I’ve been reading recently #3

  • A Meditation upon a Broomstick by Jonathan Swift
  • A Description of a City Shower by Jonathan Swift
  • A Short View of the State of Ireland by Jonathan Swift
  • A Modest Proposal by Jonathan Swift
  • An Examination of Certain Abuses, Corruptions, and Enormities, in the City of Dublin by Jonathan Swift
  • Does this Meme Prove Donald Trump is a White Supremacist? by Scott Wark
  • The Surveyors by Mary Jo Salter in Ambit Magazine, Issue 226, Autumn 2016
  • The Lights Remain by Alison  Moore in Short Fiction, Issue 8
  • Waterboarding Mrs Elephant by Fridrik Solnes Jonsson in Short Fiction, Issue 10
  • Cousins by Sean Gilbert in Short Fiction, Issue 10
  • Blue Limitless Emptiness by Lania Knight in Short Fiction, Issue 10
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I’ve been studying recently #1

Aphorisms on Love and Hate by Friedrich Nietzsche (quotes)

Quotes from  Aphorisms on Love and Hate by Friedrich Nietzsche:

We must think of men who are cruel today as stages of earlier cultures, which have been left over (…). They are backward men, whose brains, because of various possible accidents of heredity, have not yet developed much delicacy or versatility. They show us what we all were, and frighten us. But they themselves are as little responsible as a piece of granite for being granite. (p. 7)

Observe how children weep and cry, so that they will be pitied, how they wait for the moment, when their condition will be noticed. Or live among the ill and depressed, and question whether their eloquent laments and whimpering, the spectacle of their misfortune, is not basically aimed at hurting those present. The pity that the spectators then express consoles the weak and suffering, inasmuch as they see that, despite all their weakness, they still have at least one power: the power to hurt. (p. 12)

(…) the commander and the executor are different people: the former does not witness his cruelty and therefore has no strong impression of it in his imagination; the latter is obeying a superior and feels no responsibility. Because of a lack of imagination, most princes and military leaders can easily appear to be harsh and cruel, without being so. (p. 28-29)

A sure way to provoke people and to put evil thoughts into their heads is to make them wait a long time. (p. 35)

Whoever lives for the sake of combating an enemy has an interest in enemy’s staying alive. (p. 52)

Life consists of rare, isolated moments of greatest significance, and of innumerably many intervals, during which at best the silhouettes of these moments hover about us. (…) For many men do not have those moments at all, and are themselves intervals and intermissions in the symphony of real life. (p. 53)

The history of the # (hash) symbol

HashtagWhen Twitter was launched in 2006 it was very basic in comparison to what it is today. Its first users were asked to simply share updates with their friends and colleagues in response to a simple question: ‘What are you doing?’ (Burgess, 2015). The platform had no extended functionalities as we know them today and these were only developed over the years mostly via user-led innovations, and only later were integrated into the architecture of the system (Bruns and Burgess, 2015:16).

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I’ve been reading recently #2

  • Patient Grizelda by Giovanni Boccaccio
  • The Saga of Gunnlaung Serpent-tongue by Anonymous
  • On Murder Considered as One of the Fine Arts by Thomas De Quincet
  • Aphorisms on Love and Hate by Friedrich Nietzsche

We must think of men who are cruel today as stages of earlier cultures, which have been left over (…). They are backward men, whose brains, because of various possible accidents of heredity, have not yet developed much delicacy or versatility. They show us what we all were, and frighten us. But they themselves are as little responsible as a piece of granite for being granite. (p. 7)

  • Traffic by John Ruskin

What we like determines what we are, and is a sign of what we are; and to teach taste is inevitably to form character. (p. 5)

  • The Roots of Honour by John Ruskin

The tendency of all modern mercantile operations is to throw both wages and trade into the form of lottery, and to make the workman’s pay depend on intermittent exertion, and the principal’s profit on dexterously used chance. (p. 46)

Do You Love Me?

I found her on a night of fire and noise
Wild bells rang in a wild sky
I knew from that moment on
I’d love her till the day that I died
And I kissed away a thousand tears
My lady of the Various Sorrows
Some begged, some borrowed, some stolen
Some kept safe for tomorrow
On an endless night, silver star spangled
The bells from the chapel went jingle-jangle

She was given to me to put things right
And I stacked all my accomplishments beside her
Still I seemed so obselete and small
I found God and all His devils insider her
In my bed she cast the blizzard out
A mock sun blazed upon her head
So completely filled with light she was
Her shadow fanged and hairy and mad
Our love-lines grew hopelessly tangled
And the bells from the chapel went jingle-jangle

She had a heartful of love and devotion
She had a mindful of tyranny and terror
Well, I try, I do, I really try
But I just err, baby, I do, I error
So come and find me, my darling one
I’m down to the grounds, the very dregs
Ah, here she comes, blocking the sun
Blood running down the inside of her legs
The moon in the sky is battered and mangled
And the bells from the chapel go jingle-jangle

All things move toward their end
I knew before I met her that I would lose her
I swear I made every effort to be good to her
I swear I made every effort not to abuse her
Crazy bracelets on her wrists and her ankles
And the bells from the chapel went jingle-jangle

(I’ll Love You) Till the End of the World

It was a miracle I even got outta Longwood alive
This town full of men with big mouths and no guts
I mean, if you can just picture it
The whole third floor of the hotel gutted by the blast
And the street below showered in shards of broken glass
And all the drunks pourin’ outta the dance halls
Starin’ up at the smoke and the flames
And the blind pencil seller wavin’ his stick
Shoutin’ for his dog that lay dead on the side of the road
And me, if you can believe this, at the wheel of the car
Closin my eyes and actually prayin’
Not to God above, but to you, sayin’

Help me, girl, help me, girl
I’ll love you till the end of the world
With your eyes black as coal and your long dark curls

Some things we plan
We sit and we invent and we plot and cook up
Others are works of inspiration, of poetry
And it was this genius hand that pushed me up the hotel stairs
To say my last goodbye
To her hair white as snow and her pale blue eyes
Sayin’, “I gotta go, I gotta go
The bomb and the bread basket are ready to blow”
In this town of men with big mouths and no guts
The pencil seller’s dog, spooked by the explosion
And leapin’ under my wheels
As I careered outta Longwood on my way to you
Waitin in your dress, in your dress of blue, I said

Thank you, girl, thank you, girl
I’ll love you till the end of the world
With your eyes black as coal and your long dark curls

And with the horses prancin’ through the fields
With my knife in my jeans and the rain on the shield
I sang a song for the glory of the beauty of you
Waitin’ for me in your dress of blue

Thank you, girl, thank you, girl
I’ll love you till the end of the world
With your eyes black as coal and your long dark curls

I said thank you, girl, thank you, girl
I’ll love you till the end of the world
With your eyes black as coal and your long dark curls

I said thank you, girl, thank you, girl
I’ll love you till the end of the world
With your eyes black as coal and your long dark curls

I said thank you, girl, thank you, girl
I’ll love you till the end of the world
With your eyes black as coal and your long dark curls

Thank you, girl, thank you, girl
I’ll love you till the end of the world
With your eyes black as coal and your long dark curls

The Weeping Song

Go son, go down to the water
And see the women weeping there
Then go up into the mountains
The men, they are weeping too
Father, why are all the women weeping?
They are weeping for their men
Then why are all the men there weeping?
They are weeping back at them

This is a weeping song
A song in which to weep
While all the men and women sleep
This is a weeping song
But I won’t be weeping long

Father, why are all the children weeping?
They are merely crying son
O, are they merely crying, father?
Yes, true weeping is yet to come
This is a weeping song
A song in which to weep
While all the little children sleep

This is a weeping song
But I won’t be weeping long
O father, tell me, are you weeping?
Your face seems wet to touch
O then I’m so sorry, father
I never thought I hurt you so much

This is a weeping song
A song in which to weep
While we rock ourselves to sleep
This is a weeping song
But I won’t be weeping long
No, I won’t be weeping long
No, I won’t be weeping long
No, I won’t be weeping long

I’ve been reading recently #1

  • On Writing by Stephen King
  • Story of Your Life by Ted Chiang
  • Sapiens: A Brief History of Humankind by Yuval Noah Harari
  • The Arrangements by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie
  • Andreuccio’s da Perugia’s Neapolitan adventures by Giovanni Boccaccio
  • Ricciardo da Chinzica loses his wife by Giovanni Boccaccio
  • Mrs Rosie and the Priest by Giovanni Boccaccio
  • Patient Griselda by Giovanni Boccaccio

Jimmy Fallon and Justin Timberlake in “Hashtag”

‘Hey, check it out, I brought you some cookies. #homemade, #oatmealraisin, #showmethecookie’ – Jimmy Fallon & Justin Timberlake show what a Twitter conversation sounds like in real life in  a sketch parodying the often misused and misunderstood usage of hashtags on Late Night with Jimmy Fallon (September 2013).

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