This shit eludes me. I have no direction. I feel like I'm floating in a river that's as deep and wide as any ocean. This ocean-river is stronger than I would have ever thought, like the moon has come down to Earth just to prove how much pull it has on the world. There are small lighthouses here and there where I can find reprieve if only for a brief moment before my strength fails and I lose my grip on the rocks.

Feeling unseen by others is something I’m used to. Of course, this has been written about time and time again, feeling like an outsider, like we’re just too smart or too different to interact with the normal population. I guess most writers do feel it, or they wouldn’t have the ego to share why they are different. But isn’t everyone different? Isn’t everyone nuanced? What makes my nuance so special that I think it should be shared?

The truth is, I don’t know. Like I said, feeling unseen by others is as familiar as a habit. But feeling unseen by myself is new. I have never truly known myself, only the hatred I've sent inward. That hate feels gone now. A piece of it falls away every time I feel genuine care from others.

But now I’m shapeless, a void in the woods I used to scream in.

During this drift, I find myself standing tall on the shore, peering into the fog of what I could be. Glimpses of me cut through, not fully formed. I know if I breathe, they will dissipate, though the fog will not even stir. I hold my breath, sometimes, filled with hope of what those glimpses would look like fully formed.

Most days, I don't have a choice to gasp for air. So I fill my lungs, and dive back in as what could have been merges with what is.

„Scheiß auf leibliche Mütter“

Sie gab mir Leben, doch kein Zuhause, nur Worte wie Klingen, keine Pause. Ein Blick, der wertet, nie versteht, ein Mund, der spricht, doch nichts bewegt.

Blut macht keine Wärme, kein Licht, wenn das Herz hinter Masken zerbricht. Sie war da – doch nie wirklich hier, und Liebe? Nur ein leerer Zier.

Wenn ich sie so sehe, kalt wie Stein, denk ich: Mutter sein muss anders sein. Denn wer nur verletzt, statt zu führen – der sollte Stille lieber spüren.

„Du laberst Gift“

Ich atme Klarheit, du atmest Dreck, ziehst Formaldehyd wie'n letzter Crack. Ich steh auf Luft, auf Reinheit, Natur und Schweiß – du stehst auf Tod und Giftspur pur.

Die Sonne von Malta kennt frischen Wind, doch du bist blind und bleibst wie du bist: ein lottosüchtiger Truthahn, voll Gier, verklebt von Chemie bis zum Hirngetier.

Dein Leben ist Labor, mein Atem Rebellion, du stirbst in Sprays, ich lebe in Vision. Mach Schluss mit dem Genozid am Atemrecht – denn selbst dein Parfum stinkt nach Unrecht.

Ich warte auf den Untergang

Ich hasse dieses Land aus tiefstem Grund, aus brennender Kehle, aus offener Wund’. Es hat mich geformt, nicht wie ein Kind – sondern wie Stein, kalt gegen den Wind.

Ich hasse die Sprache, die kalt urteilt spricht, die schaut, bewertet, doch niemals bricht. Die Häuser, die starren, aus totem Beton, wo Seele verdampft – still, ohne Ton.

Ich hasse den Blick, der nach unten fällt, wenn Wahrheit sich zeigt in dieser Welt. Die Regeln, Gesetze, das starre Gesicht, das sagt: „Du bist nichts – und bleibst es auch nicht.“

Ich hasse das Lob für die kalte Vernunft, für Leistung, für Ordnung, für Feigheit in Zunft. Ich hasse den Glanz, der auf Schuld sich legt, die Lüge, die blüht, während Wahrheit vergeht.

Ich hasse so sehr, dass mein Herz noch pocht, nur weil es auf Asche und Bruch gehofft. Ich warte – oh ja – auf den letzten Moment, wenn der Himmel zerreißt und der Stahl sich verrennt.

Denn ich schulde euch nichts. Kein Lächeln, kein Dank. Nur meine Verachtung. Und diesen Gesang. Ich bin nicht euer. Und werde’s nie sein. Ich war nie drin. Ich bleibe allein.

Und noch mehr als Deutschland – die Türkei. Ein Grab aus Lügen, Gewalt und Geschrei. Ein Staat, der mein Volk zu löschen versucht, mit Feuer, mit Waffen, mit vergifteter Flucht.

Schutt und Asche für beide, ohne Erbarmen, sie sollen in Ruinen ihre Wahrheit vergraben. Kein Frieden mit denen, die uns je verrieten – nur Schweigen, bis sie selbst zerblieben.

Die, die auf Formaldehyd steht

Sie sprüht sich ein mit Todesduft, mit Blümchen-Aroma und Leichengruft. Ein Spritzer hier, ein Nebel dort – und jeder echte Atem fort.

Sie liebt das Gift, das keiner sieht, das tief in deine Lunge zieht. Wo andere fliehen, bleibt sie stehn, denn sie kann ohne Dämpfe nicht gehn.

Ein Kuss aus Rauch, ein Hauch Chemie, ihr Parfum ist ihr Alibi. “Ich bin doch sauber, riech so fein!” doch unter ihrer Haut: Benzol und Schwein.

Sie schnüffelt gerne an dem Leid, das sich im Raum wie Schleier breit. Ein echtes Öl? Pfui Teufel, nein – das muss was mit Verdünner sein!

Sie nennt dich wild, sie nennt dich roh, doch sie ist’s, die lebt im Klo. Im Nebel ihrer selbstverlognen Pracht, verliert sie Wahrheit, Duft und Macht.

„Wo ist Kurdistan?“

Man fragt sich leis, mit wundem Sinn, wo blieb das Land, wo ich einst bin? Die Berge rufen, Stimmen alt, doch Grenzen halten sie kalt.

Die Türkei steht mit stolzem Schild, geformt aus Blut, mit Stahl gefüllt. Ein Staat gebaut auf fremdem Grund, doch schweigen macht die Wunde wund.

Ein Volk, zerteilt durch fremde Hand, in vier gerissen – Land um Land. Doch keiner fragt, was ihnen blieb, nur Staub, Verbot und fremdes Sieb.

Warum darf ein Mörderstaat bestehn, doch darf Kurdistan nicht auferstehn? Weil Weltpolitik den Handel liebt und wer laut schreit, nicht ewig siegt.

Doch eines Tags – das schwör ich heut – kehrt Heim das Volk, das man zerstreut. Dann blüht das Land mit eignem Klang, und Kurdistan lebt – frei und lang.

The Epstein List, The Shift, and the Stakes: Why We Must Demand the Full Truth

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There’s a pattern here—one that’s been used before.

Just as the ground starts to shake beneath the weight of a crumbling narrative, a familiar face reappears. This week, Ghislaine Maxwell is back in the headlines—not for new charges, but because of an appeal to the Supreme Court and renewed whispers about releasing the elusive Epstein client list. And as the media begins to churn the waters again, many are wondering: why now?

This isn’t about jumping to conclusions. This is about timing—and the importance of watching what happens when the spotlight is redirected.

Let’s look at the timeline:

November 25, 2024: Maxwell’s request for a rehearing is denied.

January 20, 2025: Donald Trump returns to office.

January 21, 2025: Just one day later, Justice Sotomayor grants Maxwell an extension for her appeal.

July 14, 2025: The final deadline arrives for filing a response.

Same week: Headlines emerge claiming Maxwell is ready to name names—and Trump publicly scoffs at ongoing Epstein questions, calling the disgraced financier a “creep.”

The same man who once praised Epstein as a “terrific guy.” The same man who said, on record, that Epstein liked women “on the younger side.”

And now? Now the narrative flips. Suddenly, Maxwell is positioned as someone who might bring justice—right as a Trump-friendly DOJ and conservative Supreme Court hold the levers of power.

Coincidence?

Or coordination?

We’ve seen this playbook before. When the heat turns up, a new fire is lit elsewhere. A “list” might surface. But will it be the real list—or a curated one, crafted to distract, to divide, or to destroy political opponents?

Let’s be clear: any selective release of names is not justice. It’s manipulation.

And we also need to name what’s been happening publicly. This latest round of headlines comes directly after a very public denial by the Trump White House that the Epstein list even exists. Just days ago, Trump himself began distancing from Epstein altogether—acting as if he never liked the man, when in fact he’s praised him for years, called him “terrific,” and even boasted that they both liked beautiful women.

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Don’t Fall for the Distraction

We know video evidence exists. What we don’t know is why it has remained hidden for so long—especially the portions that don’t involve graphic material.

Let’s be clear: not all of the video is explicit. Surveillance footage doesn’t just capture crimes—it captures context. Who arrived. Who left. Who spent time in the common areas. Who seemed at ease. Who looked like they belonged.

That’s what they don’t want us to see.

Because when the public sees familiar faces laughing on those tapes, walking freely around Epstein’s properties, suddenly this isn’t just about individual crimes—it’s about collective cover-ups.

The truth doesn’t always look like a smoking gun. Sometimes it looks like a handshake in the lobby.

If Ghislaine Maxwell is truly prepared to cooperate, then the American people deserve nothing less than the full picture:

Flight logs—unredacted.

Financial trails.

Video evidence, photographs.

Surveillance records.

All sealed court testimony.

No summaries. No cherry-picking. And no partisan framing.

This is not a left-versus-right issue. This is a justice-versus-cover-up issue.

Because if a list is released with just enough names to trigger outrage, but not enough to reveal the whole operation, we’ll know exactly what we’re witnessing: a tactical leak, not a reckoning.

So keep your eyes open. Watch the timing. Track who benefits from the headlines.

And remember: the truth doesn’t come in curated headlines. It comes in full disclosure—or not at all.

Too many people want this list to come out just to see the downfall of people they see as their political enemies.

But ask yourself this:

If your daughter was one of those victims, would you want to see the list of the names you suspected?

Or the list of every name that deserves to be on it?

Because justice isn’t justice until it reaches every name—no matter their title, their party, or their power.

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Honor the Victims

This isn’t just about power. It’s about lives.

Real girls. Stolen childhoods. Silenced truths.

The system has failed them at every turn—first by allowing the abuse to happen, then by dragging out justice, and now by weaponizing their pain as a political chess piece.

Let this not be about headlines. Let this be about the innocent girls who have been silenced.

Because until the full truth is revealed, they are denied the one thing they were promised: justice.

Because when strategy masquerades as justice, it’s the powerless who pay the price.

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#EpsteinList #DemandTransparency #MaxwellCase  #FlightLogsNow #TruthNotTheater #KeepYourEyesOpen #PowerAndProtection #SurvivorsDeserveJustice 

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La Lista de Epstein, el Cambio y lo que Está en Juego: Por Qué Debemos Exigir la Verdad Completa

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Hay un patrón aquí — uno que ya hemos visto antes.

Justo cuando el terreno comienza a temblar bajo el peso de una narrativa que se desmorona, reaparece un rostro familiar. Esta semana, Ghislaine Maxwell vuelve a los titulares —no por nuevos cargos, sino por una apelación ante la Corte Suprema y los renovados rumores sobre la publicación de la evasiva lista de clientes de Epstein. Y mientras los medios agitan nuevamente las aguas, muchos se preguntan: ¿por qué ahora?

Esto no es para llegar a conclusiones apresuradas. Esto es sobre el tiempo — y sobre lo importante de observar lo que ocurre cuando el reflector es redirigido.

Echemos un vistazo a la cronología:

25 de noviembre de 2024: se niega la solicitud de Maxwell para un nuevo juicio.

20 de enero de 2025: Donald Trump regresa al cargo.

21 de enero de 2025: un día después, la jueza Sotomayor concede una prórroga para la apelación de Maxwell.

14 de julio de 2025: arriva el plazo final para presentar una respuesta.

Misma semana: aparecen titulares que afirman que Maxwell está lista para dar nombres — y Trump se burla públicamente de las preguntas sobre Epstein, llamándolo un “trastornado”.

El mismo hombre que una vez elogió a Epstein como un “tipo estupendo”. El mismo que dijo, en público, que a Epstein le gustaban las mujeres “más jóvenes”.

¿Y ahora? Ahora la narrativa cambia. De pronto, Maxwell aparece como quien podría impartir justicia — justo cuando el DOJ es pro‑Trump y la Corte Suprema unánimemente conservadora están en control.

¿Coincidencia?

¿O coordinación?

Ya habíamos visto esta estrategia antes. Cuando sube la temperatura, se enciende otro fuego. Puede aparecer una “lista”. Pero ¿será la lista real —o una lista seleccionada, diseñada para distraer, dividir o destruir a oponentes políticos?

Seamos claros: cualquier publicación selectiva de nombres no es justicia. Es manipulación.

Y también debemos nombrar lo que ha ocurrido públicamente: esta nueva tanda de titulares llega justo después de que la Casa Blanca de Trump negara públicamente la existencia de la lista de Epstein. Hace pocos días, Trump mismo se distanció de Epstein — como si jamás lo hubiera admirado, cuando en realidad lo elogió durante años, lo llamó “estupendo” y presumió que ambos preferían “mujeres hermosas”.

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No te dejes distraer

Sabemos que existe evidencia en video. Lo que no sabemos es por qué se ha mantenido oculta tanto tiempo — especialmente las partes que no son de contenido explícito.

Seamos claros: no todos los videos son gráficos. Las grabaciones de vigilancia no solo captan delitos — también captan el contexto. Quién llegó. Quién se fue. Quién pasó tiempo en las zonas comunes. Quién parecía estar cómodo. Quién actuaba como si perteneciera ahí.

Eso es justamente lo que no quieren que veamos.

Porque cuando el público ve en esos videos rostros familiares, caminando libremente en las propiedades de Epstein, de repente esto deja de tratar solo de crímenes individuales — y se convierte en un encubrimiento colectivo.

La verdad no siempre luce como un arma humeante. A veces luce como un apretón de manos en el lobby.

Si Maxwell realmente está dispuesta a cooperar, entonces el pueblo estadounidense merece nada menos que la verdad completa:

Registros de vuelo sin censura.

Rutas financieras.

Videos, fotografías.

Archivos de vigilancia.

Todas las declaraciones judiciales selladas.

No resúmenes. No selecciones. No relatos políticos.

Esto no es un asunto entre izquierda o derecha. Esto es un asunto de justicia frente a encubrimiento.

Porque si se publica una lista que nos entregue solo los nombres necesarios para provocar indignación, pero que oculte el núcleo del caso, sabremos exactamente lo que estamos viendo: una filtración táctica, no un ajuste de cuentas.

---

Mantén los ojos abiertos. Observa los tiempos. Rastrea quién se beneficia de los titulares.

Y recuerda: la verdad no viene en titulares curados. Viene en revelación total — o no viene.

Demasiada gente quiere ver publicada esta lista solo para presenciar la caída de quienes ya consideran sus enemigos políticos. Pero pregúntate: Si tu hija fuera una de esas víctimas, ¿te bastaría la lista de nombres sospechosos que ya tenías? ¿O querrías ver la lista de cada nombre que merece estar en ella?

Porque la justicia deja de ser justa cuando no llega a todos los nombres — sin importar su título, partido o poder.

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Honremos a las víctimas

Esto no es solo una cuestión de poder. Esto es sobre vidas. Niñas reales. Infancias robadas. Verdades silenciadas.

El sistema ha fallado a estas jóvenes en cada paso: primero al permitir que el abuso ocurriera; luego al dilatar la justicia; y ahora al convertir su dolor en una ficha de ajedrez político.

Que esto no se trate de titulares. Que se trate de esas niñas inocentes a quienes silenciaron.

Porque mientras la verdad completa no sea revelada, ellas continúan privadas de lo único que les prometieron: justicia.

Porque cuando la estrategia se disfraza de justicia, son los inocentes los que pagan el precio.

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#EpsteinList #ExijamosTransparencia #CasoMaxwell #VuelosSinCensura #VerdadNoEsEscenario #OjosAbiertos #PoderYProtección #SobrevivientesMerecenJusticia

I’ve been looking at fantasy magic systems for my fiction writing and also reading more witchcraft books for my irl practice and I wanted to scribble down some thoughts. This is totally going to be very unstructured so bear with me.

There are a lot of theories for how magic works in this world. The most well-known is probably Crowley’s definition of “the science of causing change in accordance with will” but that doesn’t really tell you anything and by that logic, pretty much anything is magic. If I want a cup of tea I cause change (boiling water, brewing the tea) in accordance with my will to have a cuppa. Is that magic?

It also tells you nothing of where magic comes from and how we interact with it.

There are a lot of books out there, by various pagan and witchy writers, who will tell you at length that there are set ways to do magic, and that their way is the best (or only) way. There’s a lot of judgmental people out there who will gladly tell you that if your magic looks different to theirs, it’s because you’re doing it wrong.

To say nothing of the unexamined ableism in many of these books – no, not everyone can do visualisation meditations, or hike into the forest for a ritual, or fiddle around with candles and tools, and nor should you have to.

Because here’s my take – or at least the notes of it anyway.

Magic is a natural force. It’s like gravity, electromagnetism etc. It works according to different principles than those accepted in the modern materialistic scientific worldview so it can’t be detected and measured using those practices.

Everyone (and I mean everyone) has the potential to connect to this force and channel it or work with it to help co-create our shared reality. Some may be more naturally adept, some may have more years of experience, but everyone can do it.

Deities, spirits, elementals etc. can be asked to help if needed – they are non-physical entities, and are closer to the magical current, or more attuned to it, so can lend their power to ours. If you’re doing this, it’s a relationship – you’re not summoning or commanding them, you’re working together for a shared goal.

Your magic, then, is the result of your connection to this magical current. Your connection. Not a ritual you read in a book, or whatever High Priestess Moonblossom Faerysparkle told you at a pagan festival.

So it will look different for everyone. Remember, it isn’t a science (in the modern materialist sense – it absolutely is scientia in the older sense of knowledge), so it doesn’t have to be done under controlled replicable conditions.

I have a friend whose magic is like maths and logic, another whose magic is wild nature, another who draws on the Norse tradition of seidr. My own practice is a mix of the druidry I was originally trained in, traditional witchcraft of my local area, and stuff I’ve picked up over the years – including stuff from fiction.

The Weave from D&D is the best description of the magical current I’ve ever seen. The Fade from Thedas hints at other realities that can be accessed by a mage. The spirit work from the anime The Ancient Magus’ Bride shows how to work with elementals and land spirits in a respectful way. And oh, yeah, I honour Selune at the full moon. Fiction is the realm of imagination, which is a potent way to connect to magic.

I also have a theory which I’m working through with friends who are on a similar wavelength, that the Weave in this world (the magical current) is damaged, shredded, or blocked – the rise of interest in witchcraft and paganism might be a natural response to this as more people notice things that are “off” and want to bring some magic back into the world. So, every time you do a magical thing (spell, ritual, whatever), you’re helping reconnect the threads, repair the weave and increase the energy of that current. It’s an act of resistance against those in power who want us to be disconnected from our magic so we’re easier to control. See also the rise in surveillance capitalism and AI as a way of creating a “virtual weave” to plug people into and distract them from the real, living magic all around us.

Is this a fully worked-out theory? No, of course not. But that’s also the point – magic is the unknown unknowable, it’s that which lies beyond, within, above, below. It’s not known by working out theories and philosophies, it’s known by experiencing it – doing magic and watching what happens next.

12 July 2025

Found a small invoice book at the post office that came with two pieces of blue carbon paper to use for copies on the blank pages that follow each invoice page. A welcome coincidence—as I think more about the relationship between drawing and painting, printing has now squeezed its way in as well. Comes at a time when I've been spending a lot of time looking at Degas's black and white monotypes, which are masterclasses in working with/thinking about volume. Line and mark-making are obviously important in them as well, but to my eye those elements serve to accent, clarify, and cohere dense maps of space born through volume by value. They also bring attention to the edges of forms in a way that I have maybe subconsciously approached but haven't addressed directly yet, which is exciting. There's a vibration, a restlessness that partners so harmoniously with the aforementioned density. A honed way of looking in both absolutes and specifics.

Firesides are for lovers and friends.

The day started early and after a poor night’s sleep. I managed to sleep crossways and pin my arm so that it was completely numb, waking me at 5.

I made the most of the early morning and got some writing done. It feels good to find a creative foothold again. I’m worrying less about life, the universe and everything.

It feels a little like the old me.

Close Call

I arrived to meet with friends later in the morning and a fellow named Clarence I’ve grown close to was feeling off. A longtime time friend who is a former firefighter noticed some asymmetry in Clarence’s face and movements. And so convinced him to go to the ER where they identified that he has suffered a stroke. He’s a great big powerful old bodybuilder who drove a cement truck for about 30 years. So he’s used to powering through things. That’s why he carried on for 3 days before going to the ER!!

He is admitted and being observed. I’m sure my wife and her sister are melting down a little. They are both concerned that’s in my future.

I hope he’s going to be okay. When I met him he was quiet and fragile emotionally, having felt very mistreated through his life. But like any abuse creature, patience and kindness gave him the confidence that not everyone is out to get him and over the course of five or six years he finally started coming out of his shell.

Today, he’s not an extrovert, but it’s a real joy to see him out all week long laughing and volunteering with other friends. It’s amazing what a powerful thing finding one’s confidence can be.

Convention

I heard some friends were able to attend their annual spiritual convention over the weekend. It’s very exciting to get the chance to attend. I lost touch with them, so haven’t heard what they thought, but it’s been refreshing to think back to our own attendance just last month.

One of the real joys in the year is talking about what we learned with one another. I know personally it was extremely challenging this year in a way I’ve never experienced before—but I’ve had some especially unique circumstances—I can’t imagine theirs was anything but as motivational and refreshing as they always are.

I wrote a series of poems about what it feels like to attend these events:

Tomorrow, The Glow: Pre-convention eagerness

Purity of Silence: An exploration of the reverent inspiration that comes with being present and reflecting on the power of holy spirit

First Light, Holy Light: A meditation on the early morning and longing

Festival of Renewal: the feeling of the post-program glow

Jobsearch

Our weekend didn’t give us the chance to see the new Superman movie. Hoping to find time today or tomorrow for that. I have a few job applications to follow up on this morning in the quest to make a living. The most promising is the. tv station gig. I think I’ve resolved that it’s a good doorway. If I can land it, it’ll be good experience to trade into something better in a larger market. I’m of the new opinion that my skill set just doesn’t have the appeal once did. Employers can find me younger and cheaper.

I want to regret my decisions. But, I’ve always put God first and that HAS to account for something. As a friend once said, ‘He never has, or will, fail you, Brother Mine.’

That’s such an encouraging thought. How quickly we forget our own value in the eyes of our Father.

🙄

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Dumb things I overheard today:

‘Young men and women who are less attractive and less physically capable have an easier time serving God because they don’t have anything else.’

‘He won’t change no matter how many times I tell him. I don’t know what to do. I guess it is what it is. But one thing for certain: he’s the problem.’

‘Well it may be that the less you have, the easier life is. But that seems like a missed opportunity… why not grab all I can?’

—————————————————————

Tonight

Enjoying amazing stuffed bell peppers and asparagus while we watch the 40th anniversary of Live Aid (1985). I joke we are old enough to be able to convincingly argue we were there 49 years ago!

Queen just roused us with a thrilling rendition of Radio Gaga and Bowie a wild edition of Hero’s.

We’re chilling now to ‘this is the sound of my soooooouuuuuul’ Spandau Ballet stepped up with velvet sincerity, wrapping the crowd in ‘True.’ To be followed by Joan Baez and Elvis Costello! And now—Phil Collins: Against All Odds.

There is good music still being made, but 40-50 years ago was a real golden age!

—————————————————————

She longed for him like the trees long for wind. To make them strong and to serenade the creatures of the forest. Every day he was her first thought and though not her only thought through the day, he was there with the frequency of the wind.

Behind the soft armor of charm, she was somewhere else entirely. A secret garden, locked from the world, with his name carved into every tree. No one noticed. They never did.

How did he make her feel?

Seen. Truly seen. As if her soul had a shape that only he could trace. He, who wanted her thoughts, her cleverness, her edges and silhouette. To embrace her mind when others looked away.

— I love the metaphor here.

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Oh! Reader mine! There’s SO much I want to say— but the brilliant moon is low in the horizon out this window and sleep is starting to reclaim my weary mind. I pray today’s sunrise brings you blessings and peace. My heart is with you to succeed in finding peace and contentment.

May you have the day you need and deserve.

Love always, Charlie

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To Build A Home – The Cinematic Orchestra

There is a house built out of stone Wooden floors, walls and window sills Tables and chairs worn by all of the dust This is a place where I don't feel alone This is a place where I feel at home 'Cause, I built a home For you For me Until it disappeared From me From you And now, it's time to leave and turn to dust Out in the garden where we planted the seeds There is a tree as old as me Branches were sewn by the color of green Ground had arose and passed it's knees By the cracks of the skin I climbed to the top I climbed the tree to see the world When the gusts came around to blow me down I held on as tightly as you held onto me I held on as tightly as you held onto me And, I built a home For you For me Until it disappeared From me From you And now, it's time To leave and turn To dust

She Has No Time – Keane

You think your days are uneventful And no one ever thinks about you She goes her own way She goes her own way You think your days are ordinary And no one ever thinks about you But we're all the same And she can hardly breathe without you She says she has no time for you now She says she has no time Think about the lonely people And think about the day she found you Or lie to yourself And see it all dissolve around you She says she has no time for you now She says she has no time Lonely people tumble downwards My heart opens up to you When she says she has no time for you now She says she has no time

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#reflection #essay #memoir #journal #osxs #100daystooffset #writing

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Dicen que hace mucho tiempo, más bien milenios, un diablillo aburrido se puso a jugar utilizando a las estrellas como si fueran dados. Debido a que con cada tirada alteraba la armonía del universo, un ángel le dijo:

-¡Detente, espíritu inquieto! ¿No ves que con tu juego estás causando el caos? -Si me ganas lo haré -le respondió el diablillo-, pero no será gratis: tendrás que apostar tus alas contra mis cuernos.

No voy a retenerlos alargando la historia con detalles innecesarios. La verdad pura y simple es que el ángel perdió, entregó las alas y cuando se resignaba a llevar los cuernos, el diablillo desapareció, llevándose alas y cuernos. Por eso nosotros, los seres humanos, descendientes de aquel ángel, somos así...

Cet été, ce sera l’Écosse à moto pendant plus de 10 jours. Bien sûr, il y a la préparation de la moto et de l’équipement des deux voyageurs. Mais c'est aussi lire ou voir des tableaux pour se mettre dans l'ambiance…

Les Philosophes amateurs (Vettriano)

«Elle sourit au Vettriano. À Édimbourg, les autorités en matière artistique le dénigraient avec virulence, mais il restait résolument populaire. Pourquoi ? Parce que ses tableaux racontaient quelque chose de la vie de ses personnages (du moins des personnages qui dansaient sur la plage en tenue de soirée), fixaient un fragment d'histoire comme ceux d'Edward Hopper. Voilà pourquoi Hopper inspirait tant de poèmes : le spectateur avait loisir d'inventer le reste de l'histoire. Que font là ces gens ? A quoi pensent-ils ? Que feront-ils ensuite ?» Alexander McCall Smith. Le Club des philosophes amateurs. Le Masque, 2024, p. 136

Dance Me to the End of Love (Vettriano)

Alexander McCall Smith. Le Club des philosophes amateurs

Pour Isabel Dalhousie, la présidente du Club des philosophes amateurs d'Edimbourg, une soirée à l'opéra est toujours un moment de repos et de sérénité. Mais lorsqu'à la fin de la représentation, un jeune homme en tombant d'un balcon meurt à ses pieds, elle sait que ce n'est pas pour ses beaux yeux. Toujours prête à s'interroger sur l'éthique de ses actes et de ceux de ses contemporains, cette adepte de la vérité ne croit pas un instant à la thèse de l'accident. Miss Dalhousie va alors découvrir que même la tranquille capitale écossaise est désormais gagnée par les appétits modernes, aussi voraces qu'immoraux.

Commander le livre : Le Club des philosophes amateurs

Tags : #AuCafé #Roadbook #peinture #littérature #roman #Ecosse

There's a lot that I would want to say today but also nothing at all. But I did see a couple quotes or posts that really resonated so I kind of wanted to notarize them here.

10 spears go to battle, and nine of them shatter. Did the war forge the spear that would remain? No, all the war did was identify the one that would not break.

I'm going to paraphrase here for this one, but it was talking about the story of Icarus. One of the things commonly is how his father warned Icarus about flying too close to the Sea, because the water would stick to the wings and make it too heavy to fly. What would the world have looked like if the idiom was don't fly too close to the sea.

I really liked that one because I really love the entire myth of Icarus and a lot of the symbolism behind it. But I also really like the acknowledgment of the counterpoint, how it is almost equally as dangerous as driving for too much to strive for not enough. I don't know if this is just a universal human thing or if I have just always underestimated myself, but I think about how many things in my life I would not have done if I did not decide to chase it. It is arguably worse to die to the sea, because the alternative means you get to enjoy the Sun, and the fall.

Tåg, tåg, buss, tåg. Är på resa med familjen. Startade hos svärmor ett par dagar och sedan vidare till danska huvudstaden. Varje gång förundras jag av faktauppgiften att Köpenhamn har färre invånare än Stockholm. Det är densiteten i centrala Köpenhamn som gör att den känns större. Storstadsfeelingen är så mycket starkare där. Cykelbanan utanför Ikea där också busstationen ligger var lika bred som en tvåfilig bilväg.

Tågbiljetterna till Hamburg från Köpenhamn var slut så vi tog FlixBus. En sex timmars resa via Rödby-Puttgarden som hade varit helt okej om ac:n ombord hade fungerat som den ska. Satan så varmt det var. Men vi kom fram bara tre minuter efter utsatt tid. I Hamburg promenerade vi ett par hundra meter till hotell Reischof.

Tågresan till Amsterdam dagen efter gick som smort. Tyskarna har gott om plats för bagage på tågen och kan det här med informativa skyltar.

Lägenheten i Amsterdam har hög Amsterdamfeeling. Kvarteret likaså. Vet ni förresten varför husen är så smala och bostäderna byggda på höjden med flera våningar istället för på bredden? Skatteskäl. Ju mindre markyta, desto lägre skatt.

#hamburg #amsterdam