth got my student an IT career
I had that strange moment tonight--that moment when the ex-student runs into you and tells you just how much impact you have had on their life.
For background, I teach high school English in Auckland, New Zealand, at one of our many multi-cultural schools. The area is predominantly working class, and has intermittent gang problems. There is a lot of transience. The population is majority-minority, with many students who are indigenous Maori, many from around the Pacific and Asia, and some from Africa, South America, and Eastern Europe. It is genuinely mixed; we have affluent kids coming in with a lot of family support and some affluence. The roll has varied, but is about 1500.
It is the night before Mother's Day here. My mother died last November. My partner had gone out with my daughter to a pre-mother's day dinner--they are the only non-mothers there. I went to the gym. A young, middle-eastern man approached me between sets, 'Did you teach at Area High?' I was like, yeah. He was like, 'You're Mr MasterEk, right?' There was no denying it, so I acknowledged that I was. And then he said, 'I just want to thank you so much.'
I was a little taken aback, but I am used to heavy praise from middle-eastern students who have a culture of celebrating teachers. But he went on. He was thankful that I had taught him to write--before I had taught him in our year 12 (equivalent to grade 11) he had struggled with English in general, and writing in particular. But he was adamant that I had taught him how to write properly and that that was what had got him his university entrance and got him through his Information Technology/Computer Science degree, which had got him a good job now, one year out of university.
I was flabbergasted, and flattered, but sceptical. So I asked him what it was. He told me that he had a moment when he was writing about a poem by 'William--' and I could see he couldn't remember the surname. Which is a problem, because I teach poems by Williams Shakespeare, Blake, Wordsworth and Carlos Williams. But then he was clearer--'The one about the flowers'--which made it clear. It was Wordsworth's 'I Wander'd Lonely as a Cloud'. He told me how he used the same process when he was writing all through his conjoint degree and in his job applications, and now in his job.
The weird thing is that I believe it. I've always believed that my learning how to write about literature was what taught me to write about anything and everything else, but here was somebody else with such a different and difficult background found the same thing.
Looking at his record, it is there to see. After I taught him that poem, he started passing in language-rich subjects.
I may fuck things up from time to time, and I may not be the best teacher for all my students, but here is one student whose life I affected--and I am truly grateful that he told me.
submitted by MasterEk to Teachers [link] [comments]
For background, I teach high school English in Auckland, New Zealand, at one of our many multi-cultural schools. The area is predominantly working class, and has intermittent gang problems. There is a lot of transience. The population is majority-minority, with many students who are indigenous Maori, many from around the Pacific and Asia, and some from Africa, South America, and Eastern Europe. It is genuinely mixed; we have affluent kids coming in with a lot of family support and some affluence. The roll has varied, but is about 1500.
It is the night before Mother's Day here. My mother died last November. My partner had gone out with my daughter to a pre-mother's day dinner--they are the only non-mothers there. I went to the gym. A young, middle-eastern man approached me between sets, 'Did you teach at Area High?' I was like, yeah. He was like, 'You're Mr MasterEk, right?' There was no denying it, so I acknowledged that I was. And then he said, 'I just want to thank you so much.'
I was a little taken aback, but I am used to heavy praise from middle-eastern students who have a culture of celebrating teachers. But he went on. He was thankful that I had taught him to write--before I had taught him in our year 12 (equivalent to grade 11) he had struggled with English in general, and writing in particular. But he was adamant that I had taught him how to write properly and that that was what had got him his university entrance and got him through his Information Technology/Computer Science degree, which had got him a good job now, one year out of university.
I was flabbergasted, and flattered, but sceptical. So I asked him what it was. He told me that he had a moment when he was writing about a poem by 'William--' and I could see he couldn't remember the surname. Which is a problem, because I teach poems by Williams Shakespeare, Blake, Wordsworth and Carlos Williams. But then he was clearer--'The one about the flowers'--which made it clear. It was Wordsworth's 'I Wander'd Lonely as a Cloud'. He told me how he used the same process when he was writing all through his conjoint degree and in his job applications, and now in his job.
The weird thing is that I believe it. I've always believed that my learning how to write about literature was what taught me to write about anything and everything else, but here was somebody else with such a different and difficult background found the same thing.
Looking at his record, it is there to see. After I taught him that poem, he started passing in language-rich subjects.
I may fuck things up from time to time, and I may not be the best teacher for all my students, but here is one student whose life I affected--and I am truly grateful that he told me.
2024.05.11 02:56 PhilMathers Sophie V - FInal Days
10,000 Stolen Days
May 10, 2024 marked exactly 10,000 days since Sophie’s life was taken. 10,000 days which had they not been stolen from her in December 1996, must have seemed to be filled with possibility .1996 had been a banner year, she had achieved so much in the previous 6 months, setting up her production company "Les Champs Blancs", and producing three different productions, with more on the way. But it had been exhausting few months with all this work and travel, and although Christmas is a holiday, it is not always a relaxing one.Christmas had often been a difficult time for Sophie. She walked out her first husband Pierre Jean at Christmas 1981, so suddenly, she left her infant son behind and had to steal him back with a ruse involving a relative. She broke up with Bruno Carbonnet over Christmas in 1993. leaving him a puzzling note;
“Je suis partie là où tu n'a jamais été, là où tu n'iras jamais".
“I have left there where you have never been, there where you will never go”. This didn’t make much sense to Bruno. He waited alone for two weeks in the apartment hoping she would return, he a had bought a bicycle for Pierre Louis for Christmas. In January he left to teach in Le Harve and when he returned the locks had been changed and all his stuff was on the landing. Sophie was deliberate about change in her life she didn't just let things happen to her. Her agenda year planners reflect this. She was meticulous in recording meetings, calls, contact details and travel plans. She brought 1995, 1996 & 1997 year planners with her. There are notes and reminders stretching into February 1997. She even tore off the little perforated corners as each week passed. It's a poignant reminder of how abruptly her life was cut off in full flow - the week beginning 23/12/1996 still has its corner intact.
Sophie’s style was austere, almost minimalist. Her cottage was painted white inside and out, with a except for the ground floor, which was black slate with a shiny varnish. The only decorations were a few sprigs of holly placed by the housekeeper to welcome her. A traditional Christmas week filled with loud music, tinsel and overconsumption was the diametric opposite of her character.
Worse there is the prospect having to trade pleasantries with tiresome relatives.
That Christmas Daniel had decided for the first time to have a big family Christmas inviting his extended aristocratic family to his chateau in Ambax in the South of France. For Sophie, who even after six years of marriage barely knew Daniel’s relatives, this was an easy choice and a hard no.
She bought her ticket on the morning of her travel planning to spend nearly a week in Ireland including Christmas Day and return on the 26th. It may be that this was the only return flight she could get at the time. Or it may be, as she told her aunt Madame Opalka “she was going to go to Ireland to spend Christmas there, because the house in Ambax was full of people”. From what Daniel has said, and from what others have said, it may be he tried to persuade her to come to Ambax for Christmas and convinced her. Sometime during the weekend she got an itinerary by fax at the cottage confirming her flight back on the 24th. But even on Sunday afternoon she told friends she had not made up her mind which flight she would take.
It is difficult to say how well their marriage was going at that time because the reports vary. Daniel said it was "harmonius and peaceful" which was far from accurate. There are several biographies of Daniel Toscan du Plantier, and they paint a vivid picture of a man who though incomparably charming, lived his life his own way without much concern for his family. He married four times and in three cases his wives were already pregnant before they got married. When he married Sophie, his eldest son and daughter were not even told about it, they only found out later in the summer when Sophie turned up at events.
Some witnesses including Daniel said was it was the happiest period, others say she was basically “an official wife” and that “their open marriage was an open secret”. The truth was probably somewhere in between. She had visited Ambax in November and collaborated closely on the documentary Europa 101 with Daniel. Whatever their personal arrangement, Daniel was deeply affected by her death, even though he refused to come to Ireland. His daughter Ariane wrote how she spent months taking care of him, feeding him sedatives and sleeping pills. He was clearly overwhelmed, so Sophie must have been more than an "official wife" to him. Was their marriage "open"? They clearly had a high degree of independence from each and had affairs in the past.
Nevertheless, Sophie may have balked at spending Christmas in Ambax. For one thing, it was far away from Paris, where her friends and family lived. For another, Daniel’s family and entourage knew very little about her. Apart from his second son Carlo, who was friends with her son Pierre Louis and some servants, she would have been on her own. Christmas in Paris would have been tolerable, she could escape and visit her parents and friends whenever she wanted, but in Ambax, she would be cooped up with nowhere else to go.
There is a question of whether Daniel was having an affair at the time. According to a Garda memo, French journalist Caroline Mangez said that Daniel was with a female film producer. However the files are full of unsubstantiated rumours and lies. Even if he wasn’t having an affair Sophie may have suspected he was. If Daniel had invited a mistress, or even a former mistress, or a former wife to Ambax, it would be unbearably awkward for Sophie. Daniel had uncountable affairs, and many of his mistresses knew each other, some remained on good terms.
Daniel may have been faithful at that time, perhaps he was telling the truth when he said their marriage was harmonius, but in any case Sophie had other reasons to skip Christmas. She had wanted to come to Dunmanus for months, but work got in the way. The heating had just been fixed and she needed to pay the plumber and her housekeeper. They preferred cash.
And if Daniel was unhappy that she wasn’t going to be there for Christmas, they were going on holiday together in the New Year to Dakar, Senegal. It would be much easier for Sophie to be with Daniel by himself than his whole family. This trip to Ireland would be a breather for her. She didn’t want to be alone, she asked at least 8 different people to accompany her, including 2 former intimate partners, though there is no evidence that she was having an affair or intended to have an affair.
There is a post-it note with a message in Sophie's hand seemingly inviting someone to spend Christmas: "Je vous laisse le choix : venir ou de refuser histoire que vous passiez un bon noel"
"I leave you the choice: come or refuse just so you have a good Christmas"
Whoever that note was written to, it was to someone she addressed as "vous" so not one of her closest friends or family.
Work
If she had another relationship, it is not obvious from her diary and it was unknown to her friends. What her diary does show though is that she had thrown herself into work.Apart from her agenda she kept a working notebook, a red hardback book which is filled with a tantalizing mash of different references to famous works of art, music, and contacts details of artists and philosophers. She had recently completed work on three different films. The first work was a documentary on African Art. The next was Europa 101, a documentary written by Daniel showcasing the wealth of European cinema. This was Daniel’s pet project, he loathed US cinema and the dominance of Hollywood. He once likened his wife’s death to a “bad movie”. His life’s work was a “struggle against cheap portrayals of violence, which is what leads to deaths like this” (Irish Independent 12/07/1998). This project involved gathering interviews and footage from dozens of famous directors and actors, including John Malkovich, Ingmar Berman, Pedro Almodovar, Werner Herzog, Nanni Moretti, Jean Luc Godard and many others. It was broadcast on December 8, 1996.
The third was an art house movie called “He sees folds everywhere”, a concept movie exploring the idea of folds and creases in everyday life, in hanging clothes, paper, wrinkles on skin, folds of a human brain. This was a project of the director Guy Girard, and it was the work to complete this that delayed her trip to Ireland. But she had other projects in train in her notebook. She was researching Greek folk music, Rebetiko. She had a project or projects in mind which were somewhat dark in nature.
She was in contact with George Didi-Huberman who had written a book called “The Invention of Hysteria”. This is a photographic history of how Jean Marie Charcot – one of the giants of 19c French science – locked up thousands of women for the imagined maladies of hysteria, lethargy, catalepsie and experimented on them, deliberately photographing them in contrived and frightening poses. It is a very weird and frightening history.
Her next project seems to have been based around human fluids. Her final notes are filled with references to human flesh, death and the four medieval humours of blood, phlegm, black bile, yellow bile. There are extensive notes to what seems to be a lecture given by linguist Jean Claude Milner on the subject of melancholia. Note that “melancholia” is a synonym for “black bile”, one of the four humours.
She was researching the avant garde Irish/British painter Francis Bacon, who was known for producing uniquely disturbing images. She references “Three Studies for the Figures at the Base of a Crucifixion”. There was a Bacon exhibition in Centre Pompidou in 1996 and Sophie must have attended it. Her notebook contains her jottings from a lecture on Bacon by writer Philippe Sollers which seemed focused on blood.
"Why does painting touch the central nervous system?" "We are carcasses of meat, meat above all" "The canvas bleeds, blood spurts red" "Dostoyevsky had a crisis in front of the 16th century Hans Holbein’s painting “The Body of the Dead Christ in the Tomb She jotted down a quote from the play Libation Bearers from Aeschylus:
Orestes sees the Furies coming and exclaims "O Lord Apollon look! Now they come in troops, and from their eyes they drip loathsome blood!"
The last entry reads "research the Furies"
Friday
Having failed to convince anyone to join her in Ireland for Christmas, she went alone. She telephoned Josephine on Tuesday 17th, told her she would be arriving alone on Friday. She called her again on Thursday to ask her to make sure the house would be warm.She went to the airport on Friday morning, bought a ticket with the return date on the 26th, carrying with her a rather hefty bag filled with clothes, including some eveningwear. Perhaps she envisaged visiting people at Christmas time. She expected to stay nearly a week. Later, possibly on Sunday she changed her ticket, she called the Aer Lingus ticket desk in Charles de Gaulle airport, Paris and got a return flight for the 24th. She received the itinerary details by fax, as she had a machine in the cottage.
She was not in a good mood when she arrived. She had some words with the woman at the Avis counter who passed her to her colleague. The photos on CCTV show a woman looking tired and drawn, something which was remarked upon by the Avis rep, who estimated she was in her forties, a little older than her 38 years. But nobody looks their best walking off an aircraft. She had also attended the Unifrance Christmas party the night before. This was a lavish party held in “Les Bains Douche”, a unique Paris nightclub combined with a swimming pool. Apart from the late night, the social effort must have been tiring. There was a rumour that Sophie had a row that night at Les Bains, a row with one of Daniel’s mistresses, but I have never heard that confirmed. But other reports say that those who met her there found her "radiant", "in good form", "playful". "She went arm in arm to see friends," one guest at the party told Paris Match, "but she always came back to the table where Daniel was sitting." (Paris Match 09/01/1997) Daniel was quoted years later by Michael Sheridan - “She spent some hours having an intense, passionate conversation with a film-maker” - Alain Terzian, producer of Les Visiteurs, one of the most successful French comedies of the 1990s.
Strangely though, Daniel’s first statement said she left on Wednesday. So perhaps it didn’t register with him that she was at the Unifrance party with him on Thursday 19th, or perhaps he had forgotten the party altogether.
Sophie was captured on Cork Airport CCTV at 14:41 pushing a trolley through the arrivals gate. The scheduled arrival time was 13:20, but because of almost an hour’s delay in departure it didn’t touch down until after 2. It would have taken about 15 minutes to pick up baggage from the carousel.
Cork is a small airport and it is quick to get through the arrival hall to the car hire desks, only a matter of a few meters away.
Sophie hired a silver Ford Fiesta and would have been on the road by 14:50.
The quickest route to West Cork would have been via Bandon and Dunmanway but it is more likely she went via Clonakilty and Skibbereen. She stopped in Ballydehob to buy kindling. She may have stopped in Skibbereen to buy petrol. A pump attendant reported seeing a woman matching her description driving a silver Ford buying petrol. He also noted a tall male companion in the passenger seat. The Gardai discounted this sighting because they accounted for the petrol in the car when it was hired and the mileage thereafter. There were also some discrepancies in the vehicle’s appearance and its description in the statement. Also the Ballydehob sighting is more reliable as the woman got a chance to talk to her. It would seem odd to stop in both Skibbereen and Ballydehob, both petrol stations.
But she seems to have stopped again in Schull because she bought bread and cheese in the Courtyard Deli, and this was most likely on Friday. She talked with the proprietor, Denis Quinlan to ask if there would be live music. At this stage it would have been around 4:30pm and after this she went to the cottage. She called her caretaker Josephine at 5:15, so she must have been at home by then. We don’t know if she went out after that point. She may have stayed in. At 10:15 she called her friend Agnès Thomas and spoke to her for half an hour.
Saturday
Sophie’s whereabouts on Saturday morning are unknown. Perhaps she stayed in, perhaps she went out. Finbarr Hellen was working on his land nearby and saw her car outside the house 12 to 1pm. He didn’t see her and thought it was unusual for her not to come out and say hello. He also remarked her car was parked in an unusual place. He did not elaborate more than this.The next event we know is that she bought some groceries in Brosnans supermarket on the main street in Schull and took £200 out of the ATM.
For the curious, her shopping list is listed below:
| Item | Price |
|---|---|
| Firelighters | 0.85 |
| Independent Newspaper | 0.85 |
| EP Televised "Chopped" & Her | 0.52 |
| Parsley | 0.40 |
| Low Fat Yoghurt | 1.90 |
| Ballygowan Natural Spring Water | 0.85 |
| Napolina Penne | 0.75 |
| Rashers | 1.26 |
| Courgettes | 1.23 |
| Chicory | 1.79 |
| Onions | 0.09 |
| Fox's Classic Biscuits | 0.83 |
| Flat Mushrooms | 0.65 |
| Pepper Coated Salami | 0.85 |
| Cooked Turkey | 1.89 |
| Mushrooms | 0.34 |
| Avonmore Leek & Potato Soup | 0.99 |
| Monini Olive Oil | 3.45 |
| Ballygowan Natural Spring Water | 0.85 |
| Avonmore Carrot & Coriander Soup | 0.99 |
| Ballygowan Natural Spring Water | 0.85 |
| 22.18 |
The till recorded a time of 2:49pm.
Sometime after this or perhaps before Sophie entered Tara Fashions, the clothes shop run by Marie Farrell. What Marie Farrell saw that day and subsequent days has been subject to revision, retraction and details seemed to be added with each telling. But I think the most reliable report is the first and all the subsequent revisions cannot be trusted. Farrell called the Gardai on the 25th but they didn’t get around to taking a statement from her until 27th. Even so we can assume her memory was fresh. Here is her statement, verbatim.,
On Saturday the 21st December 1996 I was working in my shop at Main Street, Schull, Co. Cork. Between 2p.m. and 3p.m. I noticed a weird looking character across the road from my shop. He was approx 5’10” in height, late 30’s, scruffy looking, long black coat, flat black beret, thin build, sallow skin, short hair. He was there for about 10 minutes. On Sunday morning at 7.15a.m. approximately I noticed the same man on the road at Airhill. When I saw him he was walking towards Goleen on the right hand side of the road and I was travelling in the opposite direction. When he saw me he stopped and put up his hand to thumb a lift. I did not see this man before or since. On Saturday the 21.12.1996 at approx 3p.m. there was a woman in my shop. She did not buy anything. I now know that this woman was the deceased woman from Goleen. I recognised her from the photograph on the television.
There is also a record of her questionnaire which may have been taken earlier than this statement.
In reply to question no 8 When/where did you last see him/her alive? She replied "saw her in shop. She bought a "Carrig Donn" aran sweater aran nap coloured, rolled neck late Sat aftemoon. Paid £39.00. Questions No. 9, 10, 11 & 12 were left blank. In reply to question No. 13 "any other help?" Marie Farrell replied "saw a man on Sat afternoon hanging around street. Desc late 30's, 5'10" very short hair wearing black beret. Saw him again Sun morning @ 7.20am walking towards Airhill but thumbed her.
In a later questionnaire, Farrell said the sweater was too big and she didn’t buy it.
What is interesting her is that Farrell does not draw any explicit linkage between the weird character in the long black coat and the woman in the shop. They were just there at approximately the same time. Farrell did say in later statements that the man followed her up Ardnamanagh road, but this was many years later. Her statements that she saw the same man at Kealfadda bridge at 3am on Monday are untrustworthy, but we won't go into this here.
A farmer, Frank Lannin, saw Sophie driving towards Schull from Goleen around 3pm. She saluted him as she passed him in his tractor. The time or the direction of travel must be wrong here.
The final sighting on Saturday she was seen in the Courtyard pub, eating a crab sandwich and left at 3:30pm. Sally Bolger went to feed her horses on Alfie Lyons land at 4:15pm and says she saw Sophie’s car at her house.
Saturday evening is a complete blank. Nobody saw her, she may have called people on the phone but we don’t have precise details. Her husband said she called him twice on Saturday, but we don’t have any confirmation of this.
At some point Sophie changed her ticket home. Her diary has a number listed as “O’Mahony” and the number was the line to the Aer Lingus ticket desk in Charles-de-Gaulle Roissy airport. The new itinerary was faxed to her in her cottage. The reason why she decided to come home early is not known. Her friend Jean Senet said her husband Daniel persuaded her. For his part Daniel said there was no particular plan and he was to pick her up from the airport at Toulouse at 8pm. Another report tells that she came home early to meet her father, so she could help him with his taxes.
Sunday
For Sunday morning we don’t have any reports.She called to Dunlough at in the early afternoon, perhaps around 1pm. Sophie had walked here several times before. It is a spectacular headland featuring a lake and three crumbling castles. It was cold and dry at the time, good weather for a walk, if bracing. It is necessary to pass the farm to walk the headland and when Sophie did so she met Tomi Ungerer. This was the second time they had met. Sophie had called here in April but it seemed Tomi and his wife were having a row at the time and Tomi had not paid much attention. Daniel said that Sophie feigned a puncture as an excused to call to the farm. In June Sophie had sent Tomi a fax about the death of a mutual colleague, Gilbert Estève. She may have been seeking information or just making contact. Sophie made a habit out of making contacts with important artists and thinkers. It was one of the things that a colleague said of her, she knew all the right people. It is possible that Tomi was one of the people Sophie wanted to meet for a while. Tomi invited her in for a drink after she had finished her walk. She returned an hour later and they had a conversation over two glasses of wine.
Tomi was a renowned visual artist, with a keen eye and a professional interest in culture. Born in Alsace he was marked by World War II and had seen the ravages of the Nazis and the backlash from the French afterwards. He worked for as a cultural ambassador to improve Franco German relations.
The statement that Tomi gave is remarkable in the insight it gives to Sophie’s character her interests and state of mind.
“She was saying how great Ireland was for literature and education compared to France, how France had thousands of books published every year but that there was no good Authors there, how Ireland was vibrant as a centre of literature for a small Country. She discussed her family, moreover her children and their education in France. She indicated that the reason she was here in Ireland was she wanted to be alone for Christmas. I considered this strange but I sometimes like to be alone too. We talked about books and culture and how the language here was more meaningful and truthful compared to the superficial nature of the French.”
“She seemed a very genuine person, a fine person, not pretentious or snobby. I thought she was deep and intelligent, so much so that I made notes of some things she said, “In a language there should be no need of the use of cuteness” “The problem of France is her lack of modesty”. I wrote those saying they might be useful for my work in the futre. I wrote the quotes on a card in which we exchanged addresses before she left. On hindsight now I would go as far as saying she was not beaming, that she had something on her mind. It’s hard when you do not know someone well to say. I offered her a third glass of wine but she did not take any. We gave her some eggs to take with her, half dozen for her supper. We have hens.”
The word “genuine” is telling. Tomi was struck by Irish people, how the highest compliment an Irish person can give about another, is to say that person is “genuine”.
Tomi described her appearance:
“She was wearing some type of black leather expensive looking pants, brown suede hiking boots, a white/cream ribbed polo necked sweater and a beige wool blazer and a navy blue wool jacket with belt and a navy wool cap and red suede gloves, wine/red gloves. She was dressed very well. She had her hair tied back.”
As to her demeanor, this seems to have grown with the telling. The documentaries made much of the legend of the lady of the lake, whose appearance is reputed to be a harbinger of death. This lurid tale does not feature in the early Garda statements. Tomi remarked that “she was not beaming”, that she may have had something on her mind. His wife Yvonne turned up while they were chatting.
“While we were chatting, Sophie told me that while she was up at the castles she felt this great anxiety almost fear. This is not an uncommon feeling for people who visit the castles. She wasn’t in a cheerful mood but she wasn’t really glum either. She talked about her plans for the future and we spoke about meeting up in Paris in the Spring. She seemed happy to be here and she wanted to be here. She said she liked it here but her husband didn’t. She said she would be back at Easter. We made vague arrangements to meet over the next three days. I gave Sophie some eggs and she left here at about 5.45 p.m.” Yvonne’s estimate of the time she left must be an error. It is more likely she left at around 3:45.
After leaving Dunlough Sophie went to Crookhaven to Sullivans pub, a legendary stop. Here she spoke with the proprietor Billy O’Sullivan and his son Dermot, both of whom speak good French and knew Sophie from prior visits. They also knew her friend Alexandra Lewy. One time Alexandra had arranged to buy a cast iron church gate for Sophie’s birthday, Sophie was fond of antiques and bric-a-brac. Dermot had carried this gate up to the cottage. Sophie asked about getting logs for her fire. Dermot recommended she go to a filling station. She said there was only kindling at the filling stations.
It is interesting that so much of Sophie’s alleged stops and conversations were about fire, kindling, logs etc. Despite this, the photos from her house show she had a lot of fuel. There is a stack of logs, several bales of peat briquettes, what looks to be a 40kg bag of coal and one, perhaps two baskets full of kindling. She had enough for days of fires, unless she lit both hearths, which would be unlikely considering the second hearth did not draft properly, and she was arranging to have it fixed. The kindling may have been bought from Camiers Garage when Kitty Kingston reported meeting her on Friday.
She told her friend Alexandra before she left that she was going to sleep in the guest room because it was the warmest room, being directly above the oil range. There was also a brass bedwarmer found next to her bed. All these details point to Sophie being acutely aware of the cold.
A witness heard her discussing the old Coastguard houses with the Sullivans. These are a prominent landmark visible from O’Sullivan’s pub across the water. The witness left before Sophie did at 4:30pm so she must have returned to the cottage no earlier than 5pm.
The witness noted she was wearing “black leather pants and brown suede desert boots and a long chunky jumper”. This matches well with Tomi Ungerer’s account.
Note the "desert boots" seen by this witness and the "suede hiking boots" mentioned by Tomi Ungerer are probably not the hiking boots she was wearing when she died. The hiking boots she was wearing were very worn, the laces had snapped and had been tied halfway down the lace holes. It looks to me she shoved them on without untying/tying the laces. Sophie would not have visited Schull wearing old worn-out shoes. A pair of dark brown suede "desert boots" are visible at the bottom of the stairs in the garda photos. These match better with the shoes seen by the witness.
It’s 25 minutes drive from Crookhaven back to the cottage so if Sophie left at 4:30 she would have been back home before 5pm.
We know she most likely went home, because at 5:32pm she called her friend Agnès Thomas to wish her a happy birthday. Agnès was out so Sophie left a message.
The postman called at 6pm and noted the lights were on. Presumably he was doing a Sunday shift to cope with the Christmas rush. He didn’t see Sophie’s car, but as he only went as far as the lower gate, it is quite possible he missed it.
At 7:30pm she called her housekeeper Josephine but she was out. She tried her again at 9:10pm but again she was out. Josephine returned and called her back at 10pm. Sophie told her she would be leaving on the 24th, not the 26th as she originally intended. They arranged to meet the following day at noon.
Sophie’s phone records were not available, as the exchange she was on was a traditional analogue exchange, with no recording facility. Schull was one of the last places in the country to have such an old system. Days later Garda technicians tried to retrieve call details from her cordless phone but its batteries were flat and nothing was found.
At around 10:30pm she called her husband Daniel, who said he couldn’t take her call. He said he was in a meeting with Unifrance associates. As it was nearly midnight in France, this an unusual time to have a work meeting. Daniel called her back “about twelve minutes later”. He said she was sleepy and probably in bed. Given that the cordless phone was found next to her bed, this seems plausible. He also said that she told him about her visit to the Ungerers and had formed a work project with him. He said she told him she returned home at 9:30pm, but he could be wrong about this. The phone calls to her friend and housekeeper strongly suggest she was at home from 5:30pm.
This was the last anyone heard from Sophie until her body was discovered at 10am the following morning.
From this point all we have is are the police photos and the story they tell is ambiguous, there are multiple possible interpretations.
The fire was lit that evening and there was an empty wine glass on the mantlepiece with dregs of wine in it. There was a loaf of bread, a white crusty “basket loaf” which had been sliced and left open. This is odd as there are no crumbs visible on the table and no plate. Would Sophie have gone to bed leaving the bread out? It’s possible. Another possibility is that the bread was sliced in the morning. But if so where is the plate that she used?
Conceivably Sophie may have left these items from another evening, but it is more likely she consumed the wine that evening, possibly with some cheese she had in her pantry, and the bread she had cut. There was a book open on the table, propped open by a jar of honey next to an empty teacup. However as the cordless phone was found by her bedside, it seems likely this was all left from the previous evening.
It seems the most likely Sophie spent her last night reading, went to bed and then took the call from Daniel.
The book propped open was not a Yeat’s anthology. There is a tale repeated by many true crime authors that Sophie was reading a Yeats poem called “A Dream Death”. It contains the lines
I DREAMED that one had died in a strange place Near no accustomed hand,
Ralph Riegel titled his book after this poem. But this is not the poem she was reading, if any. Yes there was a Yeats anthology found on her bed, but not the bed she slept in, it was on the bed in her personal room which she didn’t use that weekend. The anthology is “Quarente-cinq poèmes suivi de La Résurrection”, a collection of later Yeats poems translated by Yves Bonnefoy. It does not contain the poem “A Dream of Death” but it does contain a poem called “Death”, a meditation on how animals die versus men.
Nor dread nor hope attend A dying animal; A man awaits his end Dreading and hoping all;
But the Yeats anthology is not open on the bed, it is closed in the police photos. Unless the Gardai picked it up before photographing the room, then we cannot be sure what poem or poems she read. As regards the book propped open on the kitchen table, it’s prose and it is French. Journalist Lara Marlowe wrote that the book open on the table was a book about lighthouses.
Among the exhibits the Gardai took are three books
- Le Coeur Battant – “The beating heart” – this is the title of a 1960 French movie.
- Le Tenes Vert – Unknown – looks like a transcription error by the Gardai, could be “Les Terres Vertes”
- Le Cine Monde – World Cinema
On the shelf in her box bedroom we can see a book by Virginia Woolf, the title itself is illegible in the photo but Woolf’s distinctive profile photo is visible on the spine. I wonder if the book might be “A Room of one’s Own”. This essay advocated that a woman writer could never accomplish anything unless she had financial independence and her own space to work in. Even if it was some other book by Woolf, this essay would have been known to Sophie. It hints at what the white cottage meant to her. Her tiny box room tucked under the gable and raised single bed was a quasi-monastic cell - a creative space, a room of her own in West Cork.
2024.05.10 20:04 Vukobasa An observer in the Near East: MONTENEGRO (1907)
 | ΜΟΝΤΕΝEGRO submitted by Vukobasa to Crnogorstvo [link] [comments] CHAPTER I THE CITY IN THE SKY Why I went to the Balkans―The road to Montenegro―Cettinje and its petroleum tins―About the blood-feud―England and Montenegro―Warned not to attempt to go to Albania―My guide a marked man-The story of Tef―A woman's fickleness, and its sequel. CHAPTER II AN AUDIENCE OF PRINCE NICHOLAS The Palace at Cettinje―A cigarette with the Prince―The policy of Montenegro―A confidential chat―His Royal Highness's admiration for England―His views upon Macedonia―He urges me not to attempt to go to Albania. but I persuade him to help me―His Highness's kindness―Souvenirs. ** CHAPTER I THE CITY IN THE SKY Why I went to the Balkans— The road to Montenegro — Cettinje and its petroleum tins — About the blood-feud — England and Montenegro — Warned not to attempt to go to Albania — My guide a marked man — The story of Tef — A woman's fickleness, and its sequel. I ENTERED the Balkans by the back door. The luxuries of the Orient Express had no attraction for me. I wanted to see the Balkans as they really are, those great, wild, mountainous countries, so full of race hatreds, of political bickerings, of fierce blood-feuds, of feverish propa- gandas those nations with their interesting monarchs and their many mysteries. The "Orient" runs direct from Paris to the Balkan capitals, it is true, but if one goes to study a people the capital is not the only place in which to discover the truth. One must go into the country, move among the peasantry, hear their grievances and investigate their wrongs. Therefore I decided to enter the East by Montenegro, and also visit the wild and little-known regions of Northern Albania. The comfortable voyage by the Austrian-Lloyd mail steamer Graf Wurmbrand from Trieste down the Adriatic, touching at Pola, the Austrian naval station, Lussinpiccolo, Zara- famed for its maraschino-Sebenico, Spalato, and Gravosa to Cattaro, has been already described by many writers. Suffice it to say that it is perhaps one of the most picturesque of pleasure-trips in the world, for every moment one has a fresh panorama of mountain and blue sea, of green, fertile islands with subtropical vegetation, and tiny white villages nestling at the sea's edge, as the steamer threads her way through the narrow and often difficult channels. At times the wild scenery, especially in the Bocche di Cattaro, reminds the traveller of the Norwegian fiords, and at others the coast is an almost exact reproduction of the French Riviera. The object of my journey was, however, not in order to write a mere description of men and places. There have been other travellers in the Balkans who have related their story, therefore my mission was to make careful inquiry into the present unsettled state of affairs, try and discover the grievances of both sides, and endeavour to obtain from the rulers and statesmen of the various nations their aspirations for the future. This I succeeded in doing, for the various monarchs of the Balkans graciously gave me audience; and from their Ministers, from the middle classes, and from the peasants, I was enabled at last to form some conclusion as to the real situation-political, economical, social, and financial. The writer who attempts to place the various Balkan questions impartially and clearly before the public will at once find himself utterly confused, and wallowing wildly in a morass of misstatement and misrepresentation. The Balkans are torn by race hatreds, party strife, and the intrigues of the Powers. The Turk hates the Bulgar, the Serb hates the Austrian, the Roumanian hates the Greek, the Albanian hates the Montenegrin, the Bosnian hates the Turk, while the Macedonian hates everybody all round. What is told to one authoritatively one hour, is flatly contradicted the next; therefore it is not in the least surprising that in the European Press there have been so many misstatements about the various Balkan questions, the real truth being so very difficult to obtain. I have, however, endeavoured to obtain it, and at risk of being injudicious, to place before the reader the facts as they are, without any political bias, or any seeking to gloss over the many glaring defects of administration of which I have myself been witness. To describe the beauties of the Bocche di Cattaro, that series of winding channels where the high grey mountains rise sheer from the water, would be only to traverse old ground. Suffice it to say that I landed at Cattaro on a bright, sunny noon, and found upon the quay a tall, lean mountaineer who had been sent to meet me. To the traveller fresh from the West the Montenegrin costume of both women and men is very attractive, but a few days in the Balkans soon accustoms the eye to a perfect phantasmagoria of colour and of costume. Pero was my driver's name, and I noticed that around his waist was a revolver belt, but minus the weapon. I inquired where it was, and with a grin he informed me that Cattaro, being in Dalmatia, the Austrians would not allow Montenegrins to bring arms into their country; so they were compelled to leave them on the other side of the frontier, ten kilometres distant. My bags packed upon the three-horse travelling carriage and secured with many strings, and Pero equipped with a plentiful stock of cigarettes, he mounted upon the box, whipped up his long-tailed ponies, and we started on our eight-hour ascent of that great wall of mountain that hides Montenegro from the sea. As we ascended through the little village of Skaljari we entered upon a magnificent road, said to be one of the greatest engineering feats of modern times, and steadily ascended, until at the striped black-and-yellow Austrian boundary post we crossed the frontier, and were in the "Land of the Black Mountain"-Montenegro. Across the road, at an acute angle, a row of paving-stones marks the frontier, and soon after- wards we found ourselves in the wildest and most desolate mountain region. At a lonely roadside hut Pero obtained his big, serviceable-looking revolver, and I, of course, wore mine in my belt; for in Montenegro or Albania arms make the man. A man unarmed is looked upon as an effeminate coward. Indeed, by order of Prince Nicholas every Monte- negrin must wear the national dress, both men and women, and every man must carry his revolver when out of doors. Four hours from Cattaro we were in a lonely mountain fastness, a wild, desolate, treeless region of huge limestone rocks of peculiar volcanic formation, which gave them the appearance of a boiling sea. The views over the Adriatic as we turned back were so superb that, despite photographing being strictly forbidden on account of the fortresses in the vicinity, I could not resist the temptation to take one or two surreptitiously. On, through a bleak, uninhabited country, we at last reached the guard-house of Kerstac, and then half an hour later found ourselves upon a plateau where, in the centre, stood the small clean village of Nyegush, the ancestral home of the reigning family, and the scene of most of the Montenegrin wars of independence. Here we halted for half an hour at the post-house, and before we left, the big, lumbering post-diligence, with its armed guard, came up behind us. Before we moved off again it had grown dark, the moon shone, and for four hours longer we alternately climbed and descended through that wild region of silence and desolation, until at last we saw, deep below, the lights of Cettinje, the little capital, and an hour later brought us to the unpre- tending "Grand" Hotel. Hardly had I entered my room when there came a loud knock at my door, and a tall, scarlet-coated Montenegrin warrior, armed to the teeth, entered and saluted. For a moment I looked up at him aghast, but the mystery was solved when, next second, he handed me with great ceremony a telegram from a dear friend in England wishing me God- speed. I had taken him to be, at least, one of the Prince's bodyguard, and he was only a plain telegraph messenger! This was but one of many surprises in store for me in Montenegro. Next morning I went out to look round the clean little capital, when, on passing the Prince's palace, I saw a number of soldiers drawn up, and as I went by, the band suddenly struck up the British National Anthem! I raised my hat, halted, and stood puzzled. Surely they were not honouring me! Another moment, however, and I recognised the reason. In a carriage, accompanied by the Grand Marechal of the Court, there drove up my friend Mr. Charles des Graz, the newly-appointed British Chargé d'Affaires to Montenegro, who was about to present his creden- tials to His Royal Highness the Prince. Montenegro is perhaps the most interesting country in all the Balkans. Cettinje, a small, clean town of broad streets and one-storeyed, whitewashed houses, is a little city in the sky, lying as it does in a cup-shaped depression at the summit of a high, bare mountain. Its long, straight, main street reminds one very much of a small country town in England, if it were not that everyone is, by law, compelled to wear the national dress, and every man has in his belt his big, long- barrelled revolver, without which he must never go out of doors. The men, sturdy mountaineers, are of fine physique- handsome fellows, all of them. Their dress consists of dark blue baggy trousers, white woollen gaiters, raw-hide shoes, a scarlet jacket heavily braided with gold, and a small round cap, with black silk around the edge and the crown of the same colour as the jacket, bearing the Prince's initials in Servian letters, "H.I." The women, who are particularly good-looking, wear dark skirts, beautifully hand-embroidered blouses, and a kind of long coat, with open sleeves of soft, dove-grey cloth. Forbidden to wear European hats, they are compelled to adopt an exactly similar cap to the men, except that the crown is embroidered instead of bearing the royal initials. Nowhere have I seen such glorification of the male as in Montenegro. To the men, born fighters as they are, work is undignified; therefore the women toil while the opposite sex look on. I saw women employed in building operations and performing work which, in other countries, is left to day- labourers. Cettinje is quaint in the extreme. The only houses of foreigners are the various Legations, and the only foreigners are diplomats with their wives and families. The first thing that strikes the stranger is the number of petroleum tins. Opposite the hotel I saw a great ring of empty tins, numbering some hundreds, ranged around a fountain. A few women were squatting gossiping, and an armed policeman lounged against the water-source. On inquiry, I found that there was a water famine, and the tins had been placed there at dawn to await the moment when the authorities thought fit to allow the people to get their daily supply. The women had gone away to work, and would return later. The Monte- negrins a short time ago constructed a reservoir, but there was a crack in it, so the water ran away. Hence the famine. The petroleum tin is never out of sight for a single moment in Cettinje. At any hour, and in any street, you see women and children carrying them. They are used for everything, from milk-pails to flower-pots. In Cettinje one comes for the first time up against the dark-faced, scowling Albanian in his tightly fitting trousers of white wool striped with black, his dirty white fez, and the swagger of superiority in his gait. He is well armed, and for a good reason. The Montenegrin hates the Albanian, because of the constant border feuds over at Podgoritza, where blood is constantly spilt, and where I have seen a Montenegrin in the market squatting over a basket of apples with a loaded rifle. That morning I was chatting to a man in Montenegrin dress, of whom I had bought some excellent cigarettes, manufactured by the Montenegro Tobacco Monopoly-an Italian syndicate, by the way and happened to mention that I was on my way to Albania. "Ah, gospodin!" he exclaimed, holding up both his hands, and glancing at the revolver in my belt. "Take my advice. Don't go into Albania or Macedonia. You are not safe there from one moment to the other. For half a word they'll shoot you dead as easily as they drink a glass of wine. No man's life is worth a moment's purchase there. I'm Albanian myself from Kroja-and I know." This was scarcely reassuring. I looked about me on every hand as I strolled through Cettinje. All was so quiet, so orderly, so very peaceful there, even though the big, burly mountaineers in the gold-laced jackets eyed me with askance as I passed. Not without some trepidation I took a number of photographs, for I had heard that, like the Turk, the Monte- negrin was averse to having his counterfeit presentment put upon paper. Nevertheless, the first feeling of insecurity having passed, I very soon found myself quite at home in Cettinje, and in the midst of very good and kind friends. A good many foreigners come up from Cattaro to pry about Cettinje for a day or two, buy picture-postcards and antique arms, sneer at the honest Montenegrin, and return into Dalmatia. Towards such, the Montenegrin is not par- ticularly polite. But those who go to Cettinje to seriously and thoroughly study the people and their future will find a great deal of genuine and charming hospitality. My first day in Cettinje was lonely. Afterwards, until I left, I was always with friends and officials, who took the greatest trouble to answer my questions and explain matters. Montenegro is entirely unlike any other country in the world. Its air of antiquity is particularly pleasing, while on every hand the beneficent rule of Prince Nicholas is apparent. Every man in Montenegro swears by his Prince, whom he almost worships. They call him their "father," and if His Royal Highness raised the standard of war to- morrow, every man would rise and fight to the death. The Prince is accessible to all his people-more so to them, indeed, than to the diplomats. Sometimes, early in the morning, he will sit in an arm-chair on the steps leading to the entrance of his palace, and there hear the complaints or petitions of his people. In this patriarchal way he often ministers justice. Last year he granted Montenegro a Constitution, and there is now a Skupshtina similar to that of Servia; but the people have not yet quite understood that in future they must go to the Ministers, and not to their Prince. They will see him, and nobody else. In no country is loyalty and patriotism so strong as in Montenegro. The army is well trained, and the whole country being one huge natural fortress, a foreign enemy would experience enormous difficulty in gaining entrance. In Cettinje, even a constant traveller like myself meets with continual surprises. One day, while walking at the rear of the Bigliardo, or old palace-so called because when built the first billiard table was introduced-I heard the sound of clanking chains behind me. At first I took no notice, but as it continued with regular rhythm I glanced behind, when, to my amaze- ment, I saw a convict in leg-fetters with difficulty taking his afternoon stroll beneath the trees! There were several others on the grass plot before the prison, idling in the shadow or gossiping with their friends, who had come to keep them company! Inquiriesshowed that most of these prisoners were murderers, not for robbery but for vendetta. In Montenegro the blood- feud is constant, and life is held very cheap. It invariably commences by jealousy, and is of everyday occurrence. Two lovers quarrel, and one is shot. Then the blood-feud commences, and unlike in Italy or other Southern countries, the vendetta is not only upon the murderer, but upon his next-of-kin. Therefore, if the assassin escapes into Servia, Bosnia, or Turkey, as he so often does, the brother of the dead man takes up the feud and kills the assassin's brother without parley when next he meets him. I myself saw a man shot dead one night in Ryeka, at the head of the Lake of Scutari, and the murderer walked coolly away undeterred. It was the blood-feud, and no one took much notice. "S'bogom!" (God be with you!) It is the expression you hear on every hand in the Balkans. In the streets the peasants touch their round caps in salute and exclaim, "S'bogom!" When you leave for a journey and when you return, when you rise and when you go to rest; even if you go for a short walk-it is the same. Life is so uncertain in those wild regions that the protection of the Almighty is invoked upon you always, and your revolver is ever ready in your belt. In Cettinje I had a faithful guide and servant, a black-eyed, somewhat sinister-looking Albanian, named Palok. He travelled with me through Montenegro and Albania, and was most faithful and devoted. Besides Albanian and Serb he spoke a little Italian, and possessed a keen sense of humour. One day, while we were travelling through the wild, bare mountain, a perfect wilderness of huge boulders without a single tree or even blade of grass, we halted for our midday meal, and while eating he told me of a great friend of his who had recently been killed at Spuz for vendetta, and he added, fondling the butt of his revolver, "I too, gospodin, shall die before long." I looked at him in surprise. His usually humorous face had changed. It was dark and thoughtful, and his black eyes were fixed upon me. "Is there a blood-feud upon you, then?" I asked, in surprise. "Yes," he replied briefly; and though I endeavoured to persuade him to tell the story, it was not until the following day that with some reluctance he explained. "A year ago my brother Tef, away in Scutari, fell in love with a beautiful girl. He had a rival-a young Albanian, a coppersmith in the bazaar. They quarrelled, but the girl-ah! she was very beautiful-preferred Tef. Where- upon the rival one night took his rifle and laid in wait for my brother in the main street of Scutari. Early in the evening he left the house of the girl's father, and as he passed the fellow shot poor Tef dead." And he paused as his brow knit deeply, and his teeth were set tightly. "Well?" I asked. "Well, gospodin. What would you have done had your own brother died a dog's death? I took a rifle, and within a week the murderer was in his grave. I shot him through the heart and then I left Scutari." "And you are safe here, in Montenegro ?" "Safe! Oh dear, no," he answered. "One day-it may be to-day-the fellow's brother will kill me. He must kill me. It is Fate-why worry about it? It does one no good." And the marked man, the man doomed to die at a moment when he least expects it, rolled a cigarette and lit it with perfect resignment. "And are you not afraid to go with me back to Scutari?" I asked, amazed at his fearlessness. "Afraid, gospodin!" he exclaimed, looking at me in reproach as his hand instinctively wandered to his weapon. "Afraid! No Albanian is afraid of the blood-feud. I have killed the murderer, and his brother must kill me. It is our law." And the doomed man smiled gravely. "And the girl?" I asked. "Ah! They are all the same," he answered, with a quick shrug of the shoulders. "A month ago she married a tobacco- seller a man old enough to be her father. Poor Tef! If he could but know!" "And the blood-feud still continues?" "Of course-until I am dead." Then Palok smoked on in silence, entirely resigned to the fate that awaits him. He knows that one day, as he walks along the road, the sharp crack of a hidden rifle will sound, and he will fall to earth, another victim of a woman's fickleness. S'bogom! God be with you! CHAPTER II AN AUDIENCE OF PRINCE NICHOLAS The Palace at Cettinje-A cigarette with the Prince-The policy of Monte- negro-A confidential chat-His Royal Highness's admiration for England-His views upon Macedonia-He urges me not to attempt to go to Albania, but I persuade him to help me-His Highness's kindness -Souvenirs. HIS Royal Highness the Prince will be pleased to grant you private audience at four o'clock this after- noon, gospodin." The tall, burly aide-de-camp in the little round cap, high boots, pale blue overcoat, and pistols in his belt, saluted, and we shook hands. It was then three o'clock, and I was just about to go out to visit Madame Constantinovitch, the mother of Princess Mirko. So I had to return at once to my room and dress for the audience. The kings and princes of the Balkans have a habit of summoning one at a moment's notice, and paying visits at unearthly hours. Here, in Cettinje, in the heart of these wild, desolate fast- nesses, one seems so far removed from European influence, yet how great a part has this rocky, impregnable country, with its fierce soldier-inhabitants, played in the politics of Eastern Europe, and how great a part it is still destined to play in the near future! The fact that everybody is armed gives the stranger an uncanny feeling. The man who brings one's coffee wears a perfect arsenal of weapons in his sash, and one quickly acquires the habit of carrying a revolver one's self. Indeed, if you are wise, you will carry a good serviceable weapon from the moment you enter the Balkans to the moment you quit them. But if you approach the Albanian frontier, you will be at once warned not to fire without just cause. A few shots is sufficient to alarm the whole neighbourhood for many miles, and on hearing the alarm every man seizes his rifle and flies to the rendezvous, fully equipped and eager for the fight with those Albanian border tribes, of whom I afterwards had the good fortune to be the guest. I had already had a long chat with Prince Danilo, the Crown Prince of Montenegro, whom I found a very smart and highly educated man, fully alive to the political difficulties of the neighbouring states and the necessity of Montenegro preserving her independence. He held very strong views upon the terrible state of affairs in Macedonia, and gave me many interesting details about his own country. Having met him, and also his younger brother, Prince Mirko, I was particularly anxious to make the acquaintance of their father, Prince Nicholas, the ruler of the sturdy, warlike dwellers of the "Land of the Black Mountain "-the principal and most striking figure in this remarkable country, where peace and war walk ever hand-in-hand. Since 1860, when his uncle, Prince Danilo, was assassinated, he has ruled justly, if somewhat sternly, and has succeeded in raising his nation from a state of semi-civilisation to the high place it now occupies in the Eastern world. In 1888 he gave the country a Civil and Criminal Code, and last year he granted a Constitution. Indeed, he has done all in his power to induce his warriors to follow the arts of peace without forgetting those of war. At the hour appointed, the royal aide-de-camp called in a carriage and drove me to the Palace, a long, dark brown building of somewhat plain exterior, as befits the home of a fighting race, where I was received in the great hall by half a dozen bowing servants in scarlet and gold. Here I was met by the chamberlain, who conducted me up the grand staircase and into the great audience-chamber, with its many fine paintings and highly polished floor. Then, after a moment, the Prince-a brilliant figure-entered, shook me by the hand, and welcomed me to Montenegro. These formalities ended, His Royal Highness said in Italian, "Come, let us go into yonder room. We shall be able to talk there more comfortably." And he led me into a smaller chamber, where he gave me a seat at the table where he sat. The afternoon was gloomy, and dusk was creeping on, therefore upon the table a great antique silver candelabra had been set, and by its light I was enabled to obtain a good view of the ruler of Crnagora, the "Land of the Black Mountain." Of magnificent physique, tall, muscular, with hair slightly grey, he bore his sixty-five years lightly. Attired in the splendid national costume of scarlet, blue, and gold, with high boots, he wore a single decoration at his throat, the Cross of Danilo, of which Order he is Master. Upon his hand- some, well-cut features the candles shed a soft light, causing the gold upon his dress to glitter, and I noticed, as I asked him questions, how his dark, keen eyes shot quick, inquiring glances of alertness. After the first few minutes of regal formality His Highness's manner entirely changed. Putting ceremony aside, he pro- duced his cigarette case of crocodile skin, with the royal crown and cipher in gold in the corner-offered me a Montenegrin cigarette, took one himself, lit mine with his own hand, and then we fell to chatting. In the delightful hour and a half we smoked together I asked the prince-poet many questions, and learnt many things. He explained several difficult points in Balkan politics, which to me, an Englishman, had always been puzzling. We spoke in Italian of Macedonia and of a certain well-known foreign diplomat in London who was our mutual friend, the Prince giving me a very kind message to deliver to him. Presently I referred to the splendid result of his rule, and related to him a little incident which had occurred to me in Nyegush a few days before, as showing how deeply he was beloved by his nation. A smile crossed his fine open countenance as he replied simply, "I have done my best for my people-my very best; and I shall do so as long as God gives me life. I am happy to believe that my people appreciate my efforts." "And now, Monseigneur," I asked, "will you tell me what is the present position of Montenegro?" "The present position is peace," was his prompt answer. "I have granted a Constitution, and the first meeting of the new Skupshtina has been held successfully. Though the Albanian question is always with us, I am thankful to say we are on the most excellent terms with Turkey, while towards Russia we are pursuing our traditional policy. For the Emperor Francis Josef of Austria I have nothing but the most profound admiration, and I owe very much to him." "And towards England, Monseigneur ?" "England has been, as you know, Montenegro's very best friend," replied the Prince. "I, personally, have the greatest respect and admiration for your great country. We Montenegrins always remember that it was Mr. Gladstone who gave us the strip of seaboard on the Adriatic with Dulcigno. He was our greatest friend, and his memory is respected by admirer by every man in Montenegro. Of Tennyson, too, I am a great I am very fond of his poems." "You are a poet yourself, Monseigneur," I remarked, remembering that more than one poetical drama from his pen had been successfully produced on the stage. His Royal Highness smiled, and puffed slowly at his cigarette. "I have written one or two little things, it is true; but nothing of late." "I wonder if I dare ask your Royal Highness to write a few lines for me as a souvenir of my visit?" I asked, not without some trepidation. "Ah!-well-I won't promise," he laughed. "All depends whether I'm in the mood for it." "But you will try, won't you? And the Prince nodded assent. Then we spoke of Servia and of recent events there; but he was not inclined to discuss the question, and naturally so, when it is remembered that his daughter was the late wife of King Peter. Returning to the burning question of Macedonia, I saw that he was well informed of all that was transpiring around lakes Presba and Ochrida and down in Serres. "It is a monstrous state of affairs," he declared. "Something must be done at once, for as soon as spring comes again the massacres will increase." "But there are outrages, tortures, and massacres every day," I remarked. "Ah yes," he sighed, "I know. Most terrible details have reached me lately. But you are going to Macedonia yourself, and you will see with your own eyes." "And what, in your opinion, would be the best settlement of the question?" I inquired. "There is but one way, namely, for the Powers to call a conference and place Macedonia under a governor - general, who must be a European prince. The reforms would then be carried out, and the Greek bands expelled from the country. How long will Europe tolerate the present frightful state of affairs?" "The fact is, Monseigneur, that we, in England, are very ignorant of the true state of things, or even of the facts of the Macedonian question," I said. "Ah, there you are quite correct. If your English public knew what was really happening-how an innocent Christian population is being slaughtered and exterminated because of international rivalry-they would cry shame upon those responsible for this wholesale murder and outrage. But" -he smiled-" I almost forget myself. My position as a ruler forbids me to talk politics, you know!" And we laughed together. "So you are going to Servia, Bulgaria, Roumania, and to Constantinople-eh?" he remarked a little later, when we had lit fresh cigarettes. "In Bulgaria, and also in Roumania, you will see many things that will interest you. The Bul- garians are very strongly armed, and so are the Roumanians." "Her Majesty the Queen of Roumania has also promised me audience," I said. "When you see her, will you please present to Her Majesty my most cordial respects. She is so very charming." "I want, Monseigneur, to visit Northern Albania, leaving Montenegro by Ryeka and Scutari. Would that be the best route, do you think?" "What!" he exclaimed, in surprise. "Do you actually contemplate visiting the tribes up in the Accursed Mountains?" "Certainly. Why not?" "Well, my advice is, don't think of going there. If you do, you will never return. You'll be shot at sight, like a dog. You have no idea what those uncivilised tribes are like. The whole country is utterly lawless." "So I understand. But I've also heard that the Albanian possesses a deep sense of honour. And I thought that I might possibly obtain permission from one or other of the chiefs." The Prince was silent for a moment. Then, looking at me across the table, said- "Do not go. It is far too great a risk." His advice was the same that my, friends in London had given me; the same that I had received there, in the market-place of Cettinje. But I was determined, and pressed His Royal Highness to assist me, at last receiving his promise of help. By his kind permission, the Albanian named Palok acted as my guide, and what eventually happened to me in that wild region will be seen in the following pages. "Well," exclaimed the Prince at last, "if you go up there, it must be at your own risk. I've warned you of the danger. No one has been up there for many years. It has been at- tempted, of course, but travellers have either been held to ransom, and the Turks have been compelled to pay for their release, or else they have simply been shot by the first Albanian meeting them. The country beyond Scutari is the most unsafe in the whole Balkan Peninsula." I replied that I intended to make the attempt. "Well, then, I wish you buon viaggio," he laughed. "May every good luck attend you, and as we say in Montenegro - S'bogom! (God be with you!) When you return for I suppose you will pass this way down to the sea-come and see me, and tell me all about the Skreli and Kastrati country -for of course I am highly interested. They are always at war with our people on the frontier." "I will let your Royal Highness know the moment I am back in Cettinje," I promised. Then rising, he gripped my hand warmly, saying- "Then I will help you if I can. Be careful of yourself, for I shall be anxious about you. Again, S'bogom!" And the Prince accompanied me to the head of the grand staircase, where I made my obeisance, turned and descended through the rows of armed and bowing servants ranged in the hall, charmed by His Royal Highness's graciousness towards me and by the pleasant chat I had enjoyed. When, after my journey through Northern Albania, I one afternoon re-entered that audience-chamber, and he came forward with outstretched hand to greet me, he exclaimed- "Well, well! I am so glad to see you back safe and sound. You look a little thinner in the face a little travel-worn- eh? Life in the Albanian mountains is not like your life in London or Paris, is it? But never mind as long as you are safe," he laughed, placing his hand kindly upon my shoulder. "Come along to this room. It is more cosy," and he led me to the smaller apartment, his own private cabinet. For nearly two hours I sat relating to him what occurred on my journey, and describing the wild country which had, until then, been practically a sealed book. Even though Cettinje is so near, hardly anything was known of the Skreli, the Hoti, the Klementi, or the Kastrati tribes, save that they were brigandish bands who constantly raided the Montenegrin frontier. The Prince listened to me with great attention, and put many questions to me as we smoked together. Then rising, he took from a drawer in his great writing- table a small scarlet box, and as he opened it he bestowed upon me a compliment undeserved, for he said - "There are few men who would have risked what you have done. Therefore I wish to invest you with our Order of Danilo, as a mark of my appreciation and esteem." And he displayed to me the beautiful dark blue and white enamelled cross of the Order, the same that he was wearing at his throat, surmounted by the royal crown and suspended upon the white ribbon edged with cerise. After he had invested me with the Order, saying many kind things to me, which I really don't think I deserved, he added- "The chef du chancellerie will send you the diploma in due course, and I trust, when you petition your own gracious Sovereign King Edward, that His Majesty will allow you to wear this insignia." I thanked His Royal Highness, gripped his hand, and a few minutes later passed through the line of bowing servants out of the Palace. And that same evening I received from His Royal Highness the signed photograph which appears in these pages. Before I left Cettinje I received the following expressive lines, written especially for me by a Montenegrin poet who is a great personage, but whose name he would not permit me to give. They are in Servian as follows, and I have placed their English translation below :- S' veledušnog Albiona Pružiše se dvije ruke Crnoj Gori da pomogu U junačke njene muke S' vrućom rječu na ustima Gladston diže Crnogorce A Tenison za najprve U svijet ih broi borce Na glas svoih Velikana Britanski se narod trže Da pomože da zaštiti Crnu Goru iz najbrže Posla svoje bojne ladje Sto na tečnost gospostvuju Veledušno da zaštite Domovinu milu Moju O fala ti po sto puta Blagorodni lyudi Soju Dok je svjeta dok je greda Nad Ulcinjem koje stoju Hraniće ti blagodarnost Ova šaka sokolova Koima si u pomoci Stiga putem od valova. The literal translation in English is as follows:- From the great-souled Albion, Two arms were stretched To help Montenegro In her heroic sufferings. With fiery word on his lips Gladstone lifts up Montenegrins, Whilst Tennyson declared them The very first fighters in the world. On the call of their great men, British people rose up In quickest manner, to help And to protect Montenegro. They despatched their war-ships, Which rule over the seas, Generously to protect My Fatherland so dear to me. Oh! thanks to thee, hundredfold thanks, Noble race of men. As long as the world lasts, As long as the mountains above Dulcigno stand, Will remain grateful to thee, This handful of falcons, To whose help thou didst come By the road of the waves. - An Observer in the Near East - William Le Queux. Publisher, E. Nash, 1907. \** https://preview.redd.it/jg36zlvu1nzc1.jpg?width=465&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=eacb8abc6368963f81177eefecbd44642c09cd97 https://preview.redd.it/7lh8gmvu1nzc1.jpg?width=465&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=225f2bc1649240bfe5c57e72dfdaf93f28938bb7 https://preview.redd.it/2lvn8hwu1nzc1.jpg?width=465&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=6677bcd6e7d76a5f229b5ea7e61c9f0a5596ea47 https://preview.redd.it/pgqltmvu1nzc1.jpg?width=465&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=e4acf257abe5f0223c62635ecd9ac2a4f5e9614e https://preview.redd.it/xktn0ovu1nzc1.jpg?width=465&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=14d6087bbc6b3028c40e6e978674d470e23fab35 https://preview.redd.it/4zps2mvu1nzc1.jpg?width=465&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=51e5049c7cbbc1fc455754e40e04c9b2c9a124e0 https://preview.redd.it/9qr2xrwu1nzc1.jpg?width=465&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=48f98198cad524a0157100b60325e72d6b2f1770 https://preview.redd.it/ywzpenvu1nzc1.jpg?width=465&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=7118b6072a634d6ccce1b96eaab6bebbf987e194 https://preview.redd.it/9h2y0mvu1nzc1.jpg?width=465&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=966897fbdcca422eee9ff410852bcd8cbe89d1ae https://preview.redd.it/07po9ovu1nzc1.jpg?width=465&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=f8a078de6ef8ffc1808160270e46329f3a097d21 https://preview.redd.it/n89tenvu1nzc1.jpg?width=465&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=ea8a9fee167bb25b07ec3137bd235d600cb9dbe4 https://preview.redd.it/vv7knswu1nzc1.jpg?width=465&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=aa295c8644a75b5f5a5050bf0795875f9925c3b5 https://preview.redd.it/q1jxpnvu1nzc1.jpg?width=465&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=8d7431b419b1f5c1a33dba099465285fc5ed5297 https://preview.redd.it/w44qbfwu1nzc1.jpg?width=465&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=e18314ac2a333efe0b2d9301f7fba3c6d40b12f4 https://preview.redd.it/mclcb6tg2nzc1.jpg?width=465&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=90e4b7fedc3b3d63ee33c7c2cbd1b990a60203f3 https://preview.redd.it/qf6829tg2nzc1.jpg?width=465&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=97e01c85545926178ccddbaee3ef4d96f2052201 https://preview.redd.it/5rqaz5tg2nzc1.jpg?width=465&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=b90176f3da386c7875f33301b02806cbfd8ec2c1 https://preview.redd.it/702o47tg2nzc1.jpg?width=465&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=7f3fe6bbf9e492105e72f1a551d902ec74218d03 https://preview.redd.it/bloxg8ug2nzc1.jpg?width=465&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=0b3d48034feb0a9f8f192e91df103a0308991c8b https://preview.redd.it/a2jhb8tg2nzc1.jpg?width=465&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=bb9a7fbfbce7700a06aa50574a786668dd321727 https://preview.redd.it/jgiqu6tg2nzc1.jpg?width=465&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=ec2b5af58c8e25428d0c39550ed54d71e6c9188c https://preview.redd.it/ud3kc5tg2nzc1.jpg?width=465&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=73dd2e0d96ef1cae5d9d934234db8f886b543e83 https://preview.redd.it/59uib9tg2nzc1.jpg?width=465&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=9b319597ac2f654c036eddec48c29e9ad539bebb https://preview.redd.it/8ahdu6tg2nzc1.jpg?width=465&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=1ccad4eec7cb2a6ec943633f09df5e4c6368e21a https://preview.redd.it/iat3u8ug2nzc1.jpg?width=465&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=dd80620268744a4d40a5d90aa291c5c56a5f64a9 https://preview.redd.it/ix1wp7tg2nzc1.jpg?width=465&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=0167cb5340b66f879442cdee00459649a31d8400 https://preview.redd.it/6p3tr6tg2nzc1.jpg?width=465&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=ff95f8f74a7a65050a8abd518f321a186425ff92 https://preview.redd.it/iqvfy6tg2nzc1.jpg?width=465&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=b0216c5b990fc3f44ac5b266cd3838b2830b295b https://preview.redd.it/d94is8tg2nzc1.jpg?width=465&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=74c14118e9431762a63800f3f25ed864ea637e52 |
2024.05.09 15:39 lenkabuben AITH for helping my grandfather
First time posting. I'll try to keep it short but include necessary details. My parents, sister and I were estranged from my grandfather and his wife for 30 years. Little back story, he wasn't exactly a great dad to my mom, she never had a good relationship with him and he left when she was around 12. We are from Czechoslovakia and when the Russians invaded my grandfather left with his second wife to move to Canada. My mom got married young, had my sister and me and when I was 2 they decided to leave as well and the one good thing my grandfather did was help us come to Canada, something I have always been grateful for. He was in our lives when I was little, though he openly favoured my sister (he admits to it now, though he can't remember why). She was older, stronger, faster, while I was quiet and shy and sleepy. We were good kids, normal, typical, active. But his home never felt welcoming. Not warm and safe like a grandparents home should. Looking back, he was a very selfish man. My mom also says she could never rely on him, he wasn't there like a dad should be though she desperately wanted a dad. I give them both grace though, as I learned of their lives. He was born in Spain and when he was little his family had to leave due to the Spanish civil war. Then when in Brno the Nazis came and life got really tough. His sister died as a teenager followed shortly by his mother. My great grandfather was brutal and beat him severely and the threat of death was always there from the Germans, along with hunger. It was a very difficult life. I don't know how difficult his wife's life was, but she did lose a child very suddenly when the girl was 11 or so and that must have broken her. Perhaps she treated us the way she did partially cause of that trauma. I don't know. When I was about 12 and I visited them as I did regularly at that time, I told them a poem I learned at school and they got offended by it. I have no clue, I don't remember. They demanded an apology. My parents were like what the hell for? And we didn't speak for 30 years. Crazy I know. I saw him a few times in that time, once for a funeral as a teenager. He never called, never expressed interest in seeing me or my sister. Since then we grew up, I ended up having a daughter in my 20s, raising her alone, life goes on. About 8 years ago I reached out to him, just to see and I think cause his wife was developing dementia and his life was chaos he expressed no interest. So I gave up. But then 3 years ago I decided what the hell, the man is very old, I don't want regrets, his wife is in long term care and he's alone. I'll try one last time. And he was very glad. We've been in contact ever since. I visit him regularly and as time goes on and he needs more help I've been trying to help him more and more. I have POA, he doesn't like to ask for help so he usually ends up on the floor and I have to call 911 and then he accepts it. Our relationship has grown, he likes our discussions, we discuss history and our lives, I'm the only person he gets to speak Czech with. He's now 92 and it's really showing. He's ended up in the hospital twice this year. I've been trying very hard to arrange help for him, care while he's home, lots and lots of things going on, reaching out to whoever I can since I can't see him daily. I work full time and literally can't. This week has been particularly difficult since he's in hospital so I'm dealing with all that stuff, my mom needs extra help from me since my dad is away for a few weeks and she's post surgery, I have to be there for my daughter who has some mental health struggles of her own, plus I have all the normal work and life stuff. I'm stretched super thin and exhausted. I'm trying my best to fulfill my grandfather's wishes. Not mine.
When I called the ambulance last week his neighbour who sometimes checks on him came by. She offered to check on him daily if he needed and expressed concerned. I've spoken to her only a few times over the past few years. They were pleasant and short conversations. She took my number when the paramedics were at the house. I texted her how he was doing and then asked if she was willing and able to check on him, she has no obligation but that I needed to figure out everything before he was sent home from the hospital. She never responded. I was arranging for someone to come clean his house since its frankly gross (he kinda soiled himself before he fell) and at his age he just wasn't managing the way he should. No clutter or anything too bad, he just doesn't see certain things and he needed new bedsheets and a bunch of stuff. So I arranged for that but I needed the cleaner to have a key to the house. So I asked that she return the spare key she has. She responded that she will only return it if my grandfather asks for it back. Then an hour later texted that I'm a terrible person, where have I been, my texts to her were rude and I only want his house and money, that she knows all about me and she's blocking me and to never contact her again. I'm happy to share screen shots of the conversation but going over it I don't see where I was rude. It really threw me off cause I've been trying so hard to arrange help. Yes I'm inheriting the house. But that's what HE wants. I would help him either way. He is big on family legacy and he wants the house to stay within the family. My mother wants nothing to do with him and my sister doesn't really talk to anyone in the family. That literally leaves just me (his wife has no living family and all their friends are dead). I've never been motivated by money. I know many people do take advantage of their elderly relatives for inheritance. It's always disgusted me and I make sure to check myself to ensure my intentions are good. But now my future neighbour hates my guts, thinks I'm a gold digging awful person. I think cause I'm stretched thin, exhausted and trying my very best her comments really hurt. I don't think I deserve them, she's never tried to get to know me and knows nothing about what my family has been through over the past 30 years or why I wasn't in his life all that time. I was a child, I had no say when we stopped talking. He could have reached out and has thanked me for calling him, admitting he had to much pride to pick up the phone and do the same. Sorry, this is longer than I wanted. Thanks.
submitted by lenkabuben to AITAH [link] [comments]
When I called the ambulance last week his neighbour who sometimes checks on him came by. She offered to check on him daily if he needed and expressed concerned. I've spoken to her only a few times over the past few years. They were pleasant and short conversations. She took my number when the paramedics were at the house. I texted her how he was doing and then asked if she was willing and able to check on him, she has no obligation but that I needed to figure out everything before he was sent home from the hospital. She never responded. I was arranging for someone to come clean his house since its frankly gross (he kinda soiled himself before he fell) and at his age he just wasn't managing the way he should. No clutter or anything too bad, he just doesn't see certain things and he needed new bedsheets and a bunch of stuff. So I arranged for that but I needed the cleaner to have a key to the house. So I asked that she return the spare key she has. She responded that she will only return it if my grandfather asks for it back. Then an hour later texted that I'm a terrible person, where have I been, my texts to her were rude and I only want his house and money, that she knows all about me and she's blocking me and to never contact her again. I'm happy to share screen shots of the conversation but going over it I don't see where I was rude. It really threw me off cause I've been trying so hard to arrange help. Yes I'm inheriting the house. But that's what HE wants. I would help him either way. He is big on family legacy and he wants the house to stay within the family. My mother wants nothing to do with him and my sister doesn't really talk to anyone in the family. That literally leaves just me (his wife has no living family and all their friends are dead). I've never been motivated by money. I know many people do take advantage of their elderly relatives for inheritance. It's always disgusted me and I make sure to check myself to ensure my intentions are good. But now my future neighbour hates my guts, thinks I'm a gold digging awful person. I think cause I'm stretched thin, exhausted and trying my very best her comments really hurt. I don't think I deserve them, she's never tried to get to know me and knows nothing about what my family has been through over the past 30 years or why I wasn't in his life all that time. I was a child, I had no say when we stopped talking. He could have reached out and has thanked me for calling him, admitting he had to much pride to pick up the phone and do the same. Sorry, this is longer than I wanted. Thanks.
2024.05.08 08:07 epistemic_amoeboid Reconsidering Our Old Ethics
For those of you that are not only questioning LLDM's but also questioning Christianity's ethics as a whole, I recommend Simon Blackburn's book Ethics: A Very Short Introduction.
Here's a short excerpt from Chapter 1: Seven Threats to Thinking about Ethics.
<>
1. The threat of the death of God
For many people, ethics is not only tied up with religion, but is completely settled by it. Such people do not need to think too much about ethics, because there is an authoritative code of instructions, a handbook of how to live. It is the word of Heaven, or the will of a Being greater than ourselves. The standards of living become known to us by revelation of this Being. Either we take ourselves to perceive the fountainhead directly, or more often we have the benefit of an intermediary - a priest, or a prophet, a text, or a tradition sufficiently in touch with the divine that will be able to communicate it to us. Then we know what to do. Obedience to the divine will is meritorious, and brings reward; disobedience is lethally punished. In the Christian version, obedience brings triumph over death, or everlasting life. Disobedience means eternal Hell.
In the 19th century, in the West, when traditional religious belief began to lose its grip, many thinkers felt that ethics went with it. Our question is the implication for our standards of behavior. Is it true that, as Dostoevsky said, 'If God is dead, everything is permitted? It might seem to be true: without a lawgiver, how can there be a law?
Before thinking about this more directly, we might take a diversion through some of the shortcomings in traditional religious instruction. Anyone reading the Bible might be troubled by some of its precepts. The Old Testament God is partial to some people above others, and above all jealous of his own preeminence, a strange moral obsession. He seems to have no problem with a slave-owning society (Exodus 21: 7 explains how slavery of daughters should be conducted); He believes that birth control is a capital crime (Genesis 38: 9-10); He is keen on child abuse (Proverbs 22: 15, 23: 13, 23: 14, 26: 3), and for good measure, He approves of fool abuse (Prov. 29: 15).
Things are usually supposed to get better in the New Testament, with its admirable emphasis on love, forgiveness, and meekness. Yet the overall story of 'atonement' and 'redemption' is morally dubious, suggesting as it does that justice can be satisfied by the sacrifice of an innocent for the sins of the guilty - the doctrine of the scapegoat.
Then the persona of Jesus in the Gospels has his fair share of moral quirks. He can be sectarian: 'Go not into the way of the gentiles, and into any city of the Samaritans enter ye not. But go rather to the lost sheep of the House of Israel' (Matthew 10: 5-6). In a similar vein, he dismisses the non-Jewish woman from Canaan who had asked for help with the chilling racist remark: 'It is not meet to take the children's bread and cast it to dogs' (Matt. 15: 26). He wants us to be gentle, meek, and mild, but he himself is far from it: 'Ye serpents, ye generation of vipers, how can ye escape the damnation of Hell?' (Matt. 23: 33). The episode of the Gadarene swine shows him to share the then - popular belief that mental illness is caused by possession by devils. It also shows that animal lives - also anybody else's property rights in pigs - have no value (Matt. 17: 15-21, Luke 8: 28-33). The events of the fig tree in Bethany (Mark 11:12-21) would make any environmentalist's hair stand on end.
...
The Euthyphro Dilemma:
The classic challenge to the idea that ethics either needs or can be given a religious foundation [or a foundation in God] is provided in Plato, in the dialogue known as The Euthyphro. In this dialogue, Socrates, who is on the point of being tried for impiety, encounters one Euthyphro, who sets himself up as knowing exactly what piety or justice is. Indeed. he is so sure of this that he is on the point of prosecuting his own father for causing a death. Socrates challenges him by asking: "The point which I should first wish to understand is whether the pious or holy is beloved by the gods because it is holy, or holy because it is beloved of the gods. Once he has posed this question, Socrates has no trouble coming down on one side of it:
...
Could Morality be grounded in a better version of God?
The question then becomes, what other kind is there? A more adequate conception of God should certainly stop him from being a vindictive old man in the sky. Something more abstract, perhaps? But in that mystical direction lies a god who stands a long way away from human beings, and also from human good or bad. As the Greek Epicurus (341-271 вс) put it:
The Role of Myth in Morality:
The alternative suggested by Plato's dialogue is that religion gives mythical clothing and mythical authority to a morality that is just there to begin with. Myth, in this sense, is not to be despised. It gives us symbolism and examples that engage our imaginations.
[Myth] is the depository for humanity's endless attempts to struggle with death, desire, happiness, and good and evil. When an exile reminisces, she will remember the songs and poems and folktales of the homeland rather than its laws or its constitution. If the songs no longer speak to her, she is on the way to forgetting. Similarly, we may fear that when religion no longer speaks to us, we may be on our way to forgetting some important part of history and human experience. This may be a moral change, for better or worse. In this analysis, religion is not the foundation of ethics, but its showcase or its symbolic expression. It provides the music and the poetry with which ethics is displayed.
...
The 'Death of God' is no threat:
If all this is right, then the death of God is far from being a threat to ethics. It is a necessary clearing of the ground, on the way to revealing ethics for what it really is. Perhaps there cannot be laws without a lawgiver. But Plato tells us that the ethical laws cannot be the arbitrary whims of personalized Gods. Perhaps instead we can make our own laws. We know that this is sometimes true-there is no biblical or Koranic authority for a 30 mph speed limit-so why shouldn't it always be true?
*[Here I disagree with Blackburn. I don't think we can nor that we should make 'our own laws'. I think that, given our nature as human beings, there are things that are befitting and things that aren't befitting for humans. These, instead of coming up with them, are to be discover by us. And we have made progress. Today we talk about and defend human rights, while in the past slavery, genocide, pillaging, and raping were the norm. And it was we humans [not so much the Bible as Blackburn cited textual evidence above] who slowly realized how inadequate these behaviors were for us humans. We humans have made epistemological progress in ethics.]
submitted by epistemic_amoeboid to exlldm [link] [comments]
Here's a short excerpt from Chapter 1: Seven Threats to Thinking about Ethics.
<>
1. The threat of the death of God
For many people, ethics is not only tied up with religion, but is completely settled by it. Such people do not need to think too much about ethics, because there is an authoritative code of instructions, a handbook of how to live. It is the word of Heaven, or the will of a Being greater than ourselves. The standards of living become known to us by revelation of this Being. Either we take ourselves to perceive the fountainhead directly, or more often we have the benefit of an intermediary - a priest, or a prophet, a text, or a tradition sufficiently in touch with the divine that will be able to communicate it to us. Then we know what to do. Obedience to the divine will is meritorious, and brings reward; disobedience is lethally punished. In the Christian version, obedience brings triumph over death, or everlasting life. Disobedience means eternal Hell.
In the 19th century, in the West, when traditional religious belief began to lose its grip, many thinkers felt that ethics went with it. Our question is the implication for our standards of behavior. Is it true that, as Dostoevsky said, 'If God is dead, everything is permitted? It might seem to be true: without a lawgiver, how can there be a law?
Before thinking about this more directly, we might take a diversion through some of the shortcomings in traditional religious instruction. Anyone reading the Bible might be troubled by some of its precepts. The Old Testament God is partial to some people above others, and above all jealous of his own preeminence, a strange moral obsession. He seems to have no problem with a slave-owning society (Exodus 21: 7 explains how slavery of daughters should be conducted); He believes that birth control is a capital crime (Genesis 38: 9-10); He is keen on child abuse (Proverbs 22: 15, 23: 13, 23: 14, 26: 3), and for good measure, He approves of fool abuse (Prov. 29: 15).
Things are usually supposed to get better in the New Testament, with its admirable emphasis on love, forgiveness, and meekness. Yet the overall story of 'atonement' and 'redemption' is morally dubious, suggesting as it does that justice can be satisfied by the sacrifice of an innocent for the sins of the guilty - the doctrine of the scapegoat.
Then the persona of Jesus in the Gospels has his fair share of moral quirks. He can be sectarian: 'Go not into the way of the gentiles, and into any city of the Samaritans enter ye not. But go rather to the lost sheep of the House of Israel' (Matthew 10: 5-6). In a similar vein, he dismisses the non-Jewish woman from Canaan who had asked for help with the chilling racist remark: 'It is not meet to take the children's bread and cast it to dogs' (Matt. 15: 26). He wants us to be gentle, meek, and mild, but he himself is far from it: 'Ye serpents, ye generation of vipers, how can ye escape the damnation of Hell?' (Matt. 23: 33). The episode of the Gadarene swine shows him to share the then - popular belief that mental illness is caused by possession by devils. It also shows that animal lives - also anybody else's property rights in pigs - have no value (Matt. 17: 15-21, Luke 8: 28-33). The events of the fig tree in Bethany (Mark 11:12-21) would make any environmentalist's hair stand on end.
...
The Euthyphro Dilemma:
The classic challenge to the idea that ethics either needs or can be given a religious foundation [or a foundation in God] is provided in Plato, in the dialogue known as The Euthyphro. In this dialogue, Socrates, who is on the point of being tried for impiety, encounters one Euthyphro, who sets himself up as knowing exactly what piety or justice is. Indeed. he is so sure of this that he is on the point of prosecuting his own father for causing a death. Socrates challenges him by asking: "The point which I should first wish to understand is whether the pious or holy is beloved by the gods because it is holy, or holy because it is beloved of the gods. Once he has posed this question, Socrates has no trouble coming down on one side of it:
I mean to say that the holy has been acknowledged by us to be loved of God because it is holy, not to be holy because it is loved by God.The point is that God, or the gods, are not to be thought of as arbitrary. They have to be regarded as selecting the right things to allow and to forbid. They have to latch on to what is holy or just, exactly as we do. It is not given that they do this simply because they are powerful, or created everything, or have horrendous punishments and delicious rewards in their gifts. That doesn't make them good. Furthermore, to obey their commandments just because of their power would be servile and self - interested. Suppose, for instance, I am minded to do something bad, such as to betray someone's trust. It isn't good enough if I think, 'Well, let me see, the gains are such-and-such, but now I have to factor in the chance of God hitting me hard if I do it.
...
Could Morality be grounded in a better version of God?
The question then becomes, what other kind is there? A more adequate conception of God should certainly stop him from being a vindictive old man in the sky. Something more abstract, perhaps? But in that mystical direction lies a god who stands a long way away from human beings, and also from human good or bad. As the Greek Epicurus (341-271 вс) put it:
The blessed and immortal nature knows no trouble itself nor causes trouble to any other, so that it is never constrained by anger or favour. For all such things exist only in the weak.A really blessed and immortal nature is simply too grand to be bothered by the doings of tiny human beings. It would be unfitting for it to be worked up over whether human beings eat shellfish, or have sex one way or another.
The Role of Myth in Morality:
The alternative suggested by Plato's dialogue is that religion gives mythical clothing and mythical authority to a morality that is just there to begin with. Myth, in this sense, is not to be despised. It gives us symbolism and examples that engage our imaginations.
[Myth] is the depository for humanity's endless attempts to struggle with death, desire, happiness, and good and evil. When an exile reminisces, she will remember the songs and poems and folktales of the homeland rather than its laws or its constitution. If the songs no longer speak to her, she is on the way to forgetting. Similarly, we may fear that when religion no longer speaks to us, we may be on our way to forgetting some important part of history and human experience. This may be a moral change, for better or worse. In this analysis, religion is not the foundation of ethics, but its showcase or its symbolic expression. It provides the music and the poetry with which ethics is displayed.
...
The 'Death of God' is no threat:
If all this is right, then the death of God is far from being a threat to ethics. It is a necessary clearing of the ground, on the way to revealing ethics for what it really is. Perhaps there cannot be laws without a lawgiver. But Plato tells us that the ethical laws cannot be the arbitrary whims of personalized Gods. Perhaps instead we can make our own laws. We know that this is sometimes true-there is no biblical or Koranic authority for a 30 mph speed limit-so why shouldn't it always be true?
*[Here I disagree with Blackburn. I don't think we can nor that we should make 'our own laws'. I think that, given our nature as human beings, there are things that are befitting and things that aren't befitting for humans. These, instead of coming up with them, are to be discover by us. And we have made progress. Today we talk about and defend human rights, while in the past slavery, genocide, pillaging, and raping were the norm. And it was we humans [not so much the Bible as Blackburn cited textual evidence above] who slowly realized how inadequate these behaviors were for us humans. We humans have made epistemological progress in ethics.]
2024.05.08 06:06 ObviouslySteve Loss of Life as a Neverending Story of Life, Love, and Maturity: An Analysis
What’s up guys. So like a lot of y’all I’ve had Loss of Life on repeat since it came out. One thing is for sure: it’s an album about maturing and adulthood. But every time I listen I hear more and more evidence that the album has a cohesive narrative, telling the story of a life and representing an endless cycle of birth and rebirth. So I’ve just been jotting down notes, it’s kind of a lot so feel free to skip around.
The basic idea is each song represents one stage/significant event in the protagonist’s life, starting with birth (Mother Nature) and ending with death (Loss of Life). We’ll get to Loss of Life Pt. 2 later.
Even if it’s a little abstract, I think there’s a clear linear narrative carried over between songs anchored by a shifting attitude towards the world. The album starts with youthful optimism, transitions to the pessimism of young adulthood, then ends with the gained wisdom of true maturity.
Let me break down each song, what they represent, and my reasoning:
So yeah I’d love to know what you guys think. Are you picking up the same vibe I am or do you think I’m totally off base?
submitted by ObviouslySteve to mgmt [link] [comments]
The basic idea is each song represents one stage/significant event in the protagonist’s life, starting with birth (Mother Nature) and ending with death (Loss of Life). We’ll get to Loss of Life Pt. 2 later.
Even if it’s a little abstract, I think there’s a clear linear narrative carried over between songs anchored by a shifting attitude towards the world. The album starts with youthful optimism, transitions to the pessimism of young adulthood, then ends with the gained wisdom of true maturity.
Let me break down each song, what they represent, and my reasoning:
- Mother Nature - Birth/Childhood
- Obvious points: the first person you see when you’re born is, of course, your mother and birth is probably the most “natural” part of life, only tied with death
- There’s a suburbia motif running throughout
- “I put the groceries down on the front lawn/And think maybe the children just want recognition”
- “Come take a walk with me down billionaire's row”
- Fairytale/dream motif
- “To open castle gates and let me go inside” etc
- Fairytales evoke the vibe of a bedtime story while also representing the idea that being a child is sort of like being in a dream. And dreams have to end, that’s a recurring theme of the album: “Before the fantasy is cast into the fire”
- The music video with the animated characters is reminiscent of saturday morning cartoons
- Dancing in Babylon - Teenage Years/Young Love
- This might be subjective, but the 80s powerpop vibes give it a sort of youthful energy
- Less subjective: it is at the very least definitely about love
- It’s also about vice, as Babylon symbolizes evil in Christianity
- Overall it evokes a vibe of youthful rebellion, being young and in love
- People in the Streets - Young Adult/Growing Self-Aware
- This song is about self-reflection and discovering your place in the world. In the last song, the “real heads” were “out on the street… trying to keep it low,” and there wasn’t much regard given to them. Now, our narrator is reflecting on his relation to those people
- “when you're living the dream/And your ears are bad/The people in the streets aren't part of the fun”
- He’s “starting to doubt where [he] once stood”
- Whether the people in the streets are struggling financially (“going over receipts with a magnifier”) or they’re protestors fighting for a better world (the chants at the end), our narrator feels he’s separate from them
- Overall this song has a lot of anxiety about the current state of the world: “someone complained that the fire was out/So they shut off the rain and let the flames return”
- He’s not even sure if he can trust his own intuitions: “The inside's still glowing/Telling the heart what it wants to heaBut what if it's only lies/Twisted apart by fear?”
- This song is about self-reflection and discovering your place in the world. In the last song, the “real heads” were “out on the street… trying to keep it low,” and there wasn’t much regard given to them. Now, our narrator is reflecting on his relation to those people
- Bubblegum Dog - Adulthood/Anxiety
- I’ve always thought this song was about anxiety. The “bubblegum dog” sounds like a fantasy creature, much like how a lot of anxieties are just made up in your head. But running from them makes them very real.
- Reminiscent of the fairytale theme from Mother Nature, indicating even if he’s older he still hasn’t fully matured/ woken up from the dream
- His unrest carries over from People in the Streets, specifically his anxiety about the state of the world
- “I saw tenement homes built upon a fault line”
- He hates this earthly world, he hates this bubblegum world
- In the end he gives into his anxiety: he’ll “hide until it’s gone”
- He’s embracing the bubblegum dog lifestyle: he’ll “tinkle on the lawn”
- I’ve always thought this song was about anxiety. The “bubblegum dog” sounds like a fantasy creature, much like how a lot of anxieties are just made up in your head. But running from them makes them very real.
- Nothing to Declare - Depression/Divorce?
- He’s depressed, man. He’s got nothing to declare, nothing to say about the world anymore, he’s given up. He’s let himself be consumed by his anxiety and he’s still living in a dream rather then in reality
- The world is his “Spanish castle in the sky,” a French phrase for something impossible or unachievable
- A dream might seem like a good vibe, but even though he sees the world as his “Fine de Claire” (oyster), he “can tell the pearl’s there/and still there’s nothing [he] can find”
- “Until I wake up like a baby in the womb”
- Reincarnation, another recurring theme
- I include the possibility of this song being about divorce or breaking up with a lover because there’s a lot of lyrical evidence for it. It doesn’t fit as neatly in the narrative since he’s gonna have a kid in two songs, but he could remarry. Perhaps he’s still dating/married the girl from Dancing in Babylon? But overall I also think it shows how this character is disconnected from the world and it’s causing him to lose people around him
- Think about it: he’s a drunkard who stumbles home to a person with bags under their eyes. He’s got nothing to say to them. They’ve got documents and something to decide. If they let him go, he’ll fall far and wonder who they’ve become.
- He’s depressed, man. He’s got nothing to declare, nothing to say about the world anymore, he’s given up. He’s let himself be consumed by his anxiety and he’s still living in a dream rather then in reality
- Nothing Changes - Breaking Free/Maturity
- This song starts low but ends high, musically and lyrically. The title has a bit of a double meaning: the idea that nothing changes can sound both depressing and hopeful.
- At first he still sounds depressed: he “wishes all the stars could save” him.
- But the final lines are triumphant: thrust the dagger into the night and throw aside your Sisypheun boulder! Living may just be flailing but it’s a valiant struggle!
- He’s broken free of the dream of childhood and the illusions of his adult anxieties and has learned to take life as it is. Nothing changes ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
- Reincarnation theme: nothing changes, and the gods know it
- This song starts low but ends high, musically and lyrically. The title has a bit of a double meaning: the idea that nothing changes can sound both depressing and hopeful.
- Phradie’s Song - Parenthood
- Andrew’s Daughter is named Phradie and he said in an interview it is a song for her
- Lullaby vibes
- “Did I dream before?/It felt like I couldn’t love anymore”
- There’s that recurring motif of dreams/dreams ending
- The dream of youth is over, and in this dream he deluded himself that he could never love again, but now having a kid has completely changed that perspective
- “And I will sing for you/Every night if you want me to”
- He’s found contentment in singing to his child every night
- I Wish I Was Joking - Getting Old
- Paying six dollars for a coffee, municipal parking, and taking the kids to Disney on Ice: all the “joys” of getting old
- Reflecting on youth
- “Here’s the thing about drugs…” perhaps remembering his days of vice dancing in Babylon
- Now he’s “kinda into being home”
- “Nobody calls me the gangster of love”
- Referencing the classic Steve Miller song to get at the idea he isn’t as hip as he once was
- Loss of Life - Death?
- Nothing prepares you for loss of life, simple as.
- BUT: “it’s neither created or destroyed.” Now that he's accepted nothing changes, he's at peace with dying. He knows the end of one life is just the start of another. It hits both the reincarnation theme and the maturity theme
- It parallels how when the dream of his youth ended, the life of his child started. I saw someone say they interpreted this song as losing the life you had before you had a child, which you might call a ‘good’ loss of life. I think that's a totally valid reading, and if you read it that way you could interpret LoL pt 2 and the rest of the album as representing the life of the narrator's child. Still an endless cycle of birth and rebirth.
- Loss of Life (pt 2) - Reincarnation/Womb/Baby?
- Lot of ways you could interpret this one, which is why I left it for the end. You could do a whole deep dive on the poem, but a surface level read is just the existential poem with the ambient, spacey music makes it sound like you’re one with the cosmos, waiting to be reborn.
- I also think the recurring melody sounds like something you’d hear from a child’s mobile. So there’s this sort of baby vibe with distant adult voices speaking in poems you can’t understand, or if you want to go really crazy, it’s a sort of in-the-womb ambience. Is that going too crazy?
- All-in-all I just think going from this to Mother Nature gives an “entering into the world” type of vibe
So yeah I’d love to know what you guys think. Are you picking up the same vibe I am or do you think I’m totally off base?