Gavin Maxwell & Mijbil, 1956
Gavin Maxwell, BBC Timeshift - When Britain Went Wild
Gavin Maxwell's Long Room in Eilean Ban
Sandaig - Gavin Maxwell's Ring of Bright Water
Gavin Maxwell & Mijbil
Anger is an energy
"This is why I must quit comedy. Because the only way I can tell my truth and put tension in the room, is with anger. And I am angry, and I believe I've got the right to be angry. But what I don't have a right to do is to spread anger. Because anger, much like laughter, can connect a room full of strangers, like nothing else. But anger, even if it's connected to laughter, will not relieve tension, because anger is a tension. It is a toxic, infectious tension. And it knows no other purpose than to spread blind hatred, and I want no part of it because I take my freedom of speech as a responsibility. And just because I can position myself as a victim does not make my anger constructive. It never is constructive. Laughter is not how medicine… Stories hold our cure. Laughter is just the honey that sweetens the bitterness."
Hannah Gadsby, Nanette
Mission accomplished
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:
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.
- Where on the deck my Captain lies,
- O the bleeding drops of red,
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;
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!
- This arm beneath your head;
- It is some dream that on the deck,
- You've fallen cold and dead.
- It is some dream that on the deck,
- This arm beneath your head;
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;
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.
- Walt Whitman
- Walk the deck my captain lies,
- But I, with mournful tread,
The Beloved is me
"The Dodson model of the empowered female did a great deal of good, but also caused some harm. The good is that feminism of that era had to break the association of heterosexual female sexual awakening with dependency on a man. The harm is that the feminism of this era successfully broke the association of heterosexual female sexual awakening with dependency on a man. "A woman needs a man like a fish needs a bicycle," as one seventies-era feminist bumper sticker insisted. The feminist model of heterosexuality – that straight women can fuck like men, or get by with a great vibrator and no other attention to self-love, and be simply instrumentalist about their pleasure – turned out to have created a new set of impossible ideals, foisted, if through the best of intentions, upon "liberated" women. Feminism has evaded the far more difficult question of how to be a liberated heterosexual woman and how to acknowledge deep physical needs for connection with men. As nature organized things, we ideally have a partner in the dance. If we don't have a partner, there is attention we should give to self-love as self-care. It does not solve straight women's existential dilemma, the tension between our dependency needs and our needs for independence, simply to declare that the dance has changed.
The harm of this model of female sexuality is that it reaffirms a fractured, commercialized culture's tendency to see people, including "sexually liberated women," as isolated, self-absorbed units, and to see pleasure as something one needs to acquire the way one acquires designer shoes, rather than as a medium of profound intimacy with another, or with one's self, or as a gateway to a higher, more imaginative, fully realized dimension that includes and affects all aspects of one's life.
[...] I think it is very possible, judging from tremendous amount of data we have seen about what women need psychologically, which they are generally not getting, that they are saying they are dissatisfied because the "available models of sexuality" – the post-Dodson, post-Hefner, post-porn, married two-career, hurried, or young and single drunk-with-a-stranger-in-a-bar-or-dorm-room models – are, long term, just plain physically untenable. These models of female sexuality – left to us by a combination of pressures ranging from an incomplete development of feminism in the 1970's, to a marketplace that likes us overemployed and undersexed, to the speeding up of sexual pacing set by pornography – doom women eventually to emotional strain caused by physiological strain. These models of female sexuality are simply extremely physically, emotionally, and existentially unsatisfying. (This model of sex may well doom Western heterosexual men in other ways, deserving of their own book.)"
Naomi Wolf, Vagina
Paraísos
"Sempre imaginei o paraíso como um lugar seco e quente, nunca húmido.
No paraíso não há mentiras."
"Decidi esperar mais uma semana antes de começar a ter esperança."
"O paraíso? Acabei de experimentar isto tudo.
O paraíso deve ser quando todas as dores terminam. Mas isso significa então que, enquanto não temos dores, vivemos no paraíso! Sem nos darmos conta!
Os felizes e os infelizes vivem no mesmo mundo e não o sabem!"
Lars Gustafsson, A Morte de Um Apicultor
É sempre a mesma merda
"É sempre a mesma merda. Vamos para a escola, depois para o liceu, depois para a universidade, e passamos por várias represas que nos levam a uma linguagem cada vez mais refinada. E mais abstrata. Estamos com pressa de aprender. No liceu era fácil perceber a diferença entre as crianças oriundas de classes sociais mais baixas e as de classe média.
Os miúdos pobres falavam uma linguagem mais rude, sem ilusões. Passei por essa experiência depois, quando comecei a dar aulas.
Uma perspectiva rasteira, em que as motivações de todos os atos eram duras, egoístas, cínicas.
Pelo contrário, a linguagem da classe média era a mais indefinida de todas. Baseia-se na crença de que, para subir os escalões da hierarquia social, é preciso agirmos como se já lá estivéssemos, o que cria uma estranha falta de segurança, que é transversal a todo o sistema. Sabemos o que querem dizer as palavras, e ao mesmo tempo não as entendemos.
Por exemplo, já há vários meses que estou com "cagaço". Noutra linguagem diríamos: "sinto angústia perante a morte". A angústia perante a morte dá uma dimensão totalmente diferente à coisa, como se fosse mais sábio dizer "angústia da morte" do que dizer "cagaço".
Não creio que esta dimensão mais sábia exista.
Nunca como nos últimos meses foi tão evidente para mim que a sociedade tem um subconsciente.
Talvez aconteça porque o medo me liberta de todas as linguagens que me foram ensinadas, para melhor me defender dele. Começo a entender as coisas com a mesma terrível lucidez, a mesma lucidez apavorada de um miúdo.
O subconsciente da sociedade. Os animais dos laboratórios que são lentamente torturados até que a morte os leve, com tubos ligados às veias e ao estômago, com células cancerosas implantadas em fígados de cães por meio de agulhas compridas. Os corredores dos hospitais psiquiátricos, os alcoólicos trémulos e magros de Storbron, em Västerås.
Há sempre um preço terrível a pagar. Mas a quem? E porquê? E o que foi que pagou a minha existência até agora?"
Lars Gustafsson, A Morte de Um Apicultor
What's love got to do with it
Sternberg's Theories of Love
of memories
Understand the things I say
Don't turn away from me
'Cause I spent half my life out there
You wouldn't disagree
D'you see me, d'you see
Do you like me, do you like me standing there
D'you notice, d'you know
Do you see me, do you see me
Does anyone care?
Don't turn away from me
'Cause I spent half my life out there
You wouldn't disagree
D'you see me, d'you see
Do you like me, do you like me standing there
D'you notice, d'you know
Do you see me, do you see me
Does anyone care?
Unhappiness, where's when I was young
And we didn't give a damn
'Cause we were raised
To see life as a fun and take it if we can
My mother, my mother she'd hold me
Did she hold me, when I was out there
My father, my father, he liked me
Oh he liked me, does anyone care?
And we didn't give a damn
'Cause we were raised
To see life as a fun and take it if we can
My mother, my mother she'd hold me
Did she hold me, when I was out there
My father, my father, he liked me
Oh he liked me, does anyone care?
Understand what I've become
It wasn't my design
And people everywhere think
Something better than I am
But I miss you, I miss
'Cause I liked it, 'cause I liked it
When I was out there
D'you know this, d'you know
You did not find me, you did not find
Does anyone care?
It wasn't my design
And people everywhere think
Something better than I am
But I miss you, I miss
'Cause I liked it, 'cause I liked it
When I was out there
D'you know this, d'you know
You did not find me, you did not find
Does anyone care?
do antifrágil
O Big Data torna visíveis, sobretudo, modelos de comportamento colectivos. O próprio dataísmo intensifica o aumento de igualdade. O data mining não se distingue substancialmente da estatística. As correlações que descobre representam o estatísticamente provável. Assim, o Big Data não tem acesso ao único. O Big Data é totalmente cego perante o acontecimento. Não será o estatisticamente provável, mas o improvável, o singular, o acontecimento, a determinar a história, o futuro humano. Deste modo, por conseguinte, o Big Data é cego perante o futuro.
Byung-Chul Han, Psicopolítica
