Troubled Water

«The sun shone, having no alternative, on the nothing new. Murphy sat out of it, as though he were free, in a mew in West Brompton. Here for what might have been six months he had eaten, drunk, slept, and put his clothes on and off, in a medium-sized cage of north-western aspect commanding an unbroken view of medium-sized cages of south-eastern aspect. Soon he would have to make other arrangements, for the mew had been condemned. Soon he would have to buckle to and start eating, drinking, sleeping, and putting his clothes on and off, in quite alien surroundings. He sat naked in his rocking-chair of undressed teak, guaranteed not to crack, warp, shrink, corrode, or creak at night. It was his own, it never left him. The corner in which he sat was curtained off from the sun, the poor old sun in the Virgin again for the billionth time. Seven scarves held him in position. Two fastened his shins to the rockers, one his thighs to the seat, two his breast and belly to the back, on his wrists t...

  Christ in the House of Martha and Mary - Velázquez (1618) The Sons of Mary seldom bother, for they have inherited that good part; But the Sons of Martha favour their Mother of the careful soul and troubled heart. And because she lost her temper once, and because she was rude to the Lord her Guest, Her Sons must wait upon Mary's Sons, world without end, reprieve, or rest. It is their care in all the ages to take the buffet and cushion the shock. It is their care that the gear engages; it is their care that the switches lock. It is their care that the wheels run truly; it is their care to embark and entrain, Tally, transport, and deliver duly the Sons of Mary by land and main. They say to mountains, “Be ye removed.” They say to the lesser floods, “Be dry.” Under their rods are the rocks reproved — they are not afraid of that which is high. Then do the hill-tops shake to the summit — then is the bed of the deep laid bare, That the Sons of Mary may overcome it, pleasantly sleeping a...

I shall never get you put together entirely, Pieced, glued, and properly jointed. Mule-bray, pig-grunt and bawdy cackles Proceed from your great lips. It’s worse than a barnyard. Perhaps you consider yourself an oracle, Mouthpiece of the dead, or of some god or other. Thirty years now I have labored To dredge the silt from your throat. I am none the wiser.   Scaling little ladders with glue pots and pails of lysol I crawl like an ant in mourning Over the weedy acres of your brow To mend the immense skull plates and clear The bald, white tumuli of your eyes. A blue sky out of the Oresteia Arches above us. O father, all by yourself You are pithy and historical as the Roman Forum. I open my lunch on a hill of black cypress. Your fluted bones and acanthine hair are littered In their old anarchy to the horizon-line. It would take more than a lightning-stroke To create such a ruin. Nights, I squat in the cornucopia Of your left ear, out of the wind,   Counting the red stars and thos...

A vida é um mal digno de ser gozado. E para mim, idealista integral, o próprio mundo, o universo inteiro, não é senão um boato e um boato falso. … A vida, toda a vida, é o eterno boato, e a morte, toda a morte, o eterno desmentido. Esperança, amor, ilusão, a crença ansiada no futuro, a confiança trémula no presente, tudo isto cessa nos seus objectos e em si. Passar é desmentir-se. Não há mais para mim do que a superfície das coisas - essa superfície forja-se nas realidades. … Todos os caminhos do pensamento levam àquela Roma da dor, cujo supremo pontífice não dá audiências ao raciocínio, nem bulas ao sentimento. … A mim é-me familiar o que a outros, e a raros outros, apenas em horrorosos acasos é de algum modo vagamente experiência - o sentimento do mistério e do horror intelectual do mundo. É minha inimiga do meu sangue e na minha alma quotidiana a sensação ôca de que o universo é uma pavorosa ilusão. Passou já o tempo em que este medo me era ocasional e, como um relâmpago, uma coisa ...

Estão as cartas dadas. O jogo está feito. Não é por respeito que me dão pedradas. Peço à igualdade que haverá um dia, mesmo que tardia, que me sempre agrade. Riquezas não espero. De glórias motejo. Nem outro desejo menor considero. Se invejas provoco por dons naturais não preciso mais. Chega-me o meu pouco. Não sendo agressão, pois me nem abala, a mim que me rala outra opinião? Todo o meu anseio se cifra em querer a sorte vencer, sem sentir receio. Se o posso ou o nego não posso sabê-lo, senão a sofrê-lo com desassossego. Jogo in “Ocasional a Vida” Alado, o sol na água pousa e dele treme a água amedrontada, que a ardente imagem lhe devolve em rosa e em si própria um distante sonho ousa de céu amargo, que não sonha nada. XVIII Mordo a terra. A terra tem um gosto a espanto, tem um gosto a vida, tem um gosto a suor, tem um gosto a estrume, tem um gosto a sol. XLV in “Rio sem fim” Acordai Acordai Homens que dormis A embalar a dor Dos silêncios vis Vinde no clamor Das almas viris Arrancar ...

Tome-se um homem, Feito de nada, como nós, E em tamanho natural. Embeba-se-lhe a carne, Lentamente, Duma certeza aguda, irracional, Intensa como o ódio ou como a fome. Depois, perto do fim, Agite-se um pendão E toque-se um clarim. Serve-se morto. Receita para fazer um Herói À minha sombra empalidece a Flora, Extingue-se a Espécie, vaporiza o Mar! Doente, o Sol desmaia, o Céu descora, Secam-se as Fontes, rarefaz-se o Ar! Quando ela passa pelos campos fora, Ardem os Colmos e desaba o Lar; Perdem-se virgens que ninguém desflora E as Aves deixam de saber voar! Eis o que eu sonho para a minha sombra: Poder que esmaga, tiraniza e assombra A própria ira que de mim lhe empresto. Poder funesto, mas que existe Na minha sombra, rigorosa e triste Repetidora do meu triste gesto! Grandeza Quem dorme à noite comigo? É meu segredo, é meu segredo! Mas se insistirem, desdigo. O medo mora comigo, Mas só o medo, mas só o medo! E cedo, porque me embala Num vaivém de solidão, É com silêncio que fala, Com vo...

Mas há a noite. O estar sozinho e no entanto acompanhado - servo de um deus estranho cumprindo o ritual jamais completo. Mas há o sono. A lúcida surpresa de um mundo imaterial e necessário, com praias onde o corpo se desprende. Mas há o medo. Há sobretudo o medo. fel, rancor, desconhecido apelo, suor nocturno, rápido suicídio. 9. Pelo silêncio na planície pela tranquilidade em tua voz pelos teus olhos verdes estelares pelo teu corpo líquido de bruma pelo direito de seguir de mão dadas na solidão noturna lutaremos meu Amor Pela infância que fomos pelo jardim escondido que não teve o nosso amor pelo pão que nos recusam pela liberdade sem fronteiras pelas manhãs de sol sem mácula de grades lutaremos meu Amor Pela dádiva mútua da nossa carne mártir pela alegria em teu sorriso claro pelo teu sonho imaterial pela cidade escravizada pela doçura de um beijo à despedida lutaremos meu Amor Pelos meninos tristes suburbanos contra o peso da angústia contra o medo contra a seta de fogo traiçoeira c...

[...] The remainder of this essay aims to demonstrate that the historical study of paradigm change reveals very similar characteristics in the evolution of the sciences. Like the choice between competing political institutions, that between competing paradigms proves to be a choice between incompatible modes of community life. Because it has that character, the choice is not and cannot be determined merely by the evaluative procedures characteristic of normal science, for these depend in part upon a particular paradigm, and that paradigm is at issue. When paradigms enter, as they must, into a debate about paradigm choice, their role is necessarily circular. Each group uses its own paradigm to argue in that paradigm’s defence. The resulting circularity does not, of course, make the arguments wrong or even ineffectual. The man who premises a paradigm when arguing in its defence can nonetheless provide a clear exhibit of what scientific practice will be like for those who adopt the new vi...

“At dusk she switched to gin. Her marrying hour. The hour between the dog and the wolf. It sometimes seemed that dusk came to the island several times a day. Brought in by storms and fog. The change was in the fog. The Devil. Pearl's mother had once told her that she must never be embarrassed to tell another that she had seen the Devil.” “And it was only for that instant that it seemed strange, before she was gone, before her form was gone. Her belly turned soft and swinging beneath her, holding her up. Her arms began to turn as long and tapered as her legs. Her face swung out flat and her nose turned black and became part of a soft, dark muzzle. And when that instant passed, and it seemed she wanted to speak, her tongue had then become a thick deer’s tongue and the hand she raised was a deer’s hoof, black and graceful, and her flanks were covered with tight, bright fur.” “Children were quite disturbing really. It was difficult to think about children for long. They were all fickle...

[...] - Tereza, disse Tomas, mas tu ainda não reparaste que eu sou feliz aqui? - Mas operar era a tua verdadeira missão! - Missão, qual missão? Missão é uma palavra parva. Eu não tenho missão nenhuma. Ninguém tem missão nenhuma. E é um alívio enorme uma pessoa perceber que é livre, que não tem missão nenhuma.» A maneira como o dizia não deixava pairar qualquer dúvida sobre a sua sinceridade. Tereza voltou a rever a cena de ainda há pouco: ele a arranjar o camião e ela a achá-lo velho. Tinha chegado onde queria chegar. Sempre desejara que ele fosse velho. Pensou mais uma vez na lebre que estreitava contra a cara no seu quarto de criança. O que significa alguém transformar-se em lebre? Significa que se esquece a força que se tem. Significa que, daí em diante, teriam tão pouca força um como o outro. De cá para lá, iam desenhando os passos da dança ao som do violino e do piano; Tereza tinha a cabeça poisada no seu ombro. Como no avião que os levava aos dois através da bruma. Sentia a mesma...

Saint Veronica, by Hans Memling , c. 1470 And a woman was there who had been subject to bleeding for twelve years. She had suffered a great deal under the care of many doctors and had spent all she had, yet instead of getting better she grew worse. When she heard about Jesus, she came up behind him in the crowd and touched his cloak, because she thought, "If I just touch his clothes, I will be healed." Immediately her bleeding stopped and she felt in her body that she was freed from her suffering. At once Jesus realized that power had gone out from him. He turned around in the crowd and asked, "Who touched my clothes?" "You see the people crowding against you," his disciples answered, "and yet you can ask, 'Who touched me?'" But Jesus kept looking around to see who had done it. Then the woman, knowing what had happened to her, came and fell at his feet and, trembling with fear, told him the whole truth. He said to her, "Daughter, you...

Longtemps, je me suis couché de bonne heure. Parfois, à peine ma bougie éteinte, mes yeux se fermaient si vite que je n’avais pas le temps de me dire : « Je m’endors. » Et, une demi-heure après, la pensée qu’il était temps de chercher le sommeil m’éveillait ; je voulais poser le volume que je croyais avoir encore dans les mains et souffler ma lumière ; je n’avais pas cessé en dormant de faire des réflexions sur ce que je venais de lire, mais ces réflexions avaient pris un tour un peu particulier ; il me semblait que j’étais moi-même ce dont parlait l’ouvrage : une église, un quatuor, la rivalité de François Ier et de Charles-Quint. Cette croyance survivait pendant quelques secondes à mon réveil ; elle ne choquait pas ma raison, mais pesait comme des écailles sur mes yeux et les empêchait de se rendre compte que le bougeoir n’était pas allumé.  Puis elle commençait à me devenir inintelligible, comme après la métempsycose les pensées d’une existence antérieure ; le sujet du livre se ...

[...] In the middle of the year, that year, the Jews bombarded the central district of Sabha and attacked Gaza, our Gaza, with bombs and flame-throwers. That event might have made some change in my routine, but there was nothing for me to take much notice of; I was going to leave this Gaza behind me and go to California where I would live for myself, my own self which had suffered so long. I hated Gaza and its inhabitants. Everything in the amputated town reminded me of failed pictures painted in grey by a sick man. Yes, I would send my mother and my brother's widow and her children a meagre sum to help them to live, but I would liberate myself from this last tie too, there in green California, far from the reek of defeat which for seven years had filled my nostrils. The sympathy which bound me to my brother's children, their mother and mine would never be enough to justify my tragedy in taking this perpendicular dive. It mustn't drag me any further down than it already had...

Que le soleil est beau quand tout frais il se lève, Comme une explosion nous lançant son bonjour! — Bienheureux celui-là qui peut avec amour Saluer son coucher plus glorieux qu'un rêve! Je me souviens!... J'ai vu tout, fleur, source, sillon, Se pâmer sous son oeil comme un coeur qui palpite... — Courons vers l'horizon, il est tard, courons vite, Pour attraper au moins un oblique rayon! Mais je poursuis en vain le Dieu qui se retire; L'irrésistible Nuit établit son empire, Noire, humide, funeste et pleine de frissons; Une odeur de tombeau dans les ténèbres nage, Et mon pied peureux froisse, au bord du marécage, Des crapauds imprévus et de froids limaçons. Le Coucher du Soleil Romantique Tes beaux yeux sont las, pauvre amante! Reste longtemps, sans les rouvrir, Dans cette pose nonchalante Où t'a surprise le plaisir. Dans la cour le jet d'eau qui jase, Et ne se tait ni nuit ni jour, Entretient doucement l'extase Où ce soir m'a plongé l'amour. La gerbe é...

“When you leave this life, and before you enter the next life, there is a place called an intermediary realm. You stay there for seven days. You should resolve to keep chanting the names of the three treasures without ceasing while you are there. After seven days you die in the intermediary realm and remain there for no more than seven days. At this time you can see and hear without hindrance, like having a celestial eye. Resolve to encourage yourself to keep chanting the names of the three treasures without ceasing: ‘I take refuge in the Buddha. I take refuge in the Dharma. I take refuge in the Sangha.’ After passing through the intermediary realm, when you approach your parents to be conceived, resolve to maintain authentic wisdom. Keep chanting refuge in the three treasures in your mother’s womb. Do not neglect chanting while you are given birth. Resolve deeply to dedicate yourself to chant and take refuge in the three treasures through the six sense roots. When your life ends, your...

Did you ever get to think about How to replace it? Now the night turns in Into a poker tell And the day runs dry Where once was a well An enormous chill That you need to quell Hear the fisherman's cough And the seagulls cry How they call your bluff When you touch the sky Do you ever feel (after setting sail) What looks far away Doesn't get any closer by We don't know enough of what we have until it's gone They say it's heaven over there until the devil has another say You pray As if time will ever tell Politics and sympathies, 200 different kinds of glee I wonder what the world would be When everybody's in the sea I wait As if time will ever tell Let the preachers whine They haven't got a clue When the signal dies What do I really lose There are many ways How to replace These tired lines Of these modern blues So the summer creaks When the daughter speaks It is in our gift to plug up the leaks? Do you ever think As if time will ever tell? Garbage in the mail ...

[...] Muitos observadores atentos perceberam que o resultado prático mais consequente da manobra foi o suposto exílio (parcial ou não) dos homens de Prigozhin para a Bielorrússia, permitindo uma mobilização em massa às claras para perto de Kiev. Mas o mero facto de esse resultado ser observável desqualifica-o como supremo objectivo estratégico da operação. É um bom começo de análise, mas leva-nos apenas ao segundo nível de uma elaborada dissimulação. Não é um acidente que o episódio tenha começado logo a seguir ao solstício de Verão, em Rostov. Desde tempos ancestrais que o território na foz do rio Don é reconhecido como nodo central de correntes ocultas e dinâmicas telúricas, um daqueles espaços raros, repletos de energias turbulentas à espera de uma mitologia que as organize, em que a membrana da realidade é mais fina e viscosidades avulsas encontram menor resistência.[...] [...] Os citas, guerreiros nómadas que migraram da Ásia Central para Rússia e Ucrânia e dominaram a estepe nos...

Uenapissish tshuapamitunan Apu tshut tshissenitaman Tshin an eshapan ka ui uapamak Tshititan ute, tshipeikussin Apu tshut tshi mitshiminitan Mukᵘ uenapissish Utshekatakuat ninishtuapamikuat Apu unishinian e shakassineti tipishkau-pishimᵘ Nututamain nititshia Takushinu uashtuashkuan Apitshimineu, shipekun nuashtenamakᵘ Mamu niniminan Nimanen nimishtikushiussina Nishashashtin Nitshinat nitakushin Tu étais mon rendez-vous manqué Tu étais là, seule Je n‘ai pas su retenir le présent Je t‘ai vécue un court instant Tes lumières là-haut me reconnaissent Je sais que le lune pleine me guide Je frappe dans mes mains Tes habits verts et violets Ta couleur lumière Dansent pour moi J‘ai enlevé mes souliers de ville Pieds nus Je sais que je suis chez moi Joséphine Bacon "Zou Fulei died like a dragon breaking down a wall... this line composed and ribboned in cursive script by his friend the poet Yang Weizhen whose father built a library surrounded by hundreds of plum trees It was Zou Fulei, almos...