God is dead

 

God is dead

  The madman. - Haven't you heard of that madman who in the bright morning lit a lantern and ran around the marketplace crying incessantly, 'I'm looking for God! I'm looking for God!' Since many of those who did not believe in God were standing around together just then, he caused great laughter. Has he been lost, then? asked one. Did he lose his way like a child? asked another. Or is he hiding? Is he afraid of us? Has he gone to sea? Emigrated? - Thus they shouted and laughed, one interrupting the other. The madman jumped into their midst and pierced them with his eyes. 'Where is God?' he cried; 'I'll tell you! We have killed him - you and I! We are all his murderers. But how did we do this? How were we able to drink up the sea? Who gave us the sponge to wipe away the entire horizon? What were we doing when we unchained this earth from its sun? Where is it moving to now? Where are we moving to? Away from all suns? Are we not continually falling? And backwards, sidewards, forwards, in all directions? Is there still an up and a down? Aren't we straying as though through an infinite nothing? Isn't empty space breathing at us? Hasn't it got colder? Isn't night and more night coming again and again? Don't lanterns have to be lit in the morning? Do we still hear nothing of the noise of the grave-diggers who are burying God? Do we still smell nothing of the divine decomposi­tion? - Gods, too, decompose! God is dead! God remains dead! And we have killed him! How can we console ourselves, the murderers of all murderers! The holiest and the mightiest thing the world has ever possessed has bled to death under our knives: who will wipe this blood from us? With what water could we clean ourselves? What festivals of atonement, what holy games will we have to invent for ourselves? Is the magnitude of this deed not too great for us? Do we not ourselves have to become gods merely to appear worthy of it?

• Friedrich Nietzsche, The Gay Science

Nietche

Neutral monism

Ernst mach

Nullo space is big

Nullo space is big! It is gaining momentum every day, or at least it is being perceived as such! Who really understands perceptions? That is what Nullo space is all about! It is about the equivalence of reference frames! It is about perception and reality!

Wisdom of pharoah

890

Passover is not about dead children

You may have heard people talking about how "bad" Passover is! They will tell you that "God kills children," and this is one of those times in which such happened. This is a myth! God never kills anyone! Most deaths are due to the devil or the person's fault! No, I am not victim -blaming here. It is merely a fact that many of the things that happen to us are somewhat caused by us, and, no, this is not victim -blaming. Western logic makes this difficult! Western logic demands that there be blame on somebody even if you cannot prove that what happened was even bad! Western logic is all about causes! Reality is not! Reality is about relationships! Think quantum! Causality doesn't exist there! And you can't call God guilty, because guilt implies truth, and you can't have truth without an Holy Book, but if you get rid of a Deity, then, you have no way to apply guilt, and also you have nobody to apply guilt to, since you are blaming God. And also, so you really believe that it is all that good to be so small and helpless? I do not say that what happened was good, but we live in a fallen world, where moral options are not always possible! So, instead of blaming God, you can weep for the loss of innocence, and the destruction of the world that brings such about! Passover remembers that!

Space elevader

2112

weimar republic

weimarism

weimarism

Drum Dream Girl BY MARGARITA ENGLE

Drum Dream Girl

BY MARGARITA ENGLE

On an island of music

in a city of drumbeats

the drum dream girl

dreamed

 

of pounding tall conga drums

tapping small bongó drums

and boom boom booming

with long, loud sticks

on big, round, silvery

moon-bright timbales.

 

But everyone

on the island of music

in the city of drumbeats

believed that only boys

should play drums

 

so the drum dream girl

had to keep dreaming

quiet

secret

drumbeat

dreams.

 

At outdoor cafés that looked like gardens

she heard drums played by men

but when she closed her eyes

she could also hear

her own imaginary

music.

 

When she walked under

wind-wavy palm trees

in a flower-bright park

she heard the whir of parrot wings

the clack of woodpecker beaks

the dancing tap

of her own footsteps

and the comforting pat

of her own

heartbeat.

 

At carnivals, she listened

to the rattling beat

of towering

dancers

on stilts

 

and the dragon clang

of costumed drummers

wearing huge masks.

 

At home, her fingertips

rolled out their own

dreamy drum rhythm

on tables and chairs…

 

and even though everyone

kept reminding her that girls

on the island of music

have never played drums

 

the brave drum dream girl

dared to play

tall conga drums

small bongó drums

and big, round, silvery

moon-bright timbales.

 

Her hands seemed to fly

as they rippled

rapped

and pounded

all the rhythms

of her drum dreams.

 

Her big sisters were so excited

that they invited her to join

their new all-girl dance band

 

but their father said only boys

should play drums.

 

So the drum dream girl

had to keep dreaming

and drumming

alone

 

until finally

her father offered

to find a music teacher

who could decide if her drums

deserved

to be heard.

 

The drum dream girl’s

teacher was amazed.

The girl knew so much

but he taught her more

and more

and more

 

and she practiced

and she practiced

and she practiced

 

until the teacher agreed

that she was ready

to play her small bongó drums

outdoors at a starlit café

that looked like a garden

 

where everyone who heard

her dream-bright music

sang

and danced

and decided

that girls should always

be allowed to play

drums

 

and both girls and boys

should feel free

to dream.

 

Notes:

This poem was inspired by the childhood of a Chinese-African-Cuban girl who broke Cuba's traditional taboo against female drummers. In 1932, at the age of ten, Millo Castro Zaldarriaga performed with her older sisters as Anacaona, Cuba's first "all-girl dance band." Millo became a world-famous musician, playing alongside all the American jazz greats of the era. At age fifteen, she played her bongó drums at a New York birthday celebration for U.S. president Franklin Delano Roosevelt, where she was enthusiastically cheered by First Lady Eleanor Roosevelt. There are now many female drummers in Cuba. Thanks to Millo's courage, becoming a drummer is no longer an unattainable dream for girls on the island. [note from the author]

Margarita Engle, "Drum Dream Girl" from Drum Dream Girl.  Copyright © 2015 by Margarita Engle.  Reprinted by permission of Houghton Mifflin Harcourt.

Source: Drum Dream Girl (Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, 2015)

annabel lee google translated

That was a lot a year ago,
   In a kingdom at sea
That there is a girl there that you may know
   By the name of Annabelle Lee;
And this maid lived without any idea
   I love myself too and love.

I was a kid, and he was a kid,
   By this kingdom
But we love it more than love
   Anna and Ann Lee and I
Saraf in love with blue wings
   He was looking for me.

Back then
   From this kingdom
Clouds strong wind out
   O just lady Annan Lee;
Song: for his sister's son, therefore, came
   Far away from me.
serious lock
   for sea country.

Non-satisfied angels in heaven,
   En Me and her
That is the reason (as everyone knows,
   In this kingdom of the sea) \ t
The wind came out of the clouds at night,
   My Annabel Lee cools the killing.

But our love is better than love
   We from the old people-
   Smarter than us
Not just angels in heaven
   Not a devil under the sea
My soul is shattered
   Anna Belly.

Since the moon has not yet come to light, my dream has not come true
   Annabelle Lee.
The stars didn’t wake up, but I felt my eyes light up
   Annabelle Lee.
So I lay next to me every night
   By grace - my love - my life and my wife,
   His grave there by the sea -
   Crying at his grave by the sea.

A Crazed Girl - Poem by William Butler Yeats

THAT crazed girl improvising her music.
Her poetry, dancing upon the shore,

Her soul in division from itself
Climbing, falling She knew not where,
Hiding amid the cargo of a steamship,
Her knee-cap broken, that girl I declare
A beautiful lofty thing, or a thing
Heroically lost, heroically found.

No matter what disaster occurred
She stood in desperate music wound,
Wound, wound, and she made in her triumph
Where the bales and the baskets lay
No common intelligible sound
But sang, 'O sea-starved, hungry sea.'

A Crazed Girl

William Butler Yeats

 improvising her music.
Her poetry, dancing upon the shore,

Her soul in division from itself
Climbing, falling She knew not where,
Hiding amid the cargo of a steamship,
Her knee-cap broken, that girl I declare
A beautiful lofty thing, or a thing
Heroically lost, heroically found.

No matter what disaster occurred
She stood in desperate music wound,
Wound, wound, and she made in her triumph
Where the bales and the baskets lay
No common intelligible sound
But sang, 'O sea-starved, hungry sea.'

A Crazed Girl

William Butler Yeats