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aaknopf · 2 months ago

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The letters of the writer and groundbreaking neurological investigator Oliver Sacks–now collected in a volume that displays on every page his boundless curiosity and love of the human animal in its myriad ways of perceiving the world–include several to the poet W. H. Auden, among other literary lights. We unfortunately have no record of the Coleridge quote Sacks refers to in this missive to Auden of August 18, 1971, but the line he mentions from the German Romantic poet Novalis was surely a favorite aphorism of Oliver’s: “Every disease is a musical problem; its care a musical solution.” We also share below the typescript of Auden’s poem “Anthem,” which the poet had enclosed in his foregoing letter to Sacks, written on August 2, where he ended by saying: “Overleaf a little poem about the Cosmos. Yours ever, Wystan.”

Letter to W. H. AudenAugust 18,1971 [37 Mapesbury Rd., London]

Dear Wystan,

Your letter was forwarded to me a few days ago, and it (or your poem, or you) was the best of palliatives. Does there come a point (if one is very lucky, or has the right gifts, or grace, or works at it) when style, feeling, content, judgement all flow together and assume the right form? Your “Anthem” seems instinctively and effortlessly lyrical, and absolutely natural, like an organic growth; and yet obviously has the most careful and sophisticated and exquisite choice of words—and no feeling of any “joins” anywhere, of artifice, of manipulation. Marvellous. I will treasure it. Yes, I thought the Coleridge quote was a real find, and so to the point. And I agree (I feel) absolutely with the Novalis one. In some sense, I think, my medical sense is a musical one. I diagnose by the feeling of discordancy, or of some peculiarity of harmony. And it’s immediate, total, and gestalt. My sleeping-sickness patients have innumerable types of strange “crises,” immensely complex, absolutely specific, yet completely indescribable. I recognize them all now as I recognize a bar of Brahms or Mahler. And so do the patients. Such strange physiological harmonies—I hope I can find some way to describe these, because they are unique states, at the edges of being, beyond imaginable being, beneath comprehension, and when the last of the sleeping-sickness patients die (they are very old now) no memory will be left of their extraordinary states. Writing seems more of a struggle now—maybe I’m trying something harder—I find meanings go out of focus, or there is some sort of “slippage” between word and meaning, and the phrase which seemed right, yesterday, is dead today. [. . .] And medical jargon is so awful. It conveys no real picture, no impression whatever, of what—say—it feels like to be Parkinsonian. And yet it’s an absolutely specific, and intolerable feeling. A feeling of confinement, but of an inner constraint and confinement and cramp and crushedness, which is closely analogous to depression (although it is not emotional as such), and, of course, is very depressing. And a painful inner conflict—one patient called it the push-and-pull, another the goad-and-halter. It’s a most hateful condition, although it has a sort of elegant formal structure. But no book that I know of brings home that Parkinsonism feels like this—they just reduce it to an unevocative listing of symptoms. I hope Osbert Sitwell didn’t have it too badly. I’ve been reading some Goethe (for the first time, really) in the last week or two. Starting with his Italian Journey—thank God I did start with that, or I might not have got any further. And then the Pelican Faust—maybe it’s the same with any translation. I must learn German. And Mann’s fabulous essay on Goethe and Tolstoy. And Elective Affinities. And that great, meandering, affectionate Lewes biography. There is one point (I think in his chapter on Goethe’s philanthropy) where Lewes says that he could “eat Goethe for love”—and I think these are beginning to be my sentiments too. I hope I can join Orlan on a lightning visit to Vienna. There is nothing I would like more, but I am awfully fretted with my current book, and may not be at liberty (or feel myself at liberty) until I have finished it. I would love to see you in your own Kirchstetten, but if I cannot come I will surely see you in New York a few weeks later.

Yours ever, [Oliver]

More on this book and author:

Learn more about Letters by Oliver Sacks.

Read “Anthem” and more of W. H. Auden’s poems in Collected Poems.

Browse other books by Oliver Sacks and follow the Oliver Sacks Foundation on Instagram @oliversacksfdn.

Visit our Tumblr to peruse poems, audio recordings, and broadsides in the Knopf poem-a-day series.

To share the poem-a-day experience with friends, pass along this link.

#poetry #knopf #books #poem-a-day #knopf poetry #national poetry month #knopfpoetry #poem #aaknopf #Oliver Sacks #W. H. Auden #Auden #SacksAudio

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useless-catalanfacts · 8 months ago

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I'm going to university now (in Germany) and the uni i'm at offers catalan as a side course. Tomorrow i'll finally be at an event where they introduce the subject among others. I'M SO EXCITED!!!!! ^^ Finally! >< Sadly, there won't be a class for catalan literature (omg actually - if you have recommendations of important works from the recent centuries, i'd love to hear, but i'm just rambling, no pressure xD). There will be linguistics and speech praxis. I can't wait! :D

That's great!! I hope you enjoy it very much ☺️

Some of the modern classics (from the late 19th century to the present):

L'Atlàntida (Atlantis, 1877) by Jacint Verdaguer. Epic poem that re-interprets history and legends. Jacint Verdaguer is the most representative poet of the Renaixença/Romanticism movement in Catalan literature.

Other poems by Jacint Verdaguer (1845-1902) and Joan Maragall (1860-1911) are the most important poetry of the Renaixença.

The theatre plays Terra Baixa (usually published in English with the title Martha of the Lowlands, 1896) by Àngel Guimerà. Also Mar i cel ("Sea And Sky", 1888) by him.

La febre d'or ("The gold fever", 1892) by Narcís Oller, the most representative of the realist movement.

The monologue La infanticida ("The Child Murderer", 1898) by Víctor Català (pseudonym of Caterina Albert). And her novel Solitud ("Loneliness", 1905), which is considered the most representative book of the modernist and naturalism movement in Catalan literature.

The satirical theatre plays by Santiago Rusiñol like L'auca del senyor Esteve (1917) —personally I really like his play El bon policia ("The Good Policeman", 1905).

The theatre play El cafè de la Marina ("The Marina Café, 1933) by Josep Maria de Segarra.

Poetry by Pere Quart (1899-1986)

La Plaça del Diamant (it has been translated to English with the titles In Diamond Square and The Time of the Doves, 1962) by Mercè Rodoreda. Her novels Mirall trencat ("Broken Mirror", 1974), La mort i la primavera (Death in Spring, 1986) and Aloma (1938) are also iconic.

The short stories books by Pere Calders, most famously Cròniques de la veritat oculta ("Chronicles of the Hidden Truth", 1955).

The short stories book El cafè de la Granota (1985) by Jesús Montcada,

Poetry: Josep Carner (1884-1970), J.V. Foix (1893-1987).

The novel Bearn, o la sala de les nines ("Bearn, Or The Doll Room", 1961) by Llorenç Villalonga.

Poetry: Vicent Andrés Estellés (1924-1993), Salvador Espriu (1913-1985), Maria Mercè Marçal (1952-1998), Miquel Martí i Pol (1929-2003).

The essays by Joan Fuster, most importantly Nosaltres, els valencians ("We, the Valencians", 1962).

Mecanoscrit del Segon Origen (Typescript of the Second Origin, 1974) and Totes les bèsties de càrrega ("All The Load Beasts"?, 1967) by Manuel de Pedrolo, also personally by him I really liked the sci-fi short stories collection Trajecte Final ("Final Journey", 1975), and I will add my dad would be upset if I didn't mention his theatre play Homes i no ("Men and no", 1957).

Incerta glòria (Uncertain Glory, 1971) by Joan Sales.

Les veus del Pamano (Voices of the Pamano, 2004) and Jo confesso (I Confess, 2011) by Jaume Cabré.

I know some of them, at least Jaume Cabré's novels, Àngel Guimerà's plays, Uncertain Glory, and some Mercè Rodoreda novels have been published in German and/or English. In fact, Voices of the Pamano was a huge success in Germany.

I hope you enjoy the class very much!

#ask #literatura #arts #coses de la terra #literature #world literature #català #catalan

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miuarchiv · 18 days ago

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Abridged content of Schellenberg's memoir

About Best's and his own role in the formation and deployment of the Einsatzgruppen.

" As you can imagine, there was a tremendous amount of work for me during those days. At night I worked on the reorganisation plans and orders for the RSHA, while during the day I did the rest of my work, and the time that remained I worked with Dr Best, who dictated personnel orders, deployment orders and instructions for the forthcoming deployment of the Sipo and SD from his standing desk(Stehpult) or pacing up and down the room. We exchanged our thoughts on the more difficult formulations. After all, it was an unfamiliar job for us, because in the end it was a general staff-like task with all the problems of forming special forces, the formation of specialised troops, motor. transport of the troops, replenishment, in addition to the many additional tasks. At times, up to three secretaries had to deal with the abundance of dictations and their. transcription into typescript etc. Over a well-deserved lunch, Dr Best and I usually talked for another quarter of an hour. … He spoke sceptically about the Polish campaign; the biggest mistake HITLER was making was trying to turn such a freedom-loving people as the Poles into Helots. It was a realisation of history that such state developments harboured the seeds of disintegration. Best also made this remark openly to HEYDRICH, who was unconcerned by it in itself and was only worried that such remarks by those around him could harm him even after years."

A Stehpult may look like 👆

Best assisted Irene with the publication of the memoir, guess WHO had this piece edited out.

One of the 3 secretaries was Ursula Glatzel, Alfons Glatzel's daughter. She claimed to have no specific recollection of their work related to the Einsatzgruppen and spoke highly of Best. Another secretary agreed with WS's impression of "general staff-like work" but could not recall details as well.

Best attempted to discredit WS by remarking on the latter's tendency to exaggerate. However he could not fully deny the nature of his own role in commanding the Einsatzgruppen and more evidence was soon to be presented by the court.

Best only acknowledged his words about enslaving the Poles, which was a theory in his later essay, but claimed to have no recollection of such conversations taking place. (These accused would always forget about the files they signed and the meetings they attended, but had to admit that "technically" such files could have been presented to them)

"I have no specific recollection that SCHELLENBERG spent much time with me in the days when the task forces for Poland were being set up and that he was involved to some extent in the organisation. Of course, the integration of the SD forces into the Einsatzkommandos and Einsatzgruppen must have been handled by a leading member of the SD, who may well have been SCHELLENBERG. If one subtracts SCHELLENBERG's tendency to exaggerate his experiences from the present formulations, there is basically nothing left but what the situation suggests. Of course, numerous dispositions had to be made for the new deployment of the forces, which were then carried out according to the routine gained from previous missions. I could not have made ‘general staff’ dispositions, if only because SCHELLENBERG could have been with me until 3 September 1939, because from that day on he was with HIMMLER as HEYDRICH's representative in the ‘Special Heinrich Train’. On the 1st and 2nd, however, the German troops and behind them the security police forces began to move, and no one could have foreseen what the situation on the front would be like on the 3rd, 4th or 5th of September 1939." "A note from SCHELLENBERG's memoirs … has been held up to me, according to which I am supposed to have said to HEYDRICH that the greatest mistake HITLER made was the attempt to turn such a freedom-loving people as the Poles into Helots. It was a realisation of history that such developments harboured the seeds of decay. If I am asked when this conversation quoted by SCHELLENBERG took place, and whether it does not follow from it that I must have had knowledge of HEYDRICH's plans regarding the treatment of the Polish people at an earlier date than the one given to me, I would like to say the following: I have no personal recollection of the event quoted by SCHELLENBERG. However, I recognise my thoughts and words so precisely (I have used some of the same words in my later essays) that I assume the event to have happened. According to the available documents, the conversation described by SCHELLENBERG must have taken place before or on 3 September 1939, since HEYDRICH went to HIMMLER's special train on the 3rd - and so did SCHELLENBERG - who probably stayed out longer." Translated with www.DeepL.com/Translator (free version)

#walter schellenberg #werner best #reinhard heydrich #Interrogation

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deadpresidents · 1 year ago

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"No fewer than twenty-nine of my [research] cards document [Ronald] Reagan's detachment. He was at once the most remote and the most accessible of men. Although he reveled in the constant flesh-pressing of the Presidency, and ate up flattery with a spoon, he needed regular spells of 'personal time.' Glance through the Oval Office peephole and you would see him happily writing in longhand, always with his tie straight and jacket on, ensconced in an egglike solitude that the curvature of the lens only emphasized.

Adored by so many, he was a man with no real friends. This was not due to any inherent misanthropy...Until he remarried in 1952, earnest, bespectacled Ronnie was said to be 'best friends' with [actor] William Holden, and after that with Robert Taylor. But neither man was more than a barbecue buddy. Hundreds of political supporters and associates claimed to be close to him when he was Governor of California and thousands during his Presidency. Former Senator Paul Laxalt spoke for all of them when he said, 'I guess I know Ronald Reagan as well as anybody. Of course we never talk about anything personal.'

Sooner or later, every would-be intimate (including his four children, Maureen, Michael, Patti, and Ron) discovered that the only human being Reagan truly cared about (after his mother died) was Nancy. For Laxalt, disillusionment came when the President called to thank him for his campaign help in 1984, only to pause in midsentence and audibly turn over a page of typescript. For William F. Buckley Jr., it was when Reagan showed polite relief at his inability to accept an offer of hospitality. For Michael Reagan, it was the high-school graduation day his father greeted him with 'My name is Ronald Reagan. What's yours?'

Patti Davis, Reagan's younger daughter, writes in her 1992 autobiography:

'Often I'd come into a room and he'd looked up from his notecards as though he wasn't sure who I was. [Youngest son] Ron would race up to him, small and brimming with a child's enthusiasm, and I'd see the same bewildered look in my father's eyes, like he had to remind himself who Ron was...I sometimes felt like reminded him that Maureen was his daughter, too, not just someone with similar political philosophies.'

Reagan's scrupulously kept Presidential diary is remarkable for a near-total lack of interest in people as individuals. In all its half-million or so words, I did not find any affectionate remark about his children. He conscientiously named every visitor to the Oval Office, having a printed schedule to refer to, but in conversation he tended to rely on pronouns. Nor did he pay much attention to faces. 'Nice to meet you, Mr. Ambassador,' he greeted Denis Healey, the former Defense Minister of Great Britain, while the real British Ambassador stood by. 'But I've already met him,' his Excellency [the Ambassador] complained, 'eleven times.'"

-- Edmund Morris, Ronald Reagan's authorized biographer, on President Reagan's aloof personality, "The Unknowable: Ronald Reagan's Amazing, Mysterious Life," The New Yorker, June 28, 2004.

#History #Presidents #Presidency #Presidential History #Ronald Reagan #President Reagan #Reagan Administration #Presidential Personalities #Edmund Morris #First Families #Dutch: A Memoir of Ronald Reagan #Quotes About Presidents #The Reagan Diaries #Patti Davis #Reagan Family

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ninadove · 9 months ago

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Nina reads Dracula 🦇

September 30th

Mr. Harker arrived at nine o'clock. He had got his wife's wire just before starting. He is uncommonly clever, if one can judge from his face, and full of energy. If this journal be true—and judging by one's own wonderful experiences, it must be—he is also a man of great nerve. That going down to the vault a second time was a remarkable piece of daring. After reading his account of it I was prepared to meet a good specimen of manhood, but hardly the quiet, business-like gentleman who came here to-day.

YES!!! I agree! Jonathan is great!

After lunch Harker and his wife went back to their own room, and as I passed a while ago I heard the click of the typewriter. They are hard at it. Mrs. Harker says that they are knitting together in chronological order every scrap of evidence they have. Harker has got the letters between the consignee of the boxes at Whitby and the carriers in London who took charge of them. He is now reading his wife's typescript of my diary. I wonder what they make out of it. Here it is....

Yeah yeah sex is cool and all but have you ever knitted together in chronological order every scrap of evidence you had?

Strange that it never struck me that the very next house might be the Count's hiding-place! Goodness knows that we had enough clues from the conduct of the patient Renfield!

That’s why you need the Harkers. What a power couple. Feligami Dracula AU when —

Harker has gone back, and is again collating his material. He says that by dinner-time they will be able to show a whole connected narrative. He thinks that in the meantime I should see Renfield, as hitherto he has been a sort of index to the coming and going of the Count. I hardly see this yet, but when I get at the dates I suppose I shall. What a good thing that Mrs. Harker put my cylinders into type! We never could have found the dates otherwise....

LOOK AT THEM I AM FANGIRLING SO HARD

I found Renfield sitting placidly in his room with his hands folded, smiling benignly. At the moment he seemed as sane as any one I ever saw. I sat down and talked with him on a lot of subjects, all of which he treated naturally. He then, of his own accord, spoke of going home, a subject he has never mentioned to my knowledge during his sojourn here. In fact, he spoke quite confidently of getting his discharge at once.

I am also fangirling over Renfield, of course, but what’s new.

I believe that, had I not had the chat with Harker and read the letters and the dates of his outbursts, I should have been prepared to sign for him after a brief time of observation.

BUDDY HE ESCAPED LIKE FOUR TIMES AND TRIED TO STAB YOU SPECIFICALLY LESS THAN TWO WEEKS AGO

However, after a while I came away; my friend is just a little too sane at present to make it safe to probe him too deep with questions. He might begin to think, and then—!

Renfield is always thinking and I love that for him ❤️

Back to Jonathan:

Of one thing I am now satisfied: that all the boxes which arrived at Whitby from Varna in the Demeter were safely deposited in the old chapel at Carfax.

I wonder if Dracula gets a kick out of settling in the old chapel. That must be some sort of vampire power move.

I saw him leave for Whitby with as brave a face as I could, but I was sick with apprehension. The effort has, however, done him good. He was never so resolute, never so strong, never so full of volcanic energy, as at present. It is just as that dear, good Professor Van Helsing said: he is true grit, and he improves under strain that would kill a weaker nature. He came back full of life and hope and determination; we have got everything in order for to-night.

Again!!! Jonathan is the picture of resilience!!! Again!!! Feligami Dracula AU!!! (I am reaching out to such a specific target audience here)

I suppose one ought to pity any thing so hunted as is the Count. That is just it: this Thing is not human—not even beast. To read Dr. Seward's account of poor Lucy's death, and what followed, is enough to dry up the springs of pity in one's heart.

“I am not tired of being nice. But I still want to go apeshit”

"Besides, I know you loved my poor Lucy—" Here he turned away and covered his face with his hands. I could hear the tears in his voice. Mr. Morris, with instinctive delicacy, just laid a hand for a moment on his shoulder, and then walked quietly out of the room.

So much love in the face of tragedy you know it’s my jam

As I came along the corridor I saw Mr. Morris looking out of a window. He turned as he heard my footsteps. "How is Art?"

My Quincey… 🥺❤️

"I wish I could comfort all who suffer from the heart. Will you let me be your friend, and will you come to me for comfort if you need it? You will know, later on, why I speak." He saw that I was in earnest, and stooping, took my hand, and raising it to his lips, kissed it. It seemed but poor comfort to so brave and unselfish a soul, and impulsively I bent over and kissed him. The tears rose in his eyes, and there was a momentary choking in his throat; he said quite calmly:—

"Little girl, you will never regret that true-hearted kindness, so long as ever you live!" Then he went into the study to his friend.

"Little girl!"—the very words he had used to Lucy, and oh, but he proved himself a friend!

MY QUINCEY 😭❤️❤️❤️❤️

Now back to Sew —

"Dr. Seward, may I ask a favour? I want to see your patient, Mr. Renfield. Do let me see him. What you have said of him in your diary interests me so much!" She looked so appealing and so pretty that I could not refuse her, and there was no possible reason why I should; so I took her with me. When I went into the room, I told the man that a lady would like to see him; to which he simply answered: "Why?"

HOLY SHIT.

"She is going through the house, and wants to see every one in it," I answered. "Oh, very well," he said; "let her come in, by all means; but just wait a minute till I tidy up the place." His method of tidying was peculiar: he simply swallowed all the flies and spiders in the boxes before I could stop him.

Incredible man as always

"Good-evening, Mr. Renfield," said she. "You see, I know you, for Dr. Seward has told me of you." He made no immediate reply, but eyed her all over intently with a set frown on his face. This look gave way to one of wonder, which merged in doubt; then, to my intense astonishment, he said:—

"You're not the girl the doctor wanted to marry, are you? You can't be, you know, for she's dead."

HOW THE FUCK DOES HE KNOW THAT

But also enormous kudos to Mina for the way she handles this entire situation

"How did you know I wanted to marry any one?" His reply was simply contemptuous, given in a pause in which he turned his eyes from Mrs. Harker to me, instantly turning them back again:—

"What an asinine question!"

I fucking love this man so much do you understand do you see how insane (HA) I am about him???

"You will, of course, understand, Mrs. Harker, that when a man is so loved and honoured as our host is, everything regarding him is of interest in our little community. Dr. Seward is loved not only by his household and his friends, but even by his patients, who, being some of them hardly in mental equilibrium, are apt to distort causes and effects. Since I myself have been an inmate of a lunatic asylum, I cannot but notice that the sophistic tendencies of some of its inmates lean towards the errors of non causa and ignoratio elenchi." I positively opened my eyes at this new development. Here was my own pet lunatic—the most pronounced of his type that I had ever met with—talking elemental philosophy, and with the manner of a polished gentleman. I wonder if it was Mrs. Harker's presence which had touched some chord in his memory. If this new phase was spontaneous, or in any way due to her unconscious influence, she must have some rare gift or power.

Jack. Jack. Literally no one else is surprised.

"Good-bye, and I hope I may see you often, under auspices pleasanter to yourself," to which, to my astonishment, he replied:—

"Good-bye, my dear. I pray God I may never see your sweet face again. May He bless and keep you!"

I love them both ❤️❤️

And I am especially mad at the 1992 movie right now.

"Ah, that wonderful Madam Mina! She has man's brain—a brain that a man should have were he much gifted—and a woman's heart. The good God fashioned her for a purpose, believe me, when He made that so good combination. Friend John, up to now fortune has made that woman of help to us; after to-night she must not have to do with this so terrible affair. It is not good that she run a risk so great. We men are determined—nay, are we not pledged?—to destroy this monster; but it is no part for a woman."

Excuse me my good sir what the fuck —

However, 'the milk that is spilt cries not out afterwards,' as you say.

See, it’s hard to get truly mad at him when he comes up with these gems.

Now back to Mina:

"[Dracula] have still the aids of necromancy, which is, as his etymology imply, the divination by the dead, and all the dead that he can come nigh to are for him at command;"

Well, fuck.

"he can grow and become small;"

Pocket Dracula

Whilst he was speaking, Jonathan had taken my hand. I feared, oh so much, that the appalling nature of our danger was overcoming him when I saw his hand stretch out; but it was life to me to feel its touch—so strong, so self-reliant, so resolute. A brave man's hand can speak for itself; it does not even need a woman's love to hear its music.

When the Professor had done speaking my husband looked in my eyes, and I in his; there was no need for speaking between us.

"I answer for Mina and myself," he said.

FELIGAMI ❤️💜

He may not enter anywhere at the first, unless there be some one of the household who bid him to come; though afterwards he can come as he please.

So what did happen with the laudanum??? Does throwing a wolf at the window count as an invitation? Did I miss something?

Whilst they were talking Mr. Morris was looking steadily at the window, and he now got up quietly, and went out of the room.

WHERE ARE YOU GOING BELOVED COME BACK

Here we were interrupted in a very startling way. Outside the house came the sound of a pistol-shot; the glass of the window was shattered with a bullet, which, ricochetting from the top of the embrasure, struck the far wall of the room. I am afraid I am at heart a coward, for I shrieked out. The men all jumped to their feet; Lord Godalming flew over to the window and threw up the sash. As he did so we heard Mr. Morris's voice without:—

"Sorry! I fear I have alarmed you. I shall come in and tell you about it."

Oh it’s OK he was just out doing stereotypical Texan things —

"It was an idiotic thing of me to do, and I ask your pardon, Mrs. Harker, most sincerely; I fear I must have frightened you terribly. But the fact is that whilst the Professor was talking there came a big bat and sat on the window-sill. I have got such a horror of the damned brutes from recent events that I cannot stand them, and I went out to have a shot, as I have been doing of late of evenings, whenever I have seen one."

HOLY SHIT

All the men, even Jonathan, seemed relieved; but it did not seem to me good that they should brave danger and, perhaps, lessen their safety—strength being the best safety—through care of me; but their minds were made up, and, though it was a bitter pill for me to swallow, I could say nothing, save to accept their chivalrous care of me. […]

own that my heart began to fail me when the time for action came so close, but I did not say anything, for I had a greater fear that if I appeared as a drag or a hindrance to their work, they might even leave me out of their counsels altogether. They have now gone off to Carfax, with means to get into the house.

Manlike, they had told me to go to bed and sleep; as if a woman can sleep when those she loves are in danger! I shall lie down and pretend to sleep, lest Jonathan have added anxiety about me when he returns.

It’s OK (?) beloved the plot is not done with you yet…

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#I can’t tell you guys how many times I’ve almost tagged these as “Miraculous Ladybug” out of habit #Anyway this is my favourite entry so far for obvious reasons #dracula #dracula daily #nina reads dracula #mina harker #jonathan harker #jonmina #r. m. renfield #john seward #abraham van helsing #quincey p. morris #arthur holmwood #count dracula

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aracaranelentari · 2 years ago

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Was Fingolfin's death a suicide?

This is one of those questions that I've pondered for years, and can have different answers depending on your own interpretations of the text. The Silmarillion never had me convinced that he intended to die, or that it was his main goal in challenging Morgoth. Honestly, I don't think he was thinking or intending anything at all - his final charge and fatal duel were acts of complete despair and madness, there was no goal.

HOWEVER. I was going through Shaping of Middle-Earth a little bit ago while looking for something unrelated and came across the version of Fingolfin's duel as written in the 1930s "Quenta" typescript. Please read this with me:

"Most grievous of the losses of that battle [Dagor Bragollach] was the death of Fingolfin mightiest of the Noldoli. But his own death he sought in rage and anguish seeing the defeat of his people." (SoME p.128)

He SOUGHT HIS OWN DEATH. He may not have directly killed himself, but in this early version of the story at least, the text implies that Fingolfin was absolutely riding to his death on purpose. He intended to die.

Of course this is an early version of the story, and since this wording is only ever found in this one typescript, it's possible Tolkien rethought Fingolfin's intent or didn't like the suicidal implications, so he purposely left it out of later versions. However, the whole passage was rewritten for later versions in ways that echoed the Lay of Leithian more than this version in the "Quenta", so it's also possible that Tolkien simply left it out because it didn't flow with the rest of the new paragraph, not because he went back on the idea of Fingolfin seeking his own death.

So, yeah. I just thought that was interesting. Was his death suicide? Still debatable I think, depending on how you define the word suicide. Did he want to die? Very VERY likely, yes.

#tolkien #the silmarillion #fingolfin #the shaping of middle earth #tolkien meta #i am screaming over this btw #partially cuz ñolo is my baby boy and i'm distraught over this #also screaming cuz it means he and maedhros parallel each other even more than i thought

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oldwritingm · 1 year ago

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A little Pixal content to take a break from requests :] hope you guys don’t mind!!

Word count: 714

Ninjago - Book Lovers (Pixal)

“I still do not understand,” Pixal remarked, remembering to keep her voice down. “Why do you come all this way for these books?”

You shrugged while you walked down the aisle, going slow so you could read the spines of the books.

“Digital editions are not only easier to obtain, but more accessible, reliable, and more difficult to damage.”

“I know. But there’s just something special about reading things on paper.”

“Typescript looks the same on paper and screens.”

Anyone else might’ve taken her insistence as annoyance, or perhaps resentment, but you knew it was just utter curiosity; plus a little well-intentioned advice.

“Here,” you said at last, stopping randomly. You held out your palm, letting Pixal put her hand in yours.

You guided her fingers along the spines of the books, watching her eyes glimmer with curiosity. “And, stop,” you whispered, bringing your hands to a halt on the spine of a weathered hard-cover book. You closed your hand (and Pixal’s under it) around the book and pulled it out.

You placed it in her hands, opening the front cover. You ran your hands over the weathered old paper, savoring the texture, breathing deep when the scent reached your nose. Pixal mimicked you, her expression unreadable as ever.

“What is this book?”

“Looks like it’s called The Last Silk Dress.”

“What is the subject?”

You shrugged. “I don’t know. We’re in the historical fiction section, though.”

“Which time period does this illustrate?”

“I don’t know!”

Pixal looked up at you for a second, taking in your eager smile.

“That’s the fun part about reading. You get to find out for yourself.”

Pixal blinked, turning back down to the book. She flipped to the first chapter while you glanced around at the other titles surrounding you.

After a moment you decided to keep looking, so you put your hand out. “Here, I’ll put it back for you.”

Pixal jerked the book away. “No. I am reading.”

A smug grin curved your lips. “So, what’s it about?”

“I do not know. I am… finding out.”

Your smile only grew when Pixal dropped to the ground, making herself comfortable right there in the middle of the aisle. She hunched over the book, absentmindedly rubbing a thumb over the yellowed paper.

“Hey, you’re a natural,” you observed.

Pixal looked up at you, cocking her head inquisitively.

You giggled, giving her a thumbs-up and a wink. “Just keep doing what you’re doing. I’ll be back when I find my own book.”

You left her there while you browsed the shelves, finding a small stack of books that seemed interesting.

When you returned she had made good progress in her reading, and she didn’t snap her head up as you approached like she usually did. She was completely enamored in the book.

She did look up when you cleared your throat to get her attention. She smiled at you, then widened her eyes at the stack in your hands.

“Can I read those, too?”

You laughed, holding out your hand and pulling her to her feet. You pulled her close, giving her cheek an affectionate smooch.

“Of course.”

“I like books. I am glad you invited me to come with you to the library.”

“And I’m glad you came.”

That night was the first time you curled up together, a book in each of your laps and blankets draped over your legs. This scene became a common one in your relationship, however, and it only consumed more of your hours together as time progressed. Still more hours were spent discussing your books—either giving each other synopses or discussing the books you read together.

And your little bookshelf grew like a garden; books that didn’t fit on the shelves found homes atop the little piece, at least until you bought it a friend. And another. And another. And filled each one with more books that you liked so much that you ended up buying your own copies.

But there was one book you never put on the shelf. Its home was on the coffee table, always ready to be picked up and read for the umpteenth time by a certain individual who always credited you with finding it, and loved you all the more for it.

The Last Silk Dress.

Thank you so much for reading!! As a book lover this was very gratifying for me to write, I hope you lovable duckies enjoyed too <33

(divider by saradika)

#ninjago #lego ninjago #ninjago x reader #pixal #pixal borg #pixal x reader #pixal borg x reader #ninjago pixal

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t-ierrahumeda · 6 months ago

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Can I ask about your work experience, like what languages you work with and what kinds of projects you do? What is it that makes you want to take up a trade instead?

Hi! I've been a Java backend developer (mostly, I've done some front end stuff with Angular and Typescript, which I loathe) for 6 years. I've mostly worked in big companies, done contractor work (which I didn't like, WAY too demanding, REALLY long hours) and now I'm in a nondescript company, I took this job bc I was unemployed and I needed an income fast, but I don't like it.

I stress and get frustrated very quickly and there are many things that you have to be updated all the time, you can't just be a 'Java developer', you have to keep learning stuff that is insane and the pace changes all the time. You're surveilled all the time, not just with how many hours you put in, but also how much you use the computer, what programs you use, for how long, etc. It's very micromanaging-oriented. Some might not experience this, but I've always worked with these conditions, though lately even more monitored. I don't like it, makes me feel like I'm not working enough. You get the idea.

Currently I'm looking for a position in a better paid place, but the process of interviews is long and tiring, they can be over 2 hours long where they test your technical knowledge, sometimes with live coding, which makes me very very nervous (I don't like others seeing me coding, I hate it), and 99% of the times the interviewers are smug, sardonic men that will try to make you feel like you're dumb. This doesn't happen to my friends that also are developers, so I think it might be because I'm a female in the field. So there's that too. I'm thinking of changing paths because, even though most people might think this is a cushy job where you can work from home (that's a big plus, I don't complain about that, I love staying at home and I'm not very good at socializing duh I'm a software developer lol), you have to wreck your brain and you work long hours, sometimes up to 10 a day, specially when something breaks or you work in a shitty company, as is the case rn.

I wanna try doing something with my hands, something where I can see the results of my work in real life and that impacts others, and tbh there aren't many women electricians (I personally don't know any), so while it might be hard at first to get a clientele, I think there could be a market for it, bc women might feel safer with a woman in their house instead of a man. I want to try learning how to be a gas fitter and maybe also plumbing, so I can expand my trade and not just be an electrician. I found some 2 year courses at different universities so instead of finishing my degree in Software Engineering I'll go for that.

Hope that helps!

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