Num dias desses, zapeando pelos canais de nossa maravilhosa tv, nos deparamos com um daqueles programas vespertinos genéricos (sim, nós estávamos bem desocupados no dia em questão).

No exato momento, um "rapaz" estava dando uma incrível dica de como arrumar emprego. Não, ele não estava falando como montar um bom currículo ou falando como se comportar numa entrevista de emprego. Também não estava falando sobre cursos técnicos, faculdades, pós-graduação. Muito menos sobre estratégias de mercado, qualificação profissional e etc.

A fantástica dica do "rapaz" para conseguir um bom emprego era:

1- Pegue uma vela branca.

2- Acenda a vela e a coloque num pires (também branco).

3- Pegue um nota de dinheiro (ou uma moeda) e a coloque debaixo do pires.

4- Pegue uma fita colorida correspondente com o anjo da guarda do dia da semana em questão que você quiser e amarre na vela.

5- Por fim, leia o Salmo "X14" (não lembramos qual era) e escreva num papel o seu nome e o emprego que você está querendo e coloque junto com a vela.

6- Coloque tudo isso num lugar arejado e deixe a vela queimar até o final.

7- Quando acabar, você deve dizer a oração de proteção para o arcanjo "X" (que pode ser encontrada no livro que o "rapaz" estava vendendo... por coincidência!), com um copo de água ao lado.

8- Quando acabar, beba a água do copo e espere que dentro de uma semana você terá boas notícias (isso, segundo o que dizia o "rapaz").

Particularmente falando, acreditamos que uma outra simpatia seria mais eficiente:

1- Compre o jornal de domingo e veja os classificados.

2- Procure por algo que lhe interesse.

3- Prepare seu currículo e leve até o local escolhido.

4- Se tudo correr bem, se apresente à estrevista e não fale nenhuma bobagem.

Como vocês podem ver, a nossa simpatia exigiu apenas 4 etapas. Além do mais, é provavel que enquanto você estiver fazendo a tal simpatia da vela e dos anjos, alguém vai estar fazendo a nossa do classificado e vai ficar com seu emprego.

Em outro canal (no mesmo dia! Foi um dia meio tedioso), uma senhora que se dizia "profissional" esotérica, respondia a pergunta de uma moça que estava nas ruas e lhe perguntava o por quê ela e sua amiga não se davam bem e sempre brigavam. Bem, a "profissional" lhe deu uma longa resposta que envolvia signos zodiacais, ascendentes, sinergias e etc... em resumo, os signos delas eram imcompatíveis pois as características dos dois eram conflitantes.

Bom, nós simplesmente diriamos que se elas bringam tanto e não se davam bem significava que elas simplesmente não eram amigas, talvez, no máximo, colegas de trabalho. Pronto!

Observando no jornal e em certas livrarias, as seções de livros classificados como "livros não-ficção" mais vendidos costumam sempre ser de auto-ajuda (que acabam ajudando só quem escreveu o livro) e "esotéricos". Nós classificariamos eles de outra forma: "livros não-realidade".

Para não dizermos que estamos sendo muito céticos com o mundo, vamos citar as palavras de uma pessoa com muito mais respeitabilidade e mais famosa do que nós (e não é nenhum "ex-Big Brother"). Estamos falando dele, o velho bardo inglês, que não participou de nenhum reality-show ou foi perseguido por paparazzi e também não foi entrevistado no camarote da Brahma pelo Amaury Junior e nem saiu na revista Caras: William Shakespear. Específicamente, citamos um trecho da peça "O Rei Lear", Ato I, Cena II, quando Edmund divaga pouco antes de Edgar entrar em cena.

Apreciai, ó leitor:

"Eis a sublime estupidez do mundo; quando nossa fortuna está abalada - muitas vezes pelos excessos de nossos próprios atos - culpamos o sol, a lua e as estrelas pelos nossos desastres; como se fôssemos canalhas por necessidade, idiotas por influência celeste, escroques, ladrões e traidores por comando do zodíaco; bêbados, mentirosos e adúlteros por forçada obediência a determinações dos planetas; como se toda a perversidade que há em nós fosse pura instigação divina. É a admirável desculpa do homem devasso - responsabiliza uma estrela por sua devassidão. Meu pai se entendeu com minha mãe sob a Cauda do Dragão e vim ao mundo sob a Ursa Maior; portanto devo ser lascivo e perverso. Bah! Eu seria o que sou. mesmo que a estrela mais virginal do firmamento tivesse iluminado a minha bastardia..."

Fonte: William Shakespear, "Rei Lear" (tradução de Millôr Fernandes). 

Ou, como simplesmente diria o padre Quevedo: "Esto no ecziste!"

[vodpod id=Groupvideo.1523231&w=425&h=350&fv=docId%3D883718043846080512%26playerMode%3Dsimple%26hl%3Den]

Chesterton on the idea of Christian tragedy

It is on this question of free will that Chesterton makes a notable contribution to our understanding of Christian tragedy, and it is Macbeth that inspires his comments. He called it the "supreme Christian tragedy," "the one Christian tragedy," "the greatest drama in the world" (Collins 69, 83). Although he wrote only two essays on Macbeth ("The Macbeths" and "Realism in Art") in contrast to his six on Hamlet, it is clear that Macbeth had a very special place in his enthusiastic appreciation of Shakespeare, even though, alas, the book he planned to write on him never got written. In an extended comparison of Shakespeare with Dante, Chesterton mentions Macbeth in particular, his point being that Shakespeare could have dealt with Dante's hell but not with his heaven. The butchery of the house of Macduff overshadows the cry of the father in the Tower of Hunger. In tragedy Shakespeare had no equal.

El reconocido diseñador gráfico nos obsequió el texto donde comenta el trabajo que su agencia realizó para la marca Luigi Bosca.

"Un pájaro no canta porque tiene una respuesta. Canta porque tiene una canción.

El componente visual de las marcas, cuya razón de ser ha sido siempre equivocadamente asociado a una necesidad esteticista frívola, es el lenguaje del sentimiento más profundo de éstas. En nuestro entorno abunda la información y falta el tiempo, por eso es normal que valoremos más los sentimientos que la información fría y calculada. Una elección concienzuda de una marca como Luigi Bosca involucra no pocos sentimientos y sensaciones. Evocaciones, aspiraciones y recuerdos tampoco están ausentes.

El trabajo realizado para la Familia Arizu se planteó desde la racionalización y aggiornamiento de los rasgos de identidad de la Bodega y de sus productos. Con más de 100 años de historia, la acumulación de transformaciones fue distorsionando la calidad perceptiva de la marca. La diferencia entre marcas, productos y comunicación visual es muy compleja a esta altura de la historia de los negocios. Del mismo modo, la diferencia entre calidad, creatividad y estrategia ha dejado de existir. Las marcas son experiencias dinámicas y multisensoriales.

Considerando, entonces, a todos los elementos que completan la plétora comunicacional de la industria del vino, ya es posible entender la manera en que los colores, los nombres, las imágenes, los emplazamientos estratégicos de la marca y los mensajes, condicionan la experiencia del público y modifican su comportamiento.

Diseño Shakespear rediseñó el logotipo gestual de Luigi Bosca con recursos caligráficos actuales pero siempre evocando a los ya reconocidos. También el escudo de la familia. La estructura designada para poner en valor la conexión de la Familia con la marca fue adosada al escudo conformando un monograma que acompañaría luego a cada acción de producto, como un escudo de armas clásico. Esto fue parte de un programa de articulación de marca preciso y exigente, orientado especificamente a clarificar el escenario competitivo de Luigi Bosca.

Siguió la transformación de las diez etiquetas de la línea Reserva, el Gewürstraminer, el Champagne Reserva, las tres etiquetas de la línea Los Nobles y la de Icono.

La percepción general del cambio demuestra equilibrio de formas, variedad cromática, sutileza tipográfica y diálogos de texturas. Y al mismo tiempo orden, claridad y contemporaneidad.

El caso Icono: un buen vino siempre encuentra en su botella un buen vehículo de expresión.

El nombre Icono fue creado durante un período de dos meses junto con la Bodega y emergió de una larga lista de alternativas. Desde el punto de vista de la sugestión, Icono es el sueño de cualquier profesional de marcas: es un nombre dúctil, vital, suave y fuerte a la vez, delicado pero con virilidad y fortaleza. La acertada combinación de los elementos acústicos de las letras de Icono ayudan a que, tras escucharlo y pronunciarlo, recordar el nombre no presente dificultades.

La particularidad del trabajo con Luigi Bosca es el involucramiento directo de la familia. Contra todas las fantasías populares sobre el diseño, lo más importante de este trabajo no es el diseño gráfico de la etiqueta sino la precisión con que la planificación conjunta del acontecimiento total de Icono fue concebida. Son raras y contadas las oportunidades en que al más alto nivel gerencial el intercambio es tan intenso y la capacidad reflexiva tan creativamente divergente.

Desde donde cada uno lo perciba, Icono pide respeto y cuidado a la vez. Suena con la autoridad de lo que evoca: el vino símbolo, el paradigma, el primigenio, lo emblemático. Es lo más elevado y ambicioso, lo que no puede superarse. Icono invita a ser bebido. O a ser atesorado.

Su resolución gráfica, orgánica, simple, casi elemental, con una meticulosa implementación, contrasta con las características complejas y elaboradas del vino. Así, la expresión gestual de la historia, producto de un sentimiento verdadero y espontáneo, encuentra una organización que respira claridad, orden y honestidad. Entre el pensamiento y la expresión, el componente visual de Icono es una declaración de principios, una descripción breve de una condición única que transmite movimiento y calma a la vez.

Como toda buena marca, Icono tiene una historia para contar. Y como toda buena historia, la de Icono es breve. La idea de suscribir a tendencias gráficas peregrinas o a efectos visuales nunca entró en escena. ¿Qué tiene la etiqueta de Icono que no tengan las demás etiquetas? Es un oasis. Y en ese páramo se yergue, orgullosa, la firma de la historia. Evocando la impronta personal de Luigi Bosca de hace casi un siglo, este fragmento de un manuscrito original nos dice, de puño y letra y con la autenticidad de quien no tiene que probar nada que así se hace."

Por Lorenzo Shakespear, director de Diseño Shakespear

www.shakespearweb.com

When you have been seeing/dating/wild rumpus-ing with someone for an appreciable amount of time, there comes a day where eventually the "What are we?/Where is this going?" question will arise. And once you get past the age of 22 are grown, it becomes an increasingly difficult question to answer, even though in theory it should be quite simple.

For a logophile like me, labels are particularly difficult because I believe that words are only as good as the meaning that you ascribe to them. I think perhaps being a lawyer greatly contributes to this view because we define words however we want all the time in the definition sections of legal documents (ex. contracts or statutes). If I draft a document where "Banana" (capitalized.... called a "defined term") means "the small brown dog that appears in the first few minutes of the movie Juno" then that's what Banana means, dammit, not a curved yellow fruit. (or, to use another Juno movie example, her name didn't mean "the city in Alaska", it meant "Zeus' wife, who was really beautiful, but really mean.... like Diana Ross.")

Here is a quote that illustrates what I'm talking about (and that actually appears in the preface to a legal treatise on Hart Scott Rodino antitrust pre-merger notification filings):

"When I use a word," Humpty Dumpty said, in a rather scornful tone, "it means just what I choose it to mean — neither more nor less."

"The question is," said Alice, "whether you can make words mean so many different things."

"The question is," said Humpty Dumpty, "which is to be master -- that’s all."

Alice was too puzzled to say anything; so after a minute, Humpty Dumpty began again.

"They’ve a temper, some of them -- particularly verbs: they're the proudest -- adjectives you can do anything with, but not verbs -- however, I can manage the whole lot of them! Impenetrability! That’s what I say!"

"Would you tell me, please," said Alice, "what that means?"

"Now you talk like a reasonable child," said Humpty Dumpty, looking very much pleased. "I meant by 'impenetrability' that we’ve had enough of that subject and it would be just as well if you'd mention what you mean to do next, as I suppose you don’t mean to stop here all the rest of your life."

"That’s a great deal to make one word mean," Alice said in a thoughtful tone.

"When I make a word do a lot of work like that, said Humpty Dumpty, "I always pay it extra."

(Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland)

So what does all this wordsmithery have to do with relationships? I'm talking about the LABELS, i.e. the "defined term", i.e. the term that defines the relationship. Boyfriend/girlfriend, boo-thang (I personally like that one best), lovers, Friends with Benefits, Homie Lover Friend, and so on and so forth. Like Humpty Dumpty says, you can do anything with the adjectives, and isn't that what a label is? What is important is what that label actually MEANS. But if you can put any meaning on a word, or rather the nuances in connotation of a word, what good is that word (i.e. that label) really? And, going back to the first quote I used from Romeo and Juliette, does the label change the nature of what is?

Let me clarify that I have nothing against labels in a relationship in general. I just am personally struggling with the concept because it has been a non-issue for me for the past 15 years, and the rules got a helluva lot more complicated while I was busy getting older. But seriously, though, what "boyfriend/girlfriend" means to one person doesn't necessarily mean the same thing to another person. And the "rights and responsibilities" that come along with those labels are also different for everyone.

If I am honest with myself, though, I will admit that some of this label phobia has to deal with the great enemy of all intimate relationships, and that is fear. I just got out of a marriage where I felt like my Ex was stifling my individuality and crowding my space, constantly criticizing who I am. I've spent the past year spreading my wings and being able to be myself without restriction and it feels GOOD. I don't have to explain or justify or get permission or worry about criticism for anything. And this has NOTHING to do with seeing other people or dating or doing questionable shady shyt. This is about doing ME. I know that issue is much deeper than a label, but it admittedly makes me a little gun shy.

However, I know that labels give a certain level of comfort and security, because it imparts a degree of certainty. I of all people like certainty. Limbo gives me the willies more than labels do. I guess this is just one of those points in life where I need to quit analyzing and just BE, because in the grand scheme of things, it's really not anything to get hung up over. And I also suppose it comes down to communication and making sure we're both on the same page. Because then, what does the label really matter? But because the label doesn't matter, it's ok to go ahead and use one.......because I am master of the word, and that is all.

So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

--------------------------------------------------

Malilith and Ila stares at the blank ceiling, hand in hands. Ila has killed another poem again and he sees it. Kill one to revive another. Have one thing, let go another. Love something, hate another. But missed something, missed another. Because the one you have missed will never come back. Those cruel and unforgiving time will never let go.

And so long I wish he'd see,
How eternal winter remains unrest,
How winter could never match his glare,
The perfection of eyes one could never dream.
Cold hold his hands in the shades,
Death grabs but fails,
His beauty stay, immortalized in words,
And that memory live, restrained.

As long as the time won't devour,
Those last affection attached,
There will be more of you,
And my unfulfilled wishes towards,
Will somehow stay afterwards.

It’s a beautiful piece about a situation almost all of us have been in. A Christian comes up to you in the street and asks if you have been saved. I only wish that I could match the beauty and articulation of the Arturo’s responses in this story. Without further ado:

An Atheist Meets A Theist On The Street
http://www.ffrf.org/fttoday/2008/June-July/heathen.php

I was slowly walking down the main street of the Vermont town where I taught when a man aggressively came up to me and asked me point-blank: “Are you a Christian?”

“No,” I said, unwilling to be pigeonholed, “I am a heathen.”

“Who made that tree?” he asked me sternly, pointing to a maple near where we stood.

“It made itself.”

“Oh, itself, did it? Well, let me tell you, God made it.’’

I looked at the red, flame-like, burgeoning buds that would soon turn into tiny leaf, rosy at first, then broaden into lustrous green, and finally in the fall turn to fiery red, and lines from a poem of D.H. Lawrence that I had read to my class came to my mind, and I quoted them to him:

“'Even the mind of God can only imagine
Those things that have become themselves.'”

“Do you pray?” he said.

“No, but I do a lot of hoping.”

He looked at me as at a hopeless case. “Take this and pray,” he said, handing me a pink flier. “Read it every day.”

I looked at the words that perhaps someone of his sect had written. “When I hope,” I said, “at least I use my own words, and no one else’s. I don’t follow any dotted line.”

‘’What’s wrong with these words?”

“They are impersonal, dated. Said over and over, they become almost meaningless, while hope is new and fresh each time, and isn’t attached to any sect.”

“Pray to God and you’ll be saved.”

“I feel perfectly safe,’’ I said. “I have a home, a family, a job, even a philosophy.” “You have no
faith.”

“No?”

“No,” he affirmed. “Pray to God, have faith, and your prayer will be answered. You have only to ask.’’

“Ask and it shall be given unto you, knock and it shall be opened,’ do you mean?”

“Yes.”

“But I think one needs each time a very cleverly made, subtle and fortunate key. And besides, I should think one who really loves God wouldn’t want to ask him favors all the time, bother him with this and that like a lobbyist. I should think it would be very trying even for God. I’d be afraid of taxing his patience.”

“God has infinite patience.”

“Do you think so?”

“I know so.”

“I see him as beyond reach, too high, like fate,” I said, and again quoted a line I had read to my class, “ ‘moved of no man’s prayer to fold its wings.’ ”

“You are an unbeliever.”

“I believe a beggar woman who said, ‘God don’t care.’ ”

“That’s blasphemy. Praise the Lord, don’t curse him.”

“I’m not cursing. I think it’s as vain to curse him as it is to praise him. You want him as the almighty and the all loving, but if he is both why does he allow so much cruelty in this world?”

“It’s well known, to test us.”

“A suspicious God. I don’t want a suspicious God.”

“Boy, you’ll go to hell.”

I smiled and looked at him, a man much younger than me. “I’m not afraid of hell since I don’t believe in it, hell or heaven. How can you be happy in happy in heaven if your brother is in hell? It doesn’t make sense.”

“You’ll find out. I’ll pray for your soul.”

“My soul won’t outlive my body. The soul is life, and death is the end, or at least I fervently hope so. This life is the real thing, not a rehearsal. And death is final, not an intermission. Dust and ashes, they can’t die; they are immortal, because they are not alive—immortality belongs to the unliving.”

“So you are a heathen.”

“Yes, if the word heathen comes from heath, the wilderness.”

He looked at me as if I were a lost soul, intractable so far, and yet grist for his mill, a substrate to work on, his chance to make a convert, to save me, and he wouldn’t let go. He gave me another flier of a different color. I took it. “You’ll read it?’’

“Yes.”

Still, he was not satisfied. “God’s all around you, don’t you see?’’

“'I see him in the flowering of the fields,
I see him in the turning of the stars,
But in his ways with men I see him not.’

“That’s from Tennyson.”

“So what are you, apart from being a heathen, I mean? Are you at the college here?”

“Yes.”

“I thought so, a teacher. I pity your students. You tell them the things you told me?”

“Yes.”

“You are a bad influence.”

“They are free to pick and to discard. I tell them to take nothing for granted.”

“But you are wrong, don’t you see?”

“And you are right.”

“Yes, I am sure I am right.”

“‘Man, little man, most ignorant of what he’s most assured.’ That’s from Shakespeare.”

“Don’t you ever quote from the bible?”

“Oh yes, ‘Where the spirit of the Lord is there is Liberty.’ St. Paul.”

“So you do believe in the Lord.”

“I believe in freedom.”

“What else do you believe in?”

“Love.”

“Ah, now we are getting somewhere. God is love. But the other things you said, they are wrong. You are not a heathen. I’ll tell you what you are, you are a doubting Thom. Look at me, I have no doubt.”

“Doubt,” I said, “I love doubt. ‘There’s more truth in an honest doubt than in half the creeds.’ That’s Tennyson once more.”

“Say that again.”

I repeated the line. It seemed to make an impression on him, and for a moment I wondered if, unintentionally, I hadn’t made a convert. But another passerby soon caught his eye and, himself again, he aggressively strode over toward him, flier in hand.

Arturo Vivante wrote more than 70 short stories for The New Yorker, many set in his native Italy. Mr. Vivante died at his home in Wellfleet, Mass., at age 84 in April. He was born in Rome on Oct. 17, 1923, to a Jewish father and a mother descended from American-Methodist stock. He moved with his family to England to escape fascism, and was deported to Canada as a teenager. Upon release, he enrolled at McGill University, where he graduated in 1944. He returned to Italy and earned a medical degree and practiced medicine for several years before moving to the United States. His stories, often autobiographical, were collected in books, including Three French Girls of Illini (1967). He also wrote three novels, including A Goodly Babe (1966) and Truelove Knot (2007), as well as articles for a variety of journals and newspapers, including Vogue and The New York Times. His wife, Nancy Bradish, and he had three daughters and a son.

- It Ends Tonight, All American Rejects

So it's a Saturday night and I'm sitting here texting, and blogging, and talking to Ben Sheffield. I must say, I'm quite the party-er. I went to a play earlier, but we left at intermission. It was 'As You Like It'. It's a Shakespear play, my taste is a bit more immature but it was good. It was funny, and the actors were really talented. But I was freezing and I had to pee really bad, not to mention the seating arrangement left much to be desired. Someone's really mad at me right now. Which I don't blame them, I know that I'm in the wrong. There's no point in denying it. Though I may add, there was meant to be emphasis on the HARMLESS part. I definitely have some thinking to do. Yiiiikes. 

I wonder how many people actually read this thing. You should totally comment if you do :D hahah. I feel kinda lame for having this, to be honest. But it always feels good for me to write, it relieves stress and whatnot. So i'll keep this silly little blog, even though it's causing drama in my actual life.

Oh! And that playlist, I still have to work on it, there's not that many songs. But this is what I have so far :)
the actual playlist won't show up on this, so here's the link

I think I need to go now though. There are some ammends to be made. :/

We started out getting to Pool Meadow to wait for the coach, after buying our tickets.

Whilst we were queueing up to board the coach, Daniel asked me to guess what the coach driver's name was. He guessed Dave. I guessed Charles. Daniel was correct, he was called Dave. The journey there was nice, we listened to ABBA and enjoyed the scenery, driving through Leamington where we waved at a man looking out of a window, he waved back and we were delighted. We drove through Warwick and saw the castle, ahhh the memories.

We got there and I purchased a map out of a map dispensing machine. However, just my luck, my map got stuck. So I was there tugging at it for ages. I did get it out though.

We visited Shakespeare's birth place. The house that John Shakespeare owned and gave to William Shakespeare when he died. It was £9 to get in. Each. Luckily Daniel had vouchers and I'm so glad 'cos it was rubbish. It literally was just his house...I remember seeing bedrooms...and little else. I could have just seen my own house. I suppose it was nice and old though. And there was an Irish woman explaining about gloves (Shakespeare's dad being a glove maker and all). You weren't allowed to take photos inside. I think mainly because if you put them online no one would pay to go in 'cos there's nothing to see. I did take photos of the outside though. See below.

That was the front. The back is below.

The street that Shakespeare's house was on:

We went to a wonderful cafe for lunch, the Courtyard cafe. We were wandering round for ages seeing where to go. We walked twice past a really jolly fat man who was always smiling. We loved him. My lunch was really lovely, I'd so have it again. After that we wandered around again, decided to go to the chocolate shop and then the fudge shop. I had a coffee ice cream from the chocolate shop, even though I was very full. The fudge shop was wonderful, so many things to choose from. I found some really hilarious items:

I didn't buy any of those. Eating them would have been a challenge. We did buy some fudge though. Well, kind of. We both had a big piece of vanilla and chocolate fudge and then Daniel had chocolate and marshmellow and I had caramel and white chocolate. I've not finished eating them yet, they were large pieces and are very sickly. But wonderful.

We saw a nice church also, well a Guild Chapel. It was lovely inside, although falling apart some what.

We went for a drink after this. Daniel felt he had to buy more food, so he ordered a toastie that was supposed to come with a salad. The "salad" is shown below.

Worst salad ever.

After this, we got harassed by a drunk man. All of the people apart from this one gentleman were really lovely in Stratford. However, he wasn't. He came over mumbling something, Daniel thought he was asking for an umbrella and so told him we didn't have one. The man then sang the Rhianna song Umbrella to us, which made me cackle but worried Daniel somewhat. He then talked about "Mark" always wanting to do things on a Friday. This was the point at which Daniel decided we should leave him, the man then offered him a book out of his carrier bag full of Magners cider. As we walked away after turning down his offer, he walked after us for a while. I was amused. Daniel wasn't.

All in all we had a fantastic day. I was cackling my way through. Stratford is really lovely. Expensive, but lovely. Nice day trip :-)

Just reassure me that alls well.
and if by any means or measure the walls close in through the veils that surround your heart ,just whisper back that you love me.
what is ever left to learn to love within these hands?
just let the essence of your entity pass through them again ,and again.
It's all about moments ,these moments you give me.

Why didn't I write the whole song? That shit is hard. You give it a try you'd bust your head too. Well I didn't dedicate much time to this so it might be better after correction but I don't plan to do so, so it's up for grabs.

p.s GOD BLESS spelling correction. I'm like the Louis Lane of blogs sans Jimmy.

Quantum Theatre will be performing A Midsummer Night’s Dream at Gainsborough Old Hall on Saturday 19 July.

Shakespeare’s most popular comedy of love and intrigue, magic and celebration, will be brought to life in a production for the whole family.

Set on that most dangerous of nights when fairies are abroad and nothing is as it seems four young, unsuspecting, lovers become entangled in their magical affray and soon no mortals are safe in those bewitched and bewitching woods outside Athens.

This exciting and intriguing new production starts at 7pm with doors open at 6.30pm.

Tickets are £10 for adults and £7 for concessions, and can be purchased from the shop at The Old Hall or from the box office 0845 450 5157.

Please see www.quantumtheatre.co.uk for more detail.

Quantum Theatre bring their lively brand of comedy, music and magic to two family favourites this summer, the swashbuckling Treasure Island and Shakespeare’s enduring classic A Midsummer Night’s Dream.

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'Vor allem eins: Dir selbst sei treu...'

Polonius

"All the world 's a stage, and all the men and women merely players. They have their exits and their entrances; And one man in his time plays many parts" - (Act II, Scene VII).

"Can one desire too much of a good thing?". - (Act IV, Scene I).

"I like this place and willingly could waste my time in it" - (Act II, Scene IV).

"How bitter a thing it is to look into happiness through another man's eyes!" - (Act V, Scene II).

"Blow, blow, thou winter wind! Thou art not so unkind as man's ingratitude".(Act II, Scene VII).

"True is it that we have seen better days". - (Act II, Scene VII).

"For ever and a day". - (Act IV, Scene I).

"The fool doth think he is wise, but the wise man knows himself to be a fool". - (Act V, Scene I).

"Kindness, nobler ever than revenge." - act 4, sc. 1

"Beauty provoketh thieves sooner than gold." - act 1, sc. 3

On of our own, the talented lawyer and the straight shooter Shakespeare Fayissa, delivered a passionate speech in Seattle grilling Jendayi E. Frazer, Assistant Secretary, Bureau of African Affairs on her lopsided judgment and her support of the "Butcher of the Horn" the tyrant Meles Nazi'awi. He could have asked her more questions of current affairs like the Woyanes crime on Oromo refugees in Bossasso, the Massacre in western Oromia perpetrated by the terror mastermind Meles and recent bombings in Oromia because as he admited he doesn't get this kind of opportunity all the time but she was trying to evade his questions by moving on to other issues that don't involve Ethiopia. I would like to applaude Mr. Fayissa's courage and steadfastness. Dear brother Shakspeare, keep fighting the good fight. Our Oromo spear never fails us. Shake what you father gave ya!

 here.

I would like to leave you with one of the wonderful sonnets of Shakespeare.

•  

  O, how thy worth with manners may I sing

  When thou art all the better part of me?

  What can mine own praises to mine own self bring,

  And what is't but mine own when I praise thee?

  Even for this let us divided live

  And our dear love lose name of single one,

  That by this separation I may give

  That due to thee which thou deserv'st alone.

  O absence, what a torment wouldst thou prove

  Were it not thy sour leisure gave sweet leave

  To entertain the time with thoughts of love,

  Which time and thoughts so sweetly doth deceive,

  And that thou teachest how to make one twain

  By praising him here who doth hence remain!

Kids that are into performing arts.

Wow.

Really?

Performing arts? M'kay, so it turns out your beloved son who you thought would be into football & rugby and girls, is in fact, a flaming homosexual. Now that's not a problem. I'm down with the gay thing, that's cool. It's the god damned cockiness that comes with it. You're in a play, go you. Everybody still things you're a tosser and you're no better for it.

I've got a lot of friends involved in the performing arts scene. Again, cool - I'm supportive. But does it really have to soak up every single minute of every single day? You've got to have priorites in life. When you put the works of William Shakespear before everything else in your life, you're not thinking straight.

The main grind I have with these guys though is the obsession with High School Musical, claiming it's some kind of inspiration. Inspiration huh? The only thing that film has inspired me to do is hate happy people. That's right, I'll be the first to say it - High School Musical killed my inner child.

What happened to the good old days when Disney films were... Oh I don't know - good? WALL-E looks like it might salvage the company's reputation but then I discovered this:

God only knows what unforseen damage this could do to children growing up in this world. The world is a horrible, horrible place children. Really, it is, Godawful.

That's not just me being my usual cynical self. That's the harsh truth. The world isn't LIKE this. Take High School Musical 2. A whole group of friends ALL go on a summer vacation and get jobs at a golf course and sing faggy songs about how they have to work. Sounds thrilling doesn't it. What makes it worse is that when I worked in the Disney Store over Christmas '07, I had to put up with said faggy songs over and over and over.

Do they even look like rockers to you?

No. THAT is what real rockers look like. And if you don't know who that is I suggest you put your headphones back in & keep bopping your head along to Britney Spears. I'm sure you'll find comfort and solace in knowing that no matter how bad your life gets, at least you aren't that drugged up, smack-addicted crackwhore who used to have a smidgeon of talent. Oh, and may I add, also started working for Disney. Funny how that worked out eh Vannessa Hudgens?

Coming back to performing arts kids though. Would you give it a rest? I mean, even the football-heads and the goths aren't that obsessive. Take a day off already!

For the record, this wasn't aimed at anyone in particular, just general ranting :D

--Samwise Out

I'm starting a new semester on July first, I believe. I'm only taking one class since I've been away from school for, what, six months now? Maybe a little longer. Either way, I'm taking an English course, so hopefully I'll do well. I've already got the texts and everything.

As far as writing is going, I've got several fanfictions in the works. Currently I'm working on Borderline, an Itachi-centric fanfic. Everything I'm working on right now is in the Naruto Fandom, which I find hilarious. I remember when Naruto first got big in the States, and I was constantly saying how I would never be a "Narutard". How much do I suck?

Nevertheless, I have one chapter of it up. It's a rather heavy fic, so I find it hard to get going. Sometimes I'll be writing it, and it'll feel like I'm trudging through a knee-deep pit of mud. I do enjoy it though; I think it's difficult to write mostly because it hits so close to home. I actually was in the middle of doing a chapter for it until I got distracted and decided to do this.

Also, I have another idea I'm going to write up the first chapter of by tomorrow. It's a short, light hearted, romantic-comedy based off Shakespear's "The Taming of the Shrew". It's always been my favorite play of his. It came to me today while I was going through my bookshelf looking for my Spanish-English dictionary(which I never did find). I found an old copy of the play, took one look at the title and was like, "Shrew? Weasle? ITACHI!" So yes, another Ita-centric fic. Another YAOI Ita-centric fic.

I can't help if seeing two good looking guys making out gets me all twitterpated! . . . I mean, yeah, hot.

Besides, Kisame was Itachi's partner for HOW long in the series? A LONG DAMN TIME. He deserves some weasle-lovin'. Non-beastial-weasle-lovin'. So yes, boy love. Quite.

I woke up in bed with Angelo the Swiss and Tess. Miraculously, I had no hangover, and other than feeling a bit misplaced, I felt great. Tess, Angelo, Felicia, and I all eventually woke our groggy asses up and headed over to "the island" - a long discussion ensued about what "the island" really was. It is in fact, a number of islands off of Savannah, but the one they mean is the one to which they refer... if that makes any sense. Anyhow, we headed over there to Tess' mother's studio, where she teaches yoga. I had never experienced yoga before, although handfuls of people had told me it would be perfect for me, so I was looking forward to a new experience (yes, another).

The hilarity of the moment hit us all as we were sitting outside her mother's studio, waiting to go in for the yoga class. Tess was sitting on the curb, and the rest of us three were squished on a bench outside the studio. Angelo was in the middle of us two girls. In fact, Angelo was in the middle of us two girls - smoking a cigarette and drinking a Red Bull! Preparing for yoga, apparently, hahaha. Him and his quiet confidence made me smile a lot during our time together.

Tess' mother was delightful - she was French, and the exotic sound of her voice mixed with the ting-ting music and the smell of lavender was enough to slay anyone. As soon as she started speaking softly about the tenets of yoga- the re-connection with the body, the releasing of pain, etc. - well, I started to cry. It was ridiculous - I almost had to get up and leave so I could sob for a while. We hadn't even started the yoga part! So that was a sign for me that I was feeling some turmoil in my soul, but I kept myself together and completed the hour. And I really enjoyed it - hope to do more yoga in the future. It is very empowering.

Fast-forward. I don't have time to relive too much of this.

Tess went to a fashion show with Fletcher, to watch his boyfriend Xavier. Tess looked hot, Fletcher was delightful, I didn't meet Xavier until later. Meanwhile, Felicia, Angelo, and I went downtown to meet up with three bicyclists who were traveling from Florida to Virginia, on bike - which is totally rad. Yes, totally rad. And they turned out to be exactly that way, as well. Jason was basically incredible, John was yummy and delicious (and no, I don't know from actual taste), and then there was Andrew.

As soon as I heard his name was Andrew, I was like 'ugh.' And if you know me, you know why.

It always happens that way though. And after we all went to a sushi restaurant, had a quick meal in our bright yellow spandex (okay that was just Jason), we returned to Tess' to get ready to go out for the night. As I'm doing my thing, my phone rings. Everyone's laughing and having a great time, so I don't think twice about the random number, or try to analyze the voice on the phone. I ask who it is. "Someone you don't want to talk to," he replies, so I say "Why are you calling me if I don't want to talk to you?" to which he responds that he's graduating on to the next step in the army, and I go "Holy shit! Why are you calling me!?"

At least I was a bitch (and me being a bitch is like the average person trying to be nice) BUT I tried. Anyways, it was Andrew, which shouldn't have come as such a surprise to me, because he always shows up when I'm either delicate or growing stronger - either way, it's never good.

Enough of that. A blip in the radar.

Shakespeare in the Park; Forsyth Park, to be exact. Shakespeare on Love, to be precise. Terrible acting, some pretty music, hilarious companions, couple glasses of wine.

River Street, Savannah. Known for it's bars. Let's just say I got to know that street well. And I didn't even drink that much (swear to Jesus) but I ended up on a bench sobbing my eyes out (pent-up from yoga, perhaps?) and eventually with my head in a trash can.

First, and hopefully the last, time that happens.

6:00 AM finally welcomed us back to Tess' place, where I was numb and definitely sensing the "fight or flight" instinct. All I wanted to do was leave, and I shared this with Jason.

In fact, that was one of my favorite moments from that night. Everyone else had left my car (I drove half of us home) except for Jason and I. Jason, who is about 7 feet, haha, was curled up with my pillow and panda in the passenger seat, almost falling asleep, but being all doe-eyed and trying to talk to me at the same time. It was adorable, and when he asked me if I had a good night, I sort of said no- that it wasn't my thing. But when I shared that I might be leaving, he assured me that he wasn't going to let me, that it wasn't safe, and that he would be very upset if I did.

Looking back, that was incredibly sweet.

Between Jason and Tess luring me into the house and away from the steering wheel, I eventually came inside and got ready for bed (yes, at 6 in the morning). However, not before I quietly returned to my car, put some Patsy Cline on the stereo, curled up myself with panda and my pillow, and sobbed my eyes out. It was one of those rare bouts of sadness, where your soul expands, contracts, and empties out of you into the air around.

It was something I apparently needed.

That night I fell asleep to Tess and Angelo giving each other full-body massages. Oil and all.

I left at 10:30 AM, after a couple hours of sleep.

We actually had a great time using our brains and our respective English and Theater Degrees to help him out. We'd forgotten how much we liked the play and the study of theater in general. The questions weren't too hard but did make us think a little critically about the play again. I was actually impressed at the level of thinking they required for 10th graders, especially for a Christian school.

We of course being gluttons for punishment told my cousin, that if he needs any more help on the rest of the play to drop us and e-mail or a phone call (he lives in NJ with the rest of my family). This morning I got a phone call from my mom and a fax at work: Five more questions.

I was excited to pull out some of my vintage Macbeth books that have been sitting in our basement away from tiny, sticky hands that like to rip books in half.

Jenna and I got the questions out, read them over, and started cursing like sailors! As opposed to the last five questions we worked on with him, these were long, required a good knowledge of the first three acts, and took us MUCH longer to work on. Five questions and two hours later, Jenna and I e-mailed our Macbeth-love back to New Jersey. Got to love vintage books and modern technology to get the job done!

Oh... and I hear Act V questions are on their way soon.

I've been lucky to have an extraordinary bunch of friends here in Melbourne from all over the world. Canada, Wales, Germany, England, Switzerland, France, South Africa, Singapore - even the odd Australian from time to time. Having grown up in Hong Kong, I've really responded to the variety of culture and influence around me, not to mention the fact that they're all incredibly passionate, intelligent and entertaining folk.

This got me thinking about the places we draw our influences from, the points we call on to stimulate thought processes and new ideas. Purely a coincidence, but my set of Method Cards from Ideo just arrived which I'm quite excited about. I'm not even sure what I will use them for, but if even a single insight is there to be garnered from them then it is worth the investment. If nothing else, it is a series of thought exercises from a completely different point of view to my own.

I'm a big fan of unconventional ports of call to find ideas that change the game. Speaking of games, when I was in the video game industry in the midst of ord of the Rings knock-offs, I was pitching ideas based on Shakespear - funnily enough none of those games got off the ground (yet).

The point is the games industry subsists on mediocre sequels and plenty of "me too" titles. So much so that when something like The Sims or Nintendo's Wii comes along, it completely flips the industry on its head and changes everything we held to be true.

The same can be said for consumer products and marketing. Which is why Microsoft buy their way into the game each generation instead of being the innovator, and why the necessary changes to mass media won't be brought about by News Corp or Viacom or the BBC. Corporations are more human than we give them credit for, they're the sum of their parts and history just like us; thus they're looking at what they already know in order to innovate.

We're drawn to the familiar, to what's comfortable. We're naturally averse to change. But if we want to change the game for our clients, products, services and even ourselves, we've got to constantly find stimulation from a place we don't natively have inside. The people I'm lucky enough to have in my life have made me a much better human being and a hell of a lot smarter.

Don't get me wrong, a lot of people make a great living out of keeping the wheels turning. But if you want a whole new way of getting around, you're going to have to re-think a few things...

Photo credit: Timothy K Hamilton, with thanks to Flickr Storm.

From: Joseph Azize

Part One

At the combined meeting of 2 August 1978, Mr Adie spoke about the development and coating of the astral body, the vehicle of the soul (“Body Kesdjan” from the Persian “self-soul”) which is in the book George Adie: A Gurdjieff Pupil in Australia. He said that as the astral body forms, the fine particles which comprise it can escape into the body, and there they are felt as discomforting if not explosive. They are, in fact, a finer fuel than the body is adapted to, and it is quite an effort to remain calm when experiencing this process of coating.

There is a general principle here, the importance of which can hardly be overstated: before all the endless diversity of uncomfortable and even painful life processes, the best advice is always to first acknowledge them for what they are, and to experience them, impartially. Then one may know or sense in what direction to move, and whether they should be ameliorated, changed, removed, embraced, enhanced or just endured.

On this night in 1978, after that reading, some questions, and an exchange on certain rules to do with the group, Mr Adie was about to end the meeting when Eddie said: “I want to know how we can use sex for our work.”

“That’s a good question to ask at the end of our meeting”, Mr Adie replied. “Well, you have already been told tonight. If you speak of when we come here, then the essential thing is not to forget that we are brothers and sisters in the work. The first question really is your aim.” I will pause to emphasize this: the first question is always aim.

“Sex is a force, a tremendous force,” he continued. “How can one use any force? If you could remember yourself a bit, if you could control your manifestation a little bit, then you could commence to use it. But perhaps this is not your question. How would you propose to use it? How would you like to use it?”

“What I find is that often after sex I feel very relaxed, and very free flowing.”

“Well that’s nothing special,” said Mr Adie. “After a good meal you feel very full and relaxed. After going to the lavatory you feel light and relaxed.” The meeting was interrupted by laughter.

“It’s the same thing. Sex is the same as everything else. You cannot increase that feeling, neither can you diminish it: it’s there. So? A person could come to believe that they must have sex before a preparation, and invent theories about it. When you ask a question like that, it’s like the sex they talk about in books. There’s no such sex. Try and understand how you speak about it.” Mr Adie paused and evidently addressed the group: “He wishes he hadn’t asked it now.” This was greeted by proverbial gales of laughter.

“You do not use it, you are used by it. That is sex for you.” Mr Adie stressed these last words. “Work on the three centres that you have got, moving-instinctive, emotional and intellectual, leave sex until a lot later. You will notice that if you are negative, sex relations are not much good, but then neither is anything else. What you can say about sex you can say about almost anything.”

“Sex exists between everybody, there is sex between every single person here, in a minute or in a greater degree. To use sex, I would have to be a man, would I not? To use anything, I would have to be a man, but you want to use sex, the most difficult of the lot. I don’t see that I am used by sex, and made to do absurd things. I am sure that hasn’t satisfied you.”

“You ask: how can I use sex, and you ask as if everyone knew what we were talking about. But this is not so: what is sex for you? Going to bed for an hour? Sex is all the time. Until we can see that it is always operating in us, our view of it must be a partial, keyhole one.”

“Your chief mistake is that you ask how you can use it, but you can’t use it. The first question is to be present, and then maybe I can see and study. Then I will understand that as I am I cannot use it. Ah, now this is interesting! Can you use emotional force? No, you’re completely at the mercy of your emotions. Can you use the force of your thought? Hardly at all – the thoughts arise.”

“In the absence of “I” there is no question of using anything at all. That is what was good about your question, it is an impossible one unless “I” and responsibility enter into it.”

Part Two

In Voices in the Dark, p. 46 (transcripts of a meeting of 8 April 1943), Gurdjieff is quoted as effectively saying that questions of sex are individual. On the next page he goes on to add: “Love is love. It has no need of sex. It can be felt for a person of the same sex, for an animal even, and the sexual function is not mixed up there.” Although sex and love can be mingled, he added that “it is then difficult to remain impartial as love demands.” Then, a little later comes this statement: “The sexual act originally must have been performed only for the purpose of reproduction of the species, but little by little men have made of it a means of pleasure. It must have been a sacred act. … this divine seed, the Sperm, has another function, that of the construction of a second body in us …”.

(I will add as an aside that one can see something like this happening with food. The chief purpose of food is nourishment. The pleasant taste of food is partly a providential way of encouraging good eating. But today, one can see how food is often treated as a sensual adventure. In retrospect, this was happening in aristocratic Rome and Athens, but the process of decay was arrested in the Middle Ages.)

When he was asked why religions “forbid the sexual act” (which is a rather severe overstatement), Gurdjieff replied that “originally we knew the use of this substance, whence the chasteness of the monks”.

In some unpublished material, Gurdjieff insisted that celibacy does have a value, but it should go with restraint in all centres. That is, one must be able to watch one’s thoughts and feelings, and to exercise some degree of control over them.

Part Three

Today’s culture is so saturated with sex and erotica that it is effectively impossible to prevent thoughts of sex from coming into one’s head. However, if one can see that these are merely associations evoked from without, and if one has the aim of not being carried away by sex, these associations can even call one. To put it another way, one does not have to assent to the associations.

Providing only that one has an aim or a religious purpose (let us say, to use sex energy for conscious development), then one can speak intelligently of sex: and one can research it. But most of what passes for research is merely the more or less accurate gathering of statistics and describing of trends. Further, I am sceptical of tantric ideas such as Leadbeater is said to have employed (see G. Tillett’s The Elder Brother : A Biography of Charles Webster Leadbeater). To me, this is self-delusion. Without knowing a person’s individual circumstances, and knowing that person, the best advice is simply to repeat Mr Adie’s words above.

What Mr Adie said throws a light on what Shakespeare called “the sovereignty of reason”. “Reason” is more than logic: it is balanced understanding in its practical aspect. It is, perhaps, the fourth cardinal virtue: “prudence”; or conscience and consciousness taken as a whole. Shakespeare’s plays illustrate the desirability of reason ruling human passion, and the possibility, but difficulty of realising this. “Othello” is a parade ground example, but the idea is found so frequently that it may even be the main motif in Shakespeare’s oeuvre: it may be the fundament and the firmament of his perspective.

By saying the “fundament”, I mean that the struggle between reason and unreason is the ground of so many of his plays, such as “All’s Well That Ends Well”, “Hamlet” (where the phrase ‘sovereignty of reason’ is found), “King Lear”, and “Measure for Measure”. these plays make more sense when this is taken into account. “Reason” is so large a concept that it can be mistaken for “virtue”, and there is overlap, but whereas virtue connotes an ingrained habit of thinking and action, reason is the guide which directs virtuous thought and action. Also, reason is Shakespeare’s firmament, because the good fruit of all the struggles and catastrophes is the re-establishment of a new rational order: this is reflected in the history plays, but most of all in the last plays: “The Winter’s Tale”, “”Pericles”, “Cymbeline” and “The Tempest”, perhaps his supreme accomplishment.
This may partly explain why these plays have such a fairy tale character. But the theme is present even in his earliest work, consider the turn which “The Comedy of Errors” takes upon the intervention of the Abbess. It is as if one could say that heaven is reason and hell is unreason.

There is a Latin proverb, apparently children used it in skipping: “Tu, si animo regeris, rex es; si corpore, servus”. This means: “You, if you are ruled by your mind, are a king; but if by your body, a slave.”

Once at Newport, someone made a comment, and Mr Adie in reply simply asked: “How high is that on the scale of human reason?” It needed no more. If we are climbing that scale, we can deal with anything, including sex. And the starting point is to see it impartially just as it is, no more and no less. Seen like that, sex energy plays a critical role in our lives, even if we are perfectly chaste. It is, indeed, amenable to reason. One has the power of choice whether to have sex, and if so, under what conditions. Often, we implicitly consent to be compelled.

I mentioned Shakespeare, which strikes me now as interesting not least because I think a lot of our problems with sex are caused by over-dramatizing it. We allow it a power it simply does not possess in itself, because we lend it the power of imagination.

When Mr Adie spoke of the astral body, and how its fine energies leaked into the physical body, he could also have been speaking of sex. But if the mind, emotions and body work, subject to the sovereignty of reason, then they at least being in their bounds, they allow a chance for the sex centre too, to work within its proper limits.