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Arthur D. Hlavaty ([personal profile] supergee) wrote2016-12-10 07:13 am
supergee: (reclining)
Arthur D. Hlavaty ([personal profile] supergee) wrote2016-12-10 07:09 am

Because there’s no such thing

Arnold Schwarzenegger knows he’s not a self-made man

Thanx to [ profile] andrewducker
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oursin ([personal profile] oursin) wrote2016-12-10 11:31 am

(no subject)

Happy birthday, [personal profile] cofax7!
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legionseagle ([personal profile] legionseagle) wrote2016-12-10 09:39 am
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(no subject)

With respect to yesterday's post about Patrick Hamilton's The Slaves of Solitude I noticed a strange coincidence, akin to the one described by Jem Bloomfield, here relating to thematic parallels between a popular genre work and one which falls more consciously into a literary tradition, where the genre work came first.

This time, the genre work in question is First Term at Malory Towers pub 1946. Now, many of you will be aware that probably the climactic moment in FTAMT is when

Spoilers for FTMAT follow )

Now, in the Slaves of Solitude (pub. 1948) the POV character, the peculiarly unfortunately named Enid Roach (jokes are made about both elements of it) is being driven slowly and comprehensively mad by Mr Thwaites, the resident boarding house monster, who in his own way is one of the most blackly awful comic characters who are only just over the comic borderline (he's brothers under the skin with the villain of Gaslight) and

spoilers for The Slaves of Solitude follow )

Now, it seems vaguely implausible that Patrick Hamilton had read First Term at Malory Towers, and my understanding is that the Malory Towers incident is based on something that happened to one of the Blyton children, so the other theory, of some sort of cause celebre which both were drawing on, seems equally unlikely. So what? Theories, please.
supergee: (thinking)
Arthur D. Hlavaty ([personal profile] supergee) wrote2016-12-10 05:10 am

Ignorance, craziness, and subversiveness

Freeman Dyson remembers other great scientists he worked with.

Thanx to Arts & Letters Daily
azurelunatic: Prayer to the Bastard from Lois McMaster Bujold's Paladin of Souls (Default)
Azure Jane Lunatic (Azz) 🌺 ([personal profile] azurelunatic) wrote2016-12-10 12:19 am

Dinner and silliness

Dinner was just Purple and me, since his friend had the plague. We went for burgers.

Among other things, we discussed the difference between a douchebag and a douchebucket (unused solution vs. used) and whether a group of geese was a notch beplow or above actual pandemonium (literally all the demons). I voted that geese were probably worse. "Demons won't usually try to grab you by the junk and kick you in the shins with their wings."

Purple argued that since demons had wings, they just might.

I explained the way my partner and I get some of our communication done. We were on silent video chat and they were making a gesture that was meant to be sexy. I corrected the form. We can have educational discussion even without words.

We discussed how to get rosewater infused butter to try on an English muffin, which led to more silliness in the parking lot.

My partner called on the way home. The ex is still) terrible. Whee.
ysabetwordsmith: Damask smiling over their shoulder (polychrome)
ysabetwordsmith ([personal profile] ysabetwordsmith) wrote2016-12-09 11:17 pm

New verses in "The Sharpest Dose of Reality"

Thanks to a donation from [personal profile] janetmiles, there are 33 new verses in "The Sharpest Dose of Reality."  Pain's Gray realizes that Shiv hates the sparring match and calls a halt, in favor of discussing what Shiv does  like.  Knifeplay ensues, and this is where things begin to get really intense.
ysabetwordsmith: Cartoon of me in Wordsmith persona (Default)
ysabetwordsmith ([personal profile] ysabetwordsmith) wrote2016-12-09 10:19 pm

Poem: "One Nation, Indivisible"

This poem came out of the December 6, 2016 Poetry Fishbowl. It was inspired by prompts from [personal profile] chanter_greenie and [personal profile] janetmiles, based on this image.

"One Nation, Indivisible"

In the wake of unrest,
the citizens are left
wondering what they
can do to help.

Each of them comes
to the problem bearing
their own set of skills.

It is the poet with her pen
who spreads words of wisdom,
for teaching techniques of peace is
one sure way to undermine warmongers.

It is the water warriors
who place their lives on the line
to stop a pipe that could leak oil
into the drinking water of thousands.

It is the signmaker
who goes into his shop
and makes a sign to hold
outside of his local mosque:

You belong. Stay strong.
Be blessed. We are
one America.

Across the continents
there are centers of energy,
engines of civilization which
help humanity to lift itself up
to new and dazzling heights.

Such saw the construction of
the Constitution and then the birth of
the United States as one nation, indivisible.

The engines of civilization are powerful --
they can surround hatred and dismantle
its forces piece by piece and limb from limb --

but like any machine, someone has to turn them on.

* * *


The title of this poem comes from the original Pledge of Allegiance.  You can also read about the Constitution.

Celebrate the victory of Standing Rock.

In divisive times, you can help by promoting peace and unity.

ysabetwordsmith: (Karavai)
ysabetwordsmith ([personal profile] ysabetwordsmith) wrote2016-12-09 09:34 pm

Poem: "This Infinite Light"

This is from the December 6, 2016 Poetry Fishbowl. It was inspired by a prompt from [personal profile] ellenmillion. It has been sponsored by [personal profile] janetmiles. This poem belongs to the Torn World project.

"This Infinite Light"

In summer, a candle is lit
inside a time crystal,

held in a glass
without hours.

In winter, it still burns,
a bright spark in the darkness

and we all gather around
this infinite light.

* * *


Time crystals form the basis of Southern technology.  Temporal technology is extremely risky, but they're using it everywhere, and liable to wreck the world a second  time if they don't quit.  Which is about as popular as trying to get America off its oil addiction.

Primarily the Torn World stories focus on the North, with its extreme seasons; or the South, which is temperate to tropical.

ysabetwordsmith: Cartoon of me in Wordsmith persona (Default)
ysabetwordsmith ([personal profile] ysabetwordsmith) wrote2016-12-09 02:31 pm

Summer Camp for Nerds

This summer camp for nerds is aimed at adults.  It sounds like a cool idea.  As for the name Epic Nerd Camp, though? They're never going to beat the Klingons.  You don't get any more epic than rejecting every language on your planet to dress up like aliens and snarl at each other ... and then correct each other's grammar.  ;)
azurelunatic: Axial tilt is the reason for the season. (Festive red & green text; diagram of Earth's axial tilt.) (axial tilt)
Azure Jane Lunatic (Azz) 🌺 ([personal profile] azurelunatic) wrote2016-12-09 10:49 am
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Love Sonnet XVI

[personal profile] kaberett brought to my attention Pablo Neruda's Love Sonnet XVI, and I found this translation.

I love the handful of earth you are.
Because of its meadows, vast as a planet,
I have no other star. You are my replica
of the multiplying universe.

Your wide eyes are the only light I know
from the extinguished constellations;
your skin throbs like a streak
of a meteor through the rain.

your hips were that much of the moon for me;
your deep mouth and its delights, that much sun;
Your heart, fiery with its long red rays,

was that much ardent light, like honey in the shade.
So I pass across your burning form, kissing
you—compact and planetary, my dove, my globe.
supergee: (guitar)
Arthur D. Hlavaty ([personal profile] supergee) wrote2016-12-09 12:15 pm
substructure: (open windows)
the thirteenth expedition ([personal profile] substructure) wrote in [community profile] poetry2016-12-09 09:50 am

Possessions by Claudia Emerson

I sent you a list of what I wanted, and you boxed it up carelessly, as though for the backs
of strangers, or for the fire, the way you might

have handled a dead woman's possessions—when you could no longer bear to touch
them, the clothes still fragrant, worn, still that reminiscent

of the body. Or perhaps your lover packed the many boxes herself, released from secret
into fury, that sick of the scent of me

in the bed, that wary of her face caught in my mirror—something I said I didn't want,
where I would not see myself again.