A paper in need of revision, books uncracked due to the winding down of the semester and the tiresomeness of digesting selective narratives. It's said I need to know these names and dates, but drained of all vitality, this process fails to ignite the spark.
In between the patronizing tone of the textbook, I've been reading Ryszard Kapuściński's 'Travels With Herodotus' and Herodotus, the "Father of Lies" himself. The writing of both is beautiful and captures the wildness of the world, and the stuff of legends and truth stranger than fiction.
We joke that one could make a fantastic doom metal concept album based on Herodotus's observations. "Fish-Eaters and the Crystal Coffin," "Snakes With Wings," "The Dead Are Buried in Honey." And I know not everything has to be literary, but I like the visceralness, the writing about people and the tales they tell, that make these distant times come alive in a way that didactic sermonizing and names and dates cannot.
But it's only one more week, and the skies grow darker, and I feel so detached from all this business of holidays and stripped of all real creativity. Here's hoping it comes back, and here's some sonic beauty for the meantime
Showing posts with label history. Show all posts
Showing posts with label history. Show all posts
Tuesday, December 6, 2011
Monday, December 5, 2011
these shrouded temples
The pallor of grey and mists obscuring cathedral spires and housing projects in the distance. "It's disgusting" she says, just as I say I love this. If it was still daylight upon the end of my shift, I'd be out tromping through the cemetery taking photos of angels through the gauze of condensated rain.
Instead, I feast on leftovers and the communal coffeepot. Such is the glory of the Peonage, especially given that I broke Rules We All Forgot About 4.126 involving accidentally dropping a cussword in class in regards to United States foreign policy. Randal was of course amused, I'm of the school of thought that while salty discourse is more effective in small doses, there's no other way to describe despotic nations that we deal with as either being on the shitlist (Libya, Venezuela) or not (Uzbekistan, Saudi Arabia).
Oh well. Either I'm not as worried about how I'm perceived or I was slightly amused to be reprimanded for a slip of the tongue when my classmates are talking about how we should drill everywhere and blow things up but this is where I am totally like my dad, or something. Oh well. If I'm the Jennifer Finch of the class, so be it.
Instead, I feast on leftovers and the communal coffeepot. Such is the glory of the Peonage, especially given that I broke Rules We All Forgot About 4.126 involving accidentally dropping a cussword in class in regards to United States foreign policy. Randal was of course amused, I'm of the school of thought that while salty discourse is more effective in small doses, there's no other way to describe despotic nations that we deal with as either being on the shitlist (Libya, Venezuela) or not (Uzbekistan, Saudi Arabia).
Oh well. Either I'm not as worried about how I'm perceived or I was slightly amused to be reprimanded for a slip of the tongue when my classmates are talking about how we should drill everywhere and blow things up but this is where I am totally like my dad, or something. Oh well. If I'm the Jennifer Finch of the class, so be it.
Tuesday, July 26, 2011
posts from last night
So last night I was sitting at a kitchen table at a friend's house letting the dog get some fresh air and compiling tuneage for the show this morning, thinking about the transpiring of the past few days, of revolutions borne out of hope and frustration only to see more of the same, of self-styled holy warriors who kill children and blow things up, of nations too busy bickering over partisan lines than actually dealing with actual problems, preferring to snipe about the mannerisms of one's spouse or what someone's wearing.
Sometimes the fuckedupness of it all gets a bit overwhelming and I find myself returning to Job and the Psalms to use the words of others to simultaneously express wonder at the Divine and the beauty of the world and to be furious at the grievous and incomprehensible wrongs that we inflict upon each other.
I don't believe that everyone who professes what I believe is going to end up where they think they're going, or that they're right or justified. Since Glenn Beck is an adherent of a religion that bears as much resemblance to my Christianity as Farrakhan's does to classical Islam, I don't take him seriously but to imply that it's somehow their fault they got shot makes me sick. So does Pat Buchanan who's always been afraid of the coming days when the world won't be so crackertastic. You know what, all these other people have souls too. God made them just as much as he made you.
Buchanan applauds the guy's grasp of history, but being a bit of a history geek, I also don't understand this conflation of Christianity and xenophobia evident here, and also stateside, especially considering that a substantial amount of early converts were not of Nordic, or even European stock and came from areas that we now lump into the general category of "the Arab World." Augustine, Perpetua, Simon of Cyrene hailed from Roman Africa, which is now modern-day Tunisia, Algeria, Libya... most of the churches in the book of Revelation are in modern-day Turkey. So, yeah, I know nobody cares about stuff like that except for me, but I somehow feel like it's relevant to point out that while the pre-Islamic world was converting to various forms of Christianity, my ancestors to the north (Celtic and Slav) were still doing that whole human sacrifice thing. Norway was still pagan for about a thousand years after. Just sayin'.
And yeah, European thought and religion have dominated the world through colonization, globalization, and mass media, so for a lot of people the West is equated with at least a cultural framework that has some basis in Judeo-Christian thought. And talk about bloody political conflicts. It wasn't all peace and love under Ferdinand and Isabella, or in the Balkans where everyone's been doing nasty things to each other for centuries, or the Crusades, or England and Ireland. It was brutal and barbaric too and like now I'd guess that the fanaticism was more of a bloodlust and lust for power wrapped up in a moralistic guise rather than any deep religious faith or understanding.
And I don't know if there's anyone who makes my blood boil than those who kill in the name of whatever religion or ideology they espouse because they have it out for whoever. I don't care what it is. It's sick and wrong. And just because someone else did something bad doesn't mean you have to do it worse. The Neo-Nazi types who think they're somehow superior because they're more likely to get sunburned are some of the hardest people for me to even try to understand or interact with, and the ones who'd say that the Hitleristas are reprehensible but more or less espouse the same garbage.
I've heard people talk about the perceived menace of Islam and can't help but think that it seems there seems to be this hard-wired human need to have an enemy, an abstract group of people to fight against. In my parents' years, it was the communists, and Hitler before that, and before that, whatever interethnic conflict which led to people immigrating here in the first place. For my lefty friends, it's those damn wingnuts, for the righties, it's the secular humanists or the perceived elite.
And sure there's wackjobs with violent tendencies in every camp who like to blow shit up and put their ideology over whatever human collateral stands in their way. And it seems more and more like we as a country focus on the talking heads and what their acolytes might do while our tax dollars are used to blow the heck out of othfer places halfway around the world and do all sorts of shady stuff and don't even pretend it's not happening anymore. I was born halfway through the Reagan years and can't remember when we weren't blowing something up halfway around the world... arming shady dictators in Latin America, going into the Balkans, Sudan, Granada, Somalia, Kuwait, Iraq, Afghanistan, Libya, Yemen, Pakistan. But those last ones, it's not really war, just some sophisticated technology that kills people from far away, so you don't have to look in that person's eyes.
I don't buy this whole "oh they're ruthless and can't be dealt with like normal human beings" because it's not like Al-Qaeda was the first or only group to use suicide bombers or there weren't people brainwashed with ideology.
But maybe it's just my own weird perspective of God-so-loved-the-world and not God-loves-my-country-best-because-I'm-cracker. I just don't understand hating someone else's guts because they practice a different religion or don't look like you or do the same things. And there are things that other cultures do that I'm really glad I don't have to deal with, especially being female. I like being able to get an education, live on my own and hang out with whoever and not have to deal with the lady parts getting cut off because heaven forbid that I experience pleasure during intercourse. I don't hate other people because they do those things even if I think it's messed up. We do things in our country that are horrible too but it's always easy to point the finger at someone else.
I should note here that I almost didn't post this, in part because I found myself so angry and frustrated at my lack of powerlessness but upon hearing the tonedeafness of the punditry, I felt like I had to tip the balance the other way somehow.
I should also note here that the above song was playing during the penning of said rant, and said song is awesome in that totally apocalyptic way.
Sometimes the fuckedupness of it all gets a bit overwhelming and I find myself returning to Job and the Psalms to use the words of others to simultaneously express wonder at the Divine and the beauty of the world and to be furious at the grievous and incomprehensible wrongs that we inflict upon each other.
I don't believe that everyone who professes what I believe is going to end up where they think they're going, or that they're right or justified. Since Glenn Beck is an adherent of a religion that bears as much resemblance to my Christianity as Farrakhan's does to classical Islam, I don't take him seriously but to imply that it's somehow their fault they got shot makes me sick. So does Pat Buchanan who's always been afraid of the coming days when the world won't be so crackertastic. You know what, all these other people have souls too. God made them just as much as he made you.
Buchanan applauds the guy's grasp of history, but being a bit of a history geek, I also don't understand this conflation of Christianity and xenophobia evident here, and also stateside, especially considering that a substantial amount of early converts were not of Nordic, or even European stock and came from areas that we now lump into the general category of "the Arab World." Augustine, Perpetua, Simon of Cyrene hailed from Roman Africa, which is now modern-day Tunisia, Algeria, Libya... most of the churches in the book of Revelation are in modern-day Turkey. So, yeah, I know nobody cares about stuff like that except for me, but I somehow feel like it's relevant to point out that while the pre-Islamic world was converting to various forms of Christianity, my ancestors to the north (Celtic and Slav) were still doing that whole human sacrifice thing. Norway was still pagan for about a thousand years after. Just sayin'.
And yeah, European thought and religion have dominated the world through colonization, globalization, and mass media, so for a lot of people the West is equated with at least a cultural framework that has some basis in Judeo-Christian thought. And talk about bloody political conflicts. It wasn't all peace and love under Ferdinand and Isabella, or in the Balkans where everyone's been doing nasty things to each other for centuries, or the Crusades, or England and Ireland. It was brutal and barbaric too and like now I'd guess that the fanaticism was more of a bloodlust and lust for power wrapped up in a moralistic guise rather than any deep religious faith or understanding.
And I don't know if there's anyone who makes my blood boil than those who kill in the name of whatever religion or ideology they espouse because they have it out for whoever. I don't care what it is. It's sick and wrong. And just because someone else did something bad doesn't mean you have to do it worse. The Neo-Nazi types who think they're somehow superior because they're more likely to get sunburned are some of the hardest people for me to even try to understand or interact with, and the ones who'd say that the Hitleristas are reprehensible but more or less espouse the same garbage.
I've heard people talk about the perceived menace of Islam and can't help but think that it seems there seems to be this hard-wired human need to have an enemy, an abstract group of people to fight against. In my parents' years, it was the communists, and Hitler before that, and before that, whatever interethnic conflict which led to people immigrating here in the first place. For my lefty friends, it's those damn wingnuts, for the righties, it's the secular humanists or the perceived elite.
And sure there's wackjobs with violent tendencies in every camp who like to blow shit up and put their ideology over whatever human collateral stands in their way. And it seems more and more like we as a country focus on the talking heads and what their acolytes might do while our tax dollars are used to blow the heck out of othfer places halfway around the world and do all sorts of shady stuff and don't even pretend it's not happening anymore. I was born halfway through the Reagan years and can't remember when we weren't blowing something up halfway around the world... arming shady dictators in Latin America, going into the Balkans, Sudan, Granada, Somalia, Kuwait, Iraq, Afghanistan, Libya, Yemen, Pakistan. But those last ones, it's not really war, just some sophisticated technology that kills people from far away, so you don't have to look in that person's eyes.
I don't buy this whole "oh they're ruthless and can't be dealt with like normal human beings" because it's not like Al-Qaeda was the first or only group to use suicide bombers or there weren't people brainwashed with ideology.
But maybe it's just my own weird perspective of God-so-loved-the-world and not God-loves-my-country-best-because-I'm-cracker. I just don't understand hating someone else's guts because they practice a different religion or don't look like you or do the same things. And there are things that other cultures do that I'm really glad I don't have to deal with, especially being female. I like being able to get an education, live on my own and hang out with whoever and not have to deal with the lady parts getting cut off because heaven forbid that I experience pleasure during intercourse. I don't hate other people because they do those things even if I think it's messed up. We do things in our country that are horrible too but it's always easy to point the finger at someone else.
I should note here that I almost didn't post this, in part because I found myself so angry and frustrated at my lack of powerlessness but upon hearing the tonedeafness of the punditry, I felt like I had to tip the balance the other way somehow.
I should also note here that the above song was playing during the penning of said rant, and said song is awesome in that totally apocalyptic way.
Friday, May 20, 2011
birthdaypartycheesecakejellybeanboom
As some of the more astute have noted, it's the people who really don't know squat about what they believe except for what they read in Left Behind paperbacks and hear on the radio, who are spazzing about the end of the world. The rest of us roll our eyes and keep going because there's always someone who says he's the second coming of whoever, and life just goes on, but I don't think where one's soul is at should be taken lightly.
For all the talk about it, none of them seem to be trying to save any souls from perdition in the meantime, and the lunacy of the very few gives my beloved cynics and pagans of distinction a golden opportunity to feel a bit smug about themselves, which can be funny, but usually gets old pretty fast.
Having heard all manner of conspiracy theory and speculation, and being a bit of a history geek, here's what they thought about what all that end of the world stuff would look like back then, what with all the comets, earthquakes, and political upheaval.
Babilon is fallen. Wherein briefly in vnfolded all the matters of greatest moment, which hath hapned from the rising of Iulius Cesar Emperor of Rome, to the present affaires (now) in Germany; and which shall ensue to the worlds end. Published according to the first copie, printed, Anno Dom. 1595
Christian information concerning these last times: Wherein all people may clearly see what prophesies the Holy Prophets prophesied of should come to pass: which of them is fulfilling, and which is fulfilled; and how the lowest part of the great image, that Daniel shewed to the King, is now a breaking to pouder, and by whom; whereby people may see, how very-near Antichrist, or the great whore of Babylon, is to her end. Also some prophetical passages gathered out of Jacob Behme's works, who prophesied and gave them forth, in the year, 1623. Concerning what should come to pass in these northern islands; and as he then declared them, they are now come to pass; and also what he said concerning the Turk, what he was, what he should do, and what should at last become of him. / Wrinten [sic] in the fifth month by F.E.
Englands second alarm to vvar, against the Beast. Saul, with his Edomite has shed blood to his power; he smites Israels city, and destroyes his owne house; overcame his people once, and overthrew himselfe for ever! It relates to what is done now. Grave questions touching the Edomite; his admission to court, and into office there; how it relates to papists now. He has a commission to destroy a city of priests, which he does with an utter destruction. Excellent reasons why the Lord suffered such a destruction to be executed upon Israel then; and why he suffers the same now; and why by an Edomites hand then and now
Great Britans [sic] alarm: discovering national sinns, and exhorting to reformation of life, and holiness, and courage in the battels of god against the Anti-christ, Magog, fourth-beast, eagle, King of Babilon, and Gog, and kings of east to bee fought by a lion, and fierce people of the north, which must burn the seat of Magog, and whole body of the eagle, and turn Gog the moon into blood according to the holy prophets predictions, and limitation of the beasts continuation and period, and hieroglyphical marks, and other descriptions of them al / collected, and knit together in this poëm by Christofer Syms Gent
A discourse on Antichrist, and the Apocalyps shewing that the number of the beast [chi xi sigma] ought not to be translated 666 but 42 only, that Christians have reigned a 1000 years, and that Mohamet is the grand Antichrist / by Richard Franklin
A looking-glass for the times being a tract concerning the original and rise of truth and the original and rise of Antichrist : showing by pregnant instances of Scripture, history, and other writings, that the principles and practices of the people called Quakers in this day and their sufferings are the same as were the principles and practices of Christ and His apostles ...
A perfect description of Antichrist, and his false prophet. [electronic resource] : Wherein is plainly shewed that Oliver Cromwell was Antichrist, and John Presbiter, or John Covenanter his false prophet. Written in the yeare, MDCLIV. By Abraham Nelson. And now published with an epistle to the Kings most excellent Majestie
A little vievv of this old vvorld, in tvvo books. I. A map of monarchy, wherein the state of the world is represen[t]ed under Kings, with their entrance, reign, and ends, from King Saul, to King Charls. II. An epitomy of papacy, vvherein is discovered the rise of Anti-christ, with the entrance, reign, and ends of the popes of Rome for 740 years, till the Pope was fully declared to be the Anti-christ. / A work fitted for the press five years agone, and now published, by Tho. Palmer, pastor of a Church of Christ in Nottingham
A plain and easie calculation of the name, mark, and number of the name of the beast. Wherein these three points are declared: first, the name (in the apocalyptical style) is no other, but the universal headship of the beast, opposed to the name, power, and headship of the lamb. Secondly, the number, in the same style, is the number of years to the setting up of this name or headship; in which respect it is called, the number of the name. Thirdly, the truth of the exposition is cleared, by agreement of all particulars, both in the text, and in the whole prophecy; and by the event of things, a sure interpreter of prophecy. / Humbly presented to the studious observers of scripture prophecies, God's work, and the times, by Nathaniel Stephens, minister of Fenny-Drayton in Leicestershire. Whereunto isprefixed, an commendatory epistle, written by Mr. Edm. Calamy
The great antichrist revealed, never yet discovered, and proved to be neither pope, nor Turk, nor any single person, nor any one monarch or tyrant in any polity but a collected pack, or multitude of hypocritical, heretical, blasphemous, and most scandalous wicked men that have fulfilled all the prophesies of the Scriptures ... and especially have united ... together by a solemn league and covenant to slay the two witnesses of God viz. the supreame magistrate of the Commonwealth, and the chief pastors and governors of the Church of Christ, and the Christian world is requested to judge whether [brace] the Assembly of Presbyterians, together with the independents, Anabaptists, and lay- preachers be not the false prophet ... and whether the prevalent faction of the long Parliament ... that killed the two witnesses of Jesus Christ , 1. Charles the First ... 2. William Laud ... be not the visible body of the same antichrist
'John the Revelator' is one of my favorite Blind Willie Johnson songs, and there's countless fantastic renditions of it all over. My first introduction to it was a long Phil Keaggy jam my dad had on CD when I was growing up, but this one with Jack White's ever-how-does-he-make-it-rock-so-damn-much guitar is pretty good too.
For all the talk about it, none of them seem to be trying to save any souls from perdition in the meantime, and the lunacy of the very few gives my beloved cynics and pagans of distinction a golden opportunity to feel a bit smug about themselves, which can be funny, but usually gets old pretty fast.
Having heard all manner of conspiracy theory and speculation, and being a bit of a history geek, here's what they thought about what all that end of the world stuff would look like back then, what with all the comets, earthquakes, and political upheaval.
Babilon is fallen. Wherein briefly in vnfolded all the matters of greatest moment, which hath hapned from the rising of Iulius Cesar Emperor of Rome, to the present affaires (now) in Germany; and which shall ensue to the worlds end. Published according to the first copie, printed, Anno Dom. 1595
Christian information concerning these last times: Wherein all people may clearly see what prophesies the Holy Prophets prophesied of should come to pass: which of them is fulfilling, and which is fulfilled; and how the lowest part of the great image, that Daniel shewed to the King, is now a breaking to pouder, and by whom; whereby people may see, how very-near Antichrist, or the great whore of Babylon, is to her end. Also some prophetical passages gathered out of Jacob Behme's works, who prophesied and gave them forth, in the year, 1623. Concerning what should come to pass in these northern islands; and as he then declared them, they are now come to pass; and also what he said concerning the Turk, what he was, what he should do, and what should at last become of him. / Wrinten [sic] in the fifth month by F.E.
Englands second alarm to vvar, against the Beast. Saul, with his Edomite has shed blood to his power; he smites Israels city, and destroyes his owne house; overcame his people once, and overthrew himselfe for ever! It relates to what is done now. Grave questions touching the Edomite; his admission to court, and into office there; how it relates to papists now. He has a commission to destroy a city of priests, which he does with an utter destruction. Excellent reasons why the Lord suffered such a destruction to be executed upon Israel then; and why he suffers the same now; and why by an Edomites hand then and now
Great Britans [sic] alarm: discovering national sinns, and exhorting to reformation of life, and holiness, and courage in the battels of god against the Anti-christ, Magog, fourth-beast, eagle, King of Babilon, and Gog, and kings of east to bee fought by a lion, and fierce people of the north, which must burn the seat of Magog, and whole body of the eagle, and turn Gog the moon into blood according to the holy prophets predictions, and limitation of the beasts continuation and period, and hieroglyphical marks, and other descriptions of them al / collected, and knit together in this poëm by Christofer Syms Gent
A discourse on Antichrist, and the Apocalyps shewing that the number of the beast [chi xi sigma] ought not to be translated 666 but 42 only, that Christians have reigned a 1000 years, and that Mohamet is the grand Antichrist / by Richard Franklin
A looking-glass for the times being a tract concerning the original and rise of truth and the original and rise of Antichrist : showing by pregnant instances of Scripture, history, and other writings, that the principles and practices of the people called Quakers in this day and their sufferings are the same as were the principles and practices of Christ and His apostles ...
A perfect description of Antichrist, and his false prophet. [electronic resource] : Wherein is plainly shewed that Oliver Cromwell was Antichrist, and John Presbiter, or John Covenanter his false prophet. Written in the yeare, MDCLIV. By Abraham Nelson. And now published with an epistle to the Kings most excellent Majestie
A little vievv of this old vvorld, in tvvo books. I. A map of monarchy, wherein the state of the world is represen[t]ed under Kings, with their entrance, reign, and ends, from King Saul, to King Charls. II. An epitomy of papacy, vvherein is discovered the rise of Anti-christ, with the entrance, reign, and ends of the popes of Rome for 740 years, till the Pope was fully declared to be the Anti-christ. / A work fitted for the press five years agone, and now published, by Tho. Palmer, pastor of a Church of Christ in Nottingham
A plain and easie calculation of the name, mark, and number of the name of the beast. Wherein these three points are declared: first, the name (in the apocalyptical style) is no other, but the universal headship of the beast, opposed to the name, power, and headship of the lamb. Secondly, the number, in the same style, is the number of years to the setting up of this name or headship; in which respect it is called, the number of the name. Thirdly, the truth of the exposition is cleared, by agreement of all particulars, both in the text, and in the whole prophecy; and by the event of things, a sure interpreter of prophecy. / Humbly presented to the studious observers of scripture prophecies, God's work, and the times, by Nathaniel Stephens, minister of Fenny-Drayton in Leicestershire. Whereunto isprefixed, an commendatory epistle, written by Mr. Edm. Calamy
The great antichrist revealed, never yet discovered, and proved to be neither pope, nor Turk, nor any single person, nor any one monarch or tyrant in any polity but a collected pack, or multitude of hypocritical, heretical, blasphemous, and most scandalous wicked men that have fulfilled all the prophesies of the Scriptures ... and especially have united ... together by a solemn league and covenant to slay the two witnesses of God viz. the supreame magistrate of the Commonwealth, and the chief pastors and governors of the Church of Christ, and the Christian world is requested to judge whether [brace] the Assembly of Presbyterians, together with the independents, Anabaptists, and lay- preachers be not the false prophet ... and whether the prevalent faction of the long Parliament ... that killed the two witnesses of Jesus Christ , 1. Charles the First ... 2. William Laud ... be not the visible body of the same antichrist
'John the Revelator' is one of my favorite Blind Willie Johnson songs, and there's countless fantastic renditions of it all over. My first introduction to it was a long Phil Keaggy jam my dad had on CD when I was growing up, but this one with Jack White's ever-how-does-he-make-it-rock-so-damn-much guitar is pretty good too.
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
Wyrd Historye of Thee Daye: The Ranters
... not the ravers, kids.
As the Peonage takes advantage of our literacy and our employment in the Hallowed Halls of Information, the Kynge's Brewe is a constant companion to our serious scholarship of all manner of esoterica.
Ohiolink is a beautiful thing for acquiring unaffordable art books, books we want to read, books to write papers with, and sundry graphic novels and varyed musick, though the treasure trove of early English writings remains inaccessible to us.
Still, the headlines of said microforms make for entertaining reading, if one finds amusement in "Scurvie Alchemy" and whatnot.
There was quite a bit about The Ranters, which according to Wikipedia was a fringe religious sect that practiced some form of pantheism and general free love, which makes them something like 17th-century hippies. The screeds below make references to blaspheming song and other travesties with some amusing alliteration.
Needless to say, this didn't go over very well.
The routing of the Ranters, being a full relation of their uncivil carriages, and blasphemous words and actions at their mad meetings, their several kind of musick, dances, and ryotings, and their belief and opinions concerning heaven and hell. With their examinations taken before a justice of peace, and a letter or summons sent to their sisters or fellow creatures in the name of the Divel, requiring them to meet Belzebub, Lucifer, Pluto, and twenty more of the infernall spirits at the time and place appointed. Also, a true description how they may be known in al companies and the names of the chief ring-leaders of this new generation that excell all others in wickednesse.
The joviall crevv, or, The devill turn'd Ranter: being a character of the roaring Ranters of these times. / Represented in a comedie, containing a true discovery of the cursed conversations, prodigious pranks, monstrous meetings, private performances, rude revellings, garrulous greetings, impious and incorrigible deporements of a sect (lately sprung up amongst us) called Ranters. Their names sorted to their severall natures, and both lively presented in action.
The Ranters declaration: with their new oath and protestation; their strange votes, and a new way to get money; their proclamation and summons; their new way of ranting, never before heard of; their dancing of the hay naked, at the white Lyon in Peticoat-lane; their mad dream, and Dr. Pockridge his speech, with their trial, examination, and answers: the coming in of 3000. their prayer and recantation, to be in all cities and market-towns read and published; the mad-ranters further resolution; their Christmas carol, and blaspheming song; their two pretended-abominable keyes to enter heaven, and the worshiping of his little-majesty, the late Bishop of Canterbury: a new and further discovery of their black art, with the names of those that are possest by the devil, having strange and hideous cries heard within them, to the great admiration of all those that shall read and peruse this ensuing subject. Licensed according to order, and published by M. Stubs, a late fellow-Ranter.
The ranters last sermon : With the manner of their meetings, ceremonies, and actions; also their damnable, blasphemous and diabolicall tenents; delivered in an exercise neer Pissing-conduit. The third day of the week, being the 2 of August. 1654. With their mock-Psalme. Also God's wonderfull judgements shewed upon Ranters, Quakers and Shakers, and other wicked and profane persons at their meetings and exercises in London and other places. Written by J.M. (a deluded brother) lately escaped out of their snare.
The black and terrible vvarning piece: or, a scourge to Englands rebellion. Truly representing, the horrible iniquity of the times; the dangerous proceedings of the ranters, and the holding of no Resurrection by the shakers, in Yorkshire and elsewhere. With the several judgements of the most high and eternal Lord God, upon all usurpers, who deny His law, and His truth; and the manner how 130 children were taken away by the devil, and never seen no more; and divers others taken, rent, torn, and cast up and down from room to room, by strange and dreadfull spirits, appearing in the shapes of, a black boar, a roaring lyon, an English statesman, and a Roman fryer. Extracted out of the elaborate works of Bishop Hall, and Sir Kenelm Digby; and published for general satisfaction, to all Christian princes, states, and common-wealths in Europe
One of their founders later joined an apocalyptic proto-Unitarian group called the Muggletonians which I didn't know existed until about five minutes ago, and who liked to discuss the impending doom of the world over some beers at the local tavern.
In other words, nothing new under the sun, be they hippies or fundies, and history is awesome.
As the Peonage takes advantage of our literacy and our employment in the Hallowed Halls of Information, the Kynge's Brewe is a constant companion to our serious scholarship of all manner of esoterica.
Ohiolink is a beautiful thing for acquiring unaffordable art books, books we want to read, books to write papers with, and sundry graphic novels and varyed musick, though the treasure trove of early English writings remains inaccessible to us.
Still, the headlines of said microforms make for entertaining reading, if one finds amusement in "Scurvie Alchemy" and whatnot.
There was quite a bit about The Ranters, which according to Wikipedia was a fringe religious sect that practiced some form of pantheism and general free love, which makes them something like 17th-century hippies. The screeds below make references to blaspheming song and other travesties with some amusing alliteration.
Needless to say, this didn't go over very well.
The routing of the Ranters, being a full relation of their uncivil carriages, and blasphemous words and actions at their mad meetings, their several kind of musick, dances, and ryotings, and their belief and opinions concerning heaven and hell. With their examinations taken before a justice of peace, and a letter or summons sent to their sisters or fellow creatures in the name of the Divel, requiring them to meet Belzebub, Lucifer, Pluto, and twenty more of the infernall spirits at the time and place appointed. Also, a true description how they may be known in al companies and the names of the chief ring-leaders of this new generation that excell all others in wickednesse.
The joviall crevv, or, The devill turn'd Ranter: being a character of the roaring Ranters of these times. / Represented in a comedie, containing a true discovery of the cursed conversations, prodigious pranks, monstrous meetings, private performances, rude revellings, garrulous greetings, impious and incorrigible deporements of a sect (lately sprung up amongst us) called Ranters. Their names sorted to their severall natures, and both lively presented in action.
The Ranters declaration: with their new oath and protestation; their strange votes, and a new way to get money; their proclamation and summons; their new way of ranting, never before heard of; their dancing of the hay naked, at the white Lyon in Peticoat-lane; their mad dream, and Dr. Pockridge his speech, with their trial, examination, and answers: the coming in of 3000. their prayer and recantation, to be in all cities and market-towns read and published; the mad-ranters further resolution; their Christmas carol, and blaspheming song; their two pretended-abominable keyes to enter heaven, and the worshiping of his little-majesty, the late Bishop of Canterbury: a new and further discovery of their black art, with the names of those that are possest by the devil, having strange and hideous cries heard within them, to the great admiration of all those that shall read and peruse this ensuing subject. Licensed according to order, and published by M. Stubs, a late fellow-Ranter.
The ranters last sermon : With the manner of their meetings, ceremonies, and actions; also their damnable, blasphemous and diabolicall tenents; delivered in an exercise neer Pissing-conduit. The third day of the week, being the 2 of August. 1654. With their mock-Psalme. Also God's wonderfull judgements shewed upon Ranters, Quakers and Shakers, and other wicked and profane persons at their meetings and exercises in London and other places. Written by J.M. (a deluded brother) lately escaped out of their snare.
The black and terrible vvarning piece: or, a scourge to Englands rebellion. Truly representing, the horrible iniquity of the times; the dangerous proceedings of the ranters, and the holding of no Resurrection by the shakers, in Yorkshire and elsewhere. With the several judgements of the most high and eternal Lord God, upon all usurpers, who deny His law, and His truth; and the manner how 130 children were taken away by the devil, and never seen no more; and divers others taken, rent, torn, and cast up and down from room to room, by strange and dreadfull spirits, appearing in the shapes of, a black boar, a roaring lyon, an English statesman, and a Roman fryer. Extracted out of the elaborate works of Bishop Hall, and Sir Kenelm Digby; and published for general satisfaction, to all Christian princes, states, and common-wealths in Europe
One of their founders later joined an apocalyptic proto-Unitarian group called the Muggletonians which I didn't know existed until about five minutes ago, and who liked to discuss the impending doom of the world over some beers at the local tavern.
In other words, nothing new under the sun, be they hippies or fundies, and history is awesome.
in which I will probably offend and be misunderstood by 85% of my not-so-devoted readers
So the first thing I heard on the radio this morning was CSNY's "Ohio," and I was a bit surprised not to hear any commentary from the Boomer Overlords about the anniversary day of the most significant event to happen at my alma mater.
There's a parking lot now where the shooting happened and every year lots of aging hippies crawl out of the woodwork to protest downtown, women with hair down to their knees and faded Oberlin College t-shirts, men with coolie hats and t-shirts with the Vietnam flag on them telling you "I was there, maaaan!" and all sorts of other types who show up for such things.
Because of my reputation as a "random force of chaos" and because despite my introverted tendencies I somehow get acquainted with a strange mix of people, I ended up hanging out with a crusty punk kid with feathers in his matted hair who called himself Cobalt who'd ridden on top of trains to get here for the big protest (this was in the heart of Dubya's second term). His clothes smelled so bad that the ARA girl he knew here had to hang them outside her dorm room window.
He joined our dinner table and watched the Black Keys with my crew of friends (who told me afterwards "we just all assumed that he was someone you knew"). We all went to the playground at midnight to go on the swings and hang out in the parking lot and then the next day me and him sat outside debating politics and religion while while eating out of a jar of ancient organic peanut butter with our fingers. He was "fighting capitalism" by stealing pens from campus offices so people couldn't write checks and coughing up blood every five minutes and I'm amazed I didn't get sick, but I did buy him food on my meal plan because I had a week of school left and a few hundred dollars to burn. I wonder where he is now.
We had a May 4th room in the library that was a popular destination for vacationing Freedom Rockers and a haunt for dirty old men as it had a computer and was dark, and every year the school has a big symposium where the likes of Bobby Seale and Jello Biafra speak, music by people like Country Joe, and a lot of general hagiography and accompanying mythology surrounding the event. It's like 9/11 for the Woodstockers and their acolytes more or less. "Tell me Father, did they aim?, and all that.
I asked my dad about it, since I grew up on his record collection full of Creedence, Neil Young, and Hendrix, and since he had neither money or grades for college and didn't want to Vietnam if he didn't have to (being skeptical of our reasons for being there), he was in the National Guard at the time, but stationed in Toledo (going off base to see the MC5 at Bowling Green and feeling like he looked like a spook) and he says that the 60's had a lot of great music but were hell to live through.
He doesn't have much patience for most of his generation and this probably explains a lot of my cynicism about suburban crackers who listened to Zeppelin and now dig smooth jazz, who wax poetic about "True Revolutionaries like Che Guevara" but drive new SUVs and live in the suburbs away from all "those people" but will tell you about that one black friend they had in college who had an Afro and was down with Malcolm X.
There were a lot of activist groups when I was there, and while there were some really great people who've no doubt gone on to try to save the world, there were also a lot of holier-than-thou types who believed that bathing was "fascist" and more than a few trust-fund socialists from Hudson who drove nice cars and wore Nautica chinos with their Che shirt and it was very hard for me to take them seriously when I was selling my books and CDs for grocery money, working 30 hours a week, and walking everywhere.
Certain members of my family blame my Kent State education for making me a flaming liberal but if anything, my time there soured me on both sides so completely as things like Abu Ghraib and the torture memos began to come out and the rank hypocrisy of those who claim to be more moral and Christian justified the unjustifiable but the left wasn't a friendly place to born-again pro-lifers like yours truly who are too skeptical about general human nature to believe that we can build a better tomorrow through greater bureaucracy and Kum-Ba-Yah.
There's a parking lot now where the shooting happened and every year lots of aging hippies crawl out of the woodwork to protest downtown, women with hair down to their knees and faded Oberlin College t-shirts, men with coolie hats and t-shirts with the Vietnam flag on them telling you "I was there, maaaan!" and all sorts of other types who show up for such things.
Because of my reputation as a "random force of chaos" and because despite my introverted tendencies I somehow get acquainted with a strange mix of people, I ended up hanging out with a crusty punk kid with feathers in his matted hair who called himself Cobalt who'd ridden on top of trains to get here for the big protest (this was in the heart of Dubya's second term). His clothes smelled so bad that the ARA girl he knew here had to hang them outside her dorm room window.
He joined our dinner table and watched the Black Keys with my crew of friends (who told me afterwards "we just all assumed that he was someone you knew"). We all went to the playground at midnight to go on the swings and hang out in the parking lot and then the next day me and him sat outside debating politics and religion while while eating out of a jar of ancient organic peanut butter with our fingers. He was "fighting capitalism" by stealing pens from campus offices so people couldn't write checks and coughing up blood every five minutes and I'm amazed I didn't get sick, but I did buy him food on my meal plan because I had a week of school left and a few hundred dollars to burn. I wonder where he is now.
We had a May 4th room in the library that was a popular destination for vacationing Freedom Rockers and a haunt for dirty old men as it had a computer and was dark, and every year the school has a big symposium where the likes of Bobby Seale and Jello Biafra speak, music by people like Country Joe, and a lot of general hagiography and accompanying mythology surrounding the event. It's like 9/11 for the Woodstockers and their acolytes more or less. "Tell me Father, did they aim?, and all that.
I asked my dad about it, since I grew up on his record collection full of Creedence, Neil Young, and Hendrix, and since he had neither money or grades for college and didn't want to Vietnam if he didn't have to (being skeptical of our reasons for being there), he was in the National Guard at the time, but stationed in Toledo (going off base to see the MC5 at Bowling Green and feeling like he looked like a spook) and he says that the 60's had a lot of great music but were hell to live through.
He doesn't have much patience for most of his generation and this probably explains a lot of my cynicism about suburban crackers who listened to Zeppelin and now dig smooth jazz, who wax poetic about "True Revolutionaries like Che Guevara" but drive new SUVs and live in the suburbs away from all "those people" but will tell you about that one black friend they had in college who had an Afro and was down with Malcolm X.
There were a lot of activist groups when I was there, and while there were some really great people who've no doubt gone on to try to save the world, there were also a lot of holier-than-thou types who believed that bathing was "fascist" and more than a few trust-fund socialists from Hudson who drove nice cars and wore Nautica chinos with their Che shirt and it was very hard for me to take them seriously when I was selling my books and CDs for grocery money, working 30 hours a week, and walking everywhere.
Certain members of my family blame my Kent State education for making me a flaming liberal but if anything, my time there soured me on both sides so completely as things like Abu Ghraib and the torture memos began to come out and the rank hypocrisy of those who claim to be more moral and Christian justified the unjustifiable but the left wasn't a friendly place to born-again pro-lifers like yours truly who are too skeptical about general human nature to believe that we can build a better tomorrow through greater bureaucracy and Kum-Ba-Yah.
Monday, April 25, 2011
art barbies, certain ethnics, and the enduring chill
It's Dyngus Day or something, which I didn't know about being a half-caste Polack, but I wonder how many people in the almost-hood are going to bust out their accordions in the rain tonight, though I'm sure lots of revelry might commence, though I'm going to skip all that to do art since it's been about two weeks since I've enameled anything.
Being that I was a weird child, I never really got into horses and Barbies. Nancy Drew novels and dress-up yes, but I wanted to be Boadicea because I read about her in a Highlights magazine and also a lot of Rosemary Sutcliffe novels that kind of glossed over the whole torturing prisoners/getting killed by the Romans bit.
My friend up the street was also a weird kid and we spent our summers taming the mass of flowering bushes, trellises and lilacs into our own play area/domain between having her dad take us to cemeteries and museums and Little Italy for gelato. When her other friend would come over, sometimes we'd play with her dolls but I never liked blonde and usually claimed her Princess Jasmine one instead, when we weren't having super-soaker fights with the boys around the corner.
I'm all for getting kids into art because art is awesome, and since these aren't as bimbotastic as other Barbies, I can't hate on it too badly except that it's just kind of corny and doesn't look that good.
Then again, it's also not as terrible as this. I've got my love of kitsch as much as anyone, but history's finest mementos that aren't Church In A Box don't really do anything for me.
Being that I was a weird child, I never really got into horses and Barbies. Nancy Drew novels and dress-up yes, but I wanted to be Boadicea because I read about her in a Highlights magazine and also a lot of Rosemary Sutcliffe novels that kind of glossed over the whole torturing prisoners/getting killed by the Romans bit.
My friend up the street was also a weird kid and we spent our summers taming the mass of flowering bushes, trellises and lilacs into our own play area/domain between having her dad take us to cemeteries and museums and Little Italy for gelato. When her other friend would come over, sometimes we'd play with her dolls but I never liked blonde and usually claimed her Princess Jasmine one instead, when we weren't having super-soaker fights with the boys around the corner.
I'm all for getting kids into art because art is awesome, and since these aren't as bimbotastic as other Barbies, I can't hate on it too badly except that it's just kind of corny and doesn't look that good.
Then again, it's also not as terrible as this. I've got my love of kitsch as much as anyone, but history's finest mementos that aren't Church In A Box don't really do anything for me.
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
history is people.
I had an amazing history teacher in high school who gave me a love of the weirdness and strangeness of what people do and ignited a love of all things strange in regards to world politics. He told us about Watergate-era pranks and the foibles of various world leaders which made it come alive and gave it this surreal human element that was much more interesting.
He never tried to indoctrinate us into any political belief system even though we begged him to tell us whether he had voted for Bush or Gore. Instead, he taught us to think for ourselves, how to argue a point of view and back it up with facts, had us reading primary sources and debating issues in class like our colonization of the Philippines or dropping the atomic bomb and didn't shy away from the more unsavory chapters.
He took us on field trips to the local cemetery and the art museum, we listened to campaign trail music from the days of Andrew Jackson, watched clips of civil rights marches, "Birth of a Nation," "The Great Dictator," "Dr. Strangelove," and "Invasion of the Body Snatchers" and "Amistad," to give us context.
He told us that we were cogs in a Henry Ford-esque assembly line, given what we were perceived to need to become productive members of society, and that even though this was how the education system was set up, he wanted us to see it for what it was, and to be able to think things through for ourselves.
Yesterday we went through some Human Resources training and using Mr. Sketch Markers and giant Post-It notes reminded me of being in AP History again, having to come up with things to present to our group and us snarky slacker Dead Kennedys-loving honor students in thrift store hoodies and punk band t-shirts writing nonsense like "Those Damn Socialists" as a cause for this or that, only in this case, conformity was encouraged rather than railed against.
At a previous job, I didn't do so well with diversity training during an exercise where we were shown photos of various people and were asked to make assumptions about them and rate how nice they would probably be on a scale of 1-10. I put straight fives all the way through because they're just photos and I know nothing about the person unless I talk to them.
Evidently I wasn't supposed to do this. But really now. That intimidating biker looks like one of my uncles, the young black male looks like a guy I once dated, the Latina lady looks like my next door neighbor. You just don't know anything about people unless you get to know them.
I still sometimes feel like I'm straddling the cusp of the world of young people and the world of "grownups" when I hear people talk about how "weird" these young kids can be with their sagging pants and piercings and bizarre haircuts. That's one of the things I enjoy to be honest because it makes for great people watching.
I like seeing mohawks, afros, dye jobs, dreadlocks, and hi-top fades, the way that subsequent generations resurrect and remix past eras, the golden age of hip-hop, the eternally timeless rockers with long hair and Zeppelin t-shirts, 70's punks like it happened yesterday, and the kids who you can tell just discovered Bukowski and Kerouac or conversely Malcolm X and Marcus Garvey.
Maybe it's just me.
I couldn't imagine spending my life going to workshops and speaking this jargonized motivational corporate language yet hardly ever work with actual people. It's assumed that we'll make judgments based on skin color or whether or not someone has a blue hair when if anything I've had more of a problem with creepy old men of all ethnicities and dramatic middle-aged women.
I find myself marveling at the reverse Orwellian jargon that says something in a way that's supposed to be less abrasive but only obscures the meaning. If anything, instead of reducing language, we've just learned how to describe things in ways that sound more bureaucratic and acceptable. "Policy" becomes "Strict Guidelines," "Torture" is now known as "Enhanced Interrogation." Whatever. It is what it is and calling it as it is isn't going to kill anyone.
And for the record, besides Mr. Rollins himself, this is my favorite kind of HR:
He never tried to indoctrinate us into any political belief system even though we begged him to tell us whether he had voted for Bush or Gore. Instead, he taught us to think for ourselves, how to argue a point of view and back it up with facts, had us reading primary sources and debating issues in class like our colonization of the Philippines or dropping the atomic bomb and didn't shy away from the more unsavory chapters.
He took us on field trips to the local cemetery and the art museum, we listened to campaign trail music from the days of Andrew Jackson, watched clips of civil rights marches, "Birth of a Nation," "The Great Dictator," "Dr. Strangelove," and "Invasion of the Body Snatchers" and "Amistad," to give us context.
He told us that we were cogs in a Henry Ford-esque assembly line, given what we were perceived to need to become productive members of society, and that even though this was how the education system was set up, he wanted us to see it for what it was, and to be able to think things through for ourselves.
Yesterday we went through some Human Resources training and using Mr. Sketch Markers and giant Post-It notes reminded me of being in AP History again, having to come up with things to present to our group and us snarky slacker Dead Kennedys-loving honor students in thrift store hoodies and punk band t-shirts writing nonsense like "Those Damn Socialists" as a cause for this or that, only in this case, conformity was encouraged rather than railed against.
At a previous job, I didn't do so well with diversity training during an exercise where we were shown photos of various people and were asked to make assumptions about them and rate how nice they would probably be on a scale of 1-10. I put straight fives all the way through because they're just photos and I know nothing about the person unless I talk to them.
Evidently I wasn't supposed to do this. But really now. That intimidating biker looks like one of my uncles, the young black male looks like a guy I once dated, the Latina lady looks like my next door neighbor. You just don't know anything about people unless you get to know them.
I still sometimes feel like I'm straddling the cusp of the world of young people and the world of "grownups" when I hear people talk about how "weird" these young kids can be with their sagging pants and piercings and bizarre haircuts. That's one of the things I enjoy to be honest because it makes for great people watching.
I like seeing mohawks, afros, dye jobs, dreadlocks, and hi-top fades, the way that subsequent generations resurrect and remix past eras, the golden age of hip-hop, the eternally timeless rockers with long hair and Zeppelin t-shirts, 70's punks like it happened yesterday, and the kids who you can tell just discovered Bukowski and Kerouac or conversely Malcolm X and Marcus Garvey.
Maybe it's just me.
I couldn't imagine spending my life going to workshops and speaking this jargonized motivational corporate language yet hardly ever work with actual people. It's assumed that we'll make judgments based on skin color or whether or not someone has a blue hair when if anything I've had more of a problem with creepy old men of all ethnicities and dramatic middle-aged women.
I find myself marveling at the reverse Orwellian jargon that says something in a way that's supposed to be less abrasive but only obscures the meaning. If anything, instead of reducing language, we've just learned how to describe things in ways that sound more bureaucratic and acceptable. "Policy" becomes "Strict Guidelines," "Torture" is now known as "Enhanced Interrogation." Whatever. It is what it is and calling it as it is isn't going to kill anyone.
And for the record, besides Mr. Rollins himself, this is my favorite kind of HR:
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
take me down to the desert sea...
When I was a kid, I read books all the time. I still read books all the time. With the exception of 2 weeks of retail hell, I have worked in places full of books and places where you could spend a slow day at the register reading. I used to read a book a day.
When people ask me why I do this whole exploring-abandoned-buildings thing, I think the seed was planted way before I thought I'd be an art student and listened to a lot of gritty punk rock and was totally into stark black and white photos of broken things.
When I was in first grade, I wanted to be an archaeologist, or someone who dug up dinosaur bones. I was also fascinated by natural disasters like volcanos, and how the city of Pompeii was buried for centuries under layers of ash. This was probably why I didn't have many friends, because I was pretty weird and not into Barbie dolls or New Kids on the Block.
I was either going to have 20 kids and move to Wyoming (don't know why looking back now) or spend my honeymoon with my future husband digging up dinosaur bones in Mongolia. But the Valley of the Kings had already been dug up completely and that involved being out in the hot sun and being detail-oriented.
I'm not detail oriented. But I loved reading about bygone eras and places where civilization once flourished and I still do. Around this time, I was homeschooled and the missionary kid curriculum my mom used for me was way more multicultural than my peers in grade school learning about Kwanzaa.
I was ten years old and reading anthologies of Korean and Chinese folklore, did a huge paper on Islam, learned about the Greeks and the Romans and the Renaissance but also Byzantium, the Inca, the Maya, Sundiata and Mansa Musa and Genghis Khan and more.
One of my favorite writers as a kid was Elizabeth Enright, who wrote about the kids I wanted to be. I lived vicariously through the Melendy kids exploring New York City and the grounds of their Four-Story Mistake and Portia and her cousin hanging out in abandoned Victorian houses on Gone-Away Lake. I thought that was so cool.
I realized quickly that no one else cared about stuff like this in our teens and so it got substituted by subculture, which helps a person find a lunch table to eat at but ultimately only takes you so far because you realize eventually that the worth of a person and their character is greater than what bands they like.
And now I'm rediscovering this part of me that loves old things and strange things that no one cares about, like warrior queens and world music and I love that my roommate rocks out to Ethiopian mezmur and Saturday night Arabic pop on the radio and that there are other people who like obscure byways and abandoned places.
When people ask me why I do this whole exploring-abandoned-buildings thing, I think the seed was planted way before I thought I'd be an art student and listened to a lot of gritty punk rock and was totally into stark black and white photos of broken things.
When I was in first grade, I wanted to be an archaeologist, or someone who dug up dinosaur bones. I was also fascinated by natural disasters like volcanos, and how the city of Pompeii was buried for centuries under layers of ash. This was probably why I didn't have many friends, because I was pretty weird and not into Barbie dolls or New Kids on the Block.
I was either going to have 20 kids and move to Wyoming (don't know why looking back now) or spend my honeymoon with my future husband digging up dinosaur bones in Mongolia. But the Valley of the Kings had already been dug up completely and that involved being out in the hot sun and being detail-oriented.
I'm not detail oriented. But I loved reading about bygone eras and places where civilization once flourished and I still do. Around this time, I was homeschooled and the missionary kid curriculum my mom used for me was way more multicultural than my peers in grade school learning about Kwanzaa.
I was ten years old and reading anthologies of Korean and Chinese folklore, did a huge paper on Islam, learned about the Greeks and the Romans and the Renaissance but also Byzantium, the Inca, the Maya, Sundiata and Mansa Musa and Genghis Khan and more.
One of my favorite writers as a kid was Elizabeth Enright, who wrote about the kids I wanted to be. I lived vicariously through the Melendy kids exploring New York City and the grounds of their Four-Story Mistake and Portia and her cousin hanging out in abandoned Victorian houses on Gone-Away Lake. I thought that was so cool.
I realized quickly that no one else cared about stuff like this in our teens and so it got substituted by subculture, which helps a person find a lunch table to eat at but ultimately only takes you so far because you realize eventually that the worth of a person and their character is greater than what bands they like.
And now I'm rediscovering this part of me that loves old things and strange things that no one cares about, like warrior queens and world music and I love that my roommate rocks out to Ethiopian mezmur and Saturday night Arabic pop on the radio and that there are other people who like obscure byways and abandoned places.
Monday, March 29, 2010
I don't feel no ways tired, I've come too far from where I started from...
There's been too much crazy going on...
Avoiding awkward situations, shooting photos of bowling alleys and Ukrainian churches in Parma (I must be the only native who didn't know there's an Astrodome behind St. Josaphat's), walked up to the West Side Market, went to an art show at the Sachsenheim and then out for Puerto Rican food down on 73rd and Denison, came back and painted all night. Too much Cafe Caribe late at night does things to me. I can't find the usb cable for the camera so visuals will have to wait.
Yesterday while I'm at church I get a call from my sister saying that my mom's birthday party was cancelled today because she went to the emergency room last night and then I called her back to find out that my grandpa got hit by a car and then they were worried that he'd have a brain aneurysm. So I ended up spending a good portion of Sunday at the hospital and then zoned out watching basketball, trying to get myself back together.
One of my fellow musicians and very good friends got me and the roommate a hymnal from this store in East Cleveland that sells gospel music and pesticides. Since I grew up white and Catholic, I don't have the background in most of these, but I got some good history lessons about which ones were Baptist as opposed to Pentecostal, which ones were Underground Railroad codes, etc. I'm sure that many of these will be finding their way into Sunday morning.
It was good seeing the roomie after a week of solitude, and we were laughing and dressing up in fabulously ugly sweaters that were in the Goodwill box from her aunt while gunfire popped in the distance. So much stress, all you can do is laugh through the tears sometimes.
Also got this from the library while back to visit the family. No one I knew from there when I worked in high school is there anymore, and the Goodwill across the street where I used to score cheap alternative rock CDs and weird old t-shirts is gone now. I love the production on this album and with the rain and the general angst of yesterday it just fit so well.
Avoiding awkward situations, shooting photos of bowling alleys and Ukrainian churches in Parma (I must be the only native who didn't know there's an Astrodome behind St. Josaphat's), walked up to the West Side Market, went to an art show at the Sachsenheim and then out for Puerto Rican food down on 73rd and Denison, came back and painted all night. Too much Cafe Caribe late at night does things to me. I can't find the usb cable for the camera so visuals will have to wait.
Yesterday while I'm at church I get a call from my sister saying that my mom's birthday party was cancelled today because she went to the emergency room last night and then I called her back to find out that my grandpa got hit by a car and then they were worried that he'd have a brain aneurysm. So I ended up spending a good portion of Sunday at the hospital and then zoned out watching basketball, trying to get myself back together.
One of my fellow musicians and very good friends got me and the roommate a hymnal from this store in East Cleveland that sells gospel music and pesticides. Since I grew up white and Catholic, I don't have the background in most of these, but I got some good history lessons about which ones were Baptist as opposed to Pentecostal, which ones were Underground Railroad codes, etc. I'm sure that many of these will be finding their way into Sunday morning.
It was good seeing the roomie after a week of solitude, and we were laughing and dressing up in fabulously ugly sweaters that were in the Goodwill box from her aunt while gunfire popped in the distance. So much stress, all you can do is laugh through the tears sometimes.
Also got this from the library while back to visit the family. No one I knew from there when I worked in high school is there anymore, and the Goodwill across the street where I used to score cheap alternative rock CDs and weird old t-shirts is gone now. I love the production on this album and with the rain and the general angst of yesterday it just fit so well.
Friday, January 9, 2009
Tycho Brahe was THE MAN
Crazy astronomers.
While a student, Tycho lost part of his nose in a duel with rapiers with Manderup Parsbjerg, a fellow Danish nobleman. This occurred in the Christmas season of 1566, after a fair amount of drinking, while Tycho, just turned 20 years old, was studying at the University of Rostock in Germany. Attending a dance at a professor's house, he quarreled with Parsbjerg. A subsequent duel (in the dark) resulted in Tycho losing the bridge of his nose. From this event Tycho became interested in medicine and alchemy.
For the rest of his life, he was said to have worn a realistic replacement made of silver and gold, using a paste to keep it attached. Some people, such as Fredric Ihren and Cecil Adams have suggested that the false nose also had copper.
Tycho was said to own one percent of the entire wealth of Denmark at one point in the 1580s and he often held large social gatherings in his castle. He kept a dwarf named Jepp (whom Tycho believed to be clairvoyant) as a court jester who sat under the table during dinner.
Pierre Gassendi wrote that Tycho also had a tame elk, and that his mentor the Landgrave Wilhelm of Hesse-Kassel (Hesse-Cassel) asked whether there was an animal faster than a deer. Tycho replied, writing that there was none, but he could send his tame elk. When Wilhelm replied he would accept one in exchange for a horse, Tycho replied with the sad news that the elk had just died on a visit to entertain a nobleman at Landskrona. Apparently during dinner the elk had drunk a lot of beer, fallen down the stairs, and died.
Friday, September 5, 2008
undiscovered
my wonderful roommate Jocelyn just clued me in on this:
6th Annual JAZZ at the Rockefeller Greenhouse
Tour the Grounds! Dig the Sounds!
Saturday, September 6, 2008
1:00-4:30 p.m.
750 E. 88th Street
FREE
Looking for a fun way to spend Saturday afternoon? Come to the Rockefeller Park Greenhouse for its popular annual jazz concert, featuring two well-known, locally-based jazz groups-- Annette Keys & Road Trip, and the
Jazz Heritage Orchestra Quintet.
Enjoy free Lolly the Trolley rides through the Cultural Gardens, planting activities and face painting, and sign up to vote. Light refreshments will be available for purchase.
In the event of inclement weather, a rain date is scheduled for Sunday,
September 7.
For more information, call 216-664-3103 or visit http://www.rockefellergreenhouse.org.
I've always loved driving through there, but never actually explored the area for myself. My dad was born off of Ansel Road and spent his early years there before everyone ran for the suburbs and he took me down there on one of the days we used to have when I'd cut class and he showed me the house that he grew up in where all the streets have Polish names.
My grandparents lived over there back in the day, my great uncles played tennis on the courts and ice-skated at the lagoons. I've always wanted to walk down there and now I actually have a chance to.
6th Annual JAZZ at the Rockefeller Greenhouse
Tour the Grounds! Dig the Sounds!
Saturday, September 6, 2008
1:00-4:30 p.m.
750 E. 88th Street
FREE
Looking for a fun way to spend Saturday afternoon? Come to the Rockefeller Park Greenhouse for its popular annual jazz concert, featuring two well-known, locally-based jazz groups-- Annette Keys & Road Trip, and the
Jazz Heritage Orchestra Quintet.
Enjoy free Lolly the Trolley rides through the Cultural Gardens, planting activities and face painting, and sign up to vote. Light refreshments will be available for purchase.
In the event of inclement weather, a rain date is scheduled for Sunday,
September 7.
For more information, call 216-664-3103 or visit http://www.rockefellergreenhouse.org.
I've always loved driving through there, but never actually explored the area for myself. My dad was born off of Ansel Road and spent his early years there before everyone ran for the suburbs and he took me down there on one of the days we used to have when I'd cut class and he showed me the house that he grew up in where all the streets have Polish names.
My grandparents lived over there back in the day, my great uncles played tennis on the courts and ice-skated at the lagoons. I've always wanted to walk down there and now I actually have a chance to.
Thursday, April 24, 2008
hubcap diamondstar halo
got together with some friends last night to play music. my guitar skills have really fallen off in recent years, due in part to lack of practice and also to playing bass and therefore not having to deal with bar chords all that much. i've never had that kind of strength in my fingers, and i've always kind of cheated my way through. we started sounding good after a little bit, but it took me a long time to get warmed up and back into form.
when i was a lonesome high school kid i would sit in the basement for hours and play, fool around with pedals and alternate tunings, teach myself how to play my favorite led zeppelin and neil young songs. i don't remember a lot of the riffs anymore, and i find it frustrating that i can't seem to come up with anything good of my own that hasn't been done before. my guitar teacher at tri-c turned me onto funkadelic and jazz standards so i got a lot of good pretty chords out of that, but there's so much i used to know that i know i've lost upon picking up the four-string and delving into punk rock in my later teens.
that's going to be my other official summer goal. i need to get the strength back in my fingers, sit on my porch and learn how to play again, how to use those jazz chords, remember standards and old favorites and maybe try to see what else i can come up with. i'd love to start making music with other people again as well. i find i do best that way when i've got someone else to add my ideas to and bounce things off of. i'm not going to try to be everything at once, i'm just going to try and get the groove back, if i ever had it to begin with.
when i was a lonesome high school kid i would sit in the basement for hours and play, fool around with pedals and alternate tunings, teach myself how to play my favorite led zeppelin and neil young songs. i don't remember a lot of the riffs anymore, and i find it frustrating that i can't seem to come up with anything good of my own that hasn't been done before. my guitar teacher at tri-c turned me onto funkadelic and jazz standards so i got a lot of good pretty chords out of that, but there's so much i used to know that i know i've lost upon picking up the four-string and delving into punk rock in my later teens.
that's going to be my other official summer goal. i need to get the strength back in my fingers, sit on my porch and learn how to play again, how to use those jazz chords, remember standards and old favorites and maybe try to see what else i can come up with. i'd love to start making music with other people again as well. i find i do best that way when i've got someone else to add my ideas to and bounce things off of. i'm not going to try to be everything at once, i'm just going to try and get the groove back, if i ever had it to begin with.
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