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Random Thoughts
Invisable Cities
Posted:Aug 18, 2014 12:36 pm
Last Updated:Aug 18, 2014 12:40 pm
1123 Views

The inferno of the living is not something that will be; if there is one, it is what is already here, the inferno where we live every day, that we form by living together.

Calvino
0 Comments
LOVE
Posted:Jul 28, 2014 8:54 am
Last Updated:Aug 3, 2014 2:00 pm
1615 Views

"There is no disguise which can hide love for long where it exists, or simulate it where it does not."

-- Francois de La Rochefoucauld,
Fr
ench wri
ter
0 Comments
Nothing New Under The Sun ;-)
Posted:Jul 10, 2014 4:20 pm
Last Updated:Jul 13, 2014 4:34 pm
1961 Views

The Turin Erotic Papyrus: The Oldest Known Depiction of Sex (Circa 1150 B.C.E.)
in History | July 9th, 2014

With the old joke about every generation thinking they invented sex, Listverse brings us the papyrus above, the oldest depiction of sex on record. Painted sometime in the Ramesside Period (1292-1075 B.C.E.), the fragments above—called the “Turin Erotic Papyrus” because of their “discovery” in the Egyptian Museum of Turin, Italy—only hint at the frank versions of ancient sex they depict (see a graphic partial reconstruction at the bottom of the post—probably NSFW). The number of sexual positions the papyrus illustrates—twelve in all—“fall somewhere between impressively acrobatic and unnervingly ambitious,” one even involving a chariot. Apart from its obvious fertility symbols, writes archaeology blog Ancient Peoples, the papyrus also has a “humorous and/or satirical” purpose, and probably a male audience—evidenced, perhaps, by its resemblance to 70’s porn: “the men are mostly unkept, unshaven, and balding […], whereas the women are the ideal of beauty in Egypt.”

http://VisionPersonals.com.com
culture.
com
0 Comments
Celibacy
Posted:Jul 7, 2014 6:10 pm
Last Updated:Jul 7, 2014 6:55 pm
2051 Views

“Marriage has many pains, but celibacy has no pleasures.”

― Samuel Johnso
n, Rasse
las
0 Comments
THE MOMENT
Posted:Jul 6, 2014 6:57 pm
Last Updated:Apr 25, 2024 2:25 pm
2048 Views


The moment when, after many years
of hard work and a long voyage
you stand in the centre of your room,
house, half-acre, square mile, island, country,
knowing at last how you got there,
and say, I own this,

is the same moment when the trees unloose
their soft arms from around you,
the birds take back their language,
the cliffs fissure and collapse,
the air moves back from you like a wave
and you can't breathe.

No, they whisper. You own nothing.
You were a visitor, time after time
climbing the hill, planting the flag, proclaiming.
We never belonged to you.
You never found us.
It was always the other way round.

-- Marg
aret Atw
ood
0 Comments
Lincoln
Posted:Jul 5, 2014 3:53 pm
Last Updated:Aug 4, 2014 7:44 am
2216 Views

O Captain! My Captain!

BY WALT WHITMAN

O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done,
The ship has weather’d every rack, the prize we sought is won,
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring;
But O heart! heart! heart!
O the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.

O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills,
For you bouquets and ribbon’d wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding,
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
Here Captain! dear father!
The arm beneath your head!
It is some dream that on the deck,
You’ve fallen cold and dead.

My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still,
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will,
The ship is anchor’d safe and sound, its voyage closed and done,
From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won;
Exult O shores, and ring O bells!
But I with mournful tread,
Walk the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.

Source: Leaves of G
rass (David M
cKay, 18
91)
0 Comments
Gratitude
Posted:Jul 4, 2014 6:19 pm
Last Updated:Apr 25, 2024 2:25 pm
2027 Views

“In normal life we hardly realize how much more we receive than we give, and life cannot be rich without such gratitude. It is so easy to overestimate the importance of our own achievements compared with what we owe to the help of others.”

― Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Letters and Papers
from Pri
0 Comments
No Ordinary Genius
Posted:Jul 3, 2014 7:32 am
Last Updated:Jul 5, 2014 3:55 pm
2029 Views



"I can live with doubt, and uncertainty, and not knowing. I think it's much more interesting to live not knowing than to have answers which might be wrong. I have approximate answers, and possible beliefs, and different degrees of certainty about different things, but I'm not absolutely sure of anything. There are many things I don't know anything about, such as whether it means anything to ask "Why are we here?" I might think about it a little bit, and if I can't figure it out then I go on to something else. But I don't have to know an answer. I don't feel frightened by not knowing things, by being lost in the mysterious universe without having any purpose — which is the way it really is, as far as I can tell. Possibly. It doesn't frighten me."

No Ordinary Genius: The Illustrated Richard Feynman (1994) edited by Christopher Sykes. Transcripts and rearrangements of BBC TV Horizon documentaries "The Pleasure of Finding Things Out" (1981), "The Quest for Tannu Tuva" (198, and "No Ordinary Geni
us" (199
3).
0 Comments
Youth and Happiness
Posted:Jul 2, 2014 6:44 am
Last Updated:Jul 2, 2014 7:37 am
2114 Views

Woolf: First Memories

Posted on June 24, 2014

http://timesflowstemmed.com/

This is a passage from Virginia Woolf’s Moments of Being.

Though irresistible, I pull back from nostalgia but find it harder with each folded year. I’ve been thinking a lot this week about those childhood bases against which we judge and measure our future ideas of happiness.

"If life has a base that it stands upon, if it is a bowl that fills and fills and fills – then my bowl without a doubt stands upon this memory. It is of lying half asleep, half awake, in bed in the nursery at St Ives. It is of hearing the waves breaking, one, two, one, two, behind a yellow blind. It is of hearing the blind draw its little acorn across the floor as the wind blew the blind out. It is of lying and hearing this splash and seeing this light, and feeling, it is impossible that I should be here; of feeling the purest ecstasy I can conceive.
0 Comments

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