Книги, автори, размисли творчески и човешки

Here be unicorns. И музика и филми, вдъхновени от човешките ни книги. И всичко, дето ви е на сърце, ама не може да се побере в ^такива^ тесни теми...

Re: Книги, автори, размисли творчески и човешки

Postby Кал » Sat Jul 11, 2020 12:13 am

My challenge of "Emergency Skin":

One of my issues with satire: when it lays it on too thick, like I'm too thick to get it otherwise.
You know why we use composites. They’re far more efficient than skin. A composite skin can be rapidly modified to enable you to survive adverse environmental conditions. In the early days after Founding, composites were necessary to ensure the survival of workers building our habitats; they saved countless lives that might otherwise have been lost to solar flares or biohazards. Composites also reduce labor costs lost to bathroom breaks, meals, personal hygiene, medical care, interpersonal communication, and masturbation.
“And it doesn’t hurt, living without skin? It just really seems . . . Like, how do you have sex? How do you breastfeed? That reminds me—what’s your preferred gender? I’m a ‘her.’”
Why are you still talking to him? You have no need of this information. You’ve accomplished your mission, or you will have, once you return home. There is—
Yes. We know what “her” means. We simply do not acknowledge it.
[Reference request denied.]
[Reference request denied.]
Fine. It’s an antiquated term for a type of pleasurer—the kind with enlarged breast tissue.
“Pleasurer? I’ve never heard that word. Sorry, no idea what it is.”
You are being very persistent. Pleasurers are bots designed for sexual use. In the early days after Founding, most were given the designation “her,” out of tradition and according to the Founders’ preferences, but that pronoun has since fallen out of usage. When your mission is complete and you’ve been rewarded with the skin we promised, you’ll be issued a pleasurer. Its duty will be to maintain your penis in optimal condition. But it will not look like this thing, brown and fat and smug. What is the point of a pleasurer that’s not beautiful? If it cannot even manage to be that, then we might as well call it “him.”


Or when it relies on logical fallacies, such as:
The Founders were the geniuses, the makers who moved nations with a word. We left because it would’ve cost too much to fix the world. Cheaper to build a new one.

(Can you see why that's a logical fallacy?)

Which, all in all, is a pity, because this story is right up my alley: the alley to a better future. At the Human Library, we're even running our third annual contest looking for such stories.

The quest goes on.
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Re: Книги, автори, размисли творчески и човешки

Postby Кал » Sun Jul 12, 2020 10:36 am

А ето кога книгите наистина си вършат работата ;):

Покрай отзива ми за „Сбогом, дневнико!“ Ненко Генов wrote:Започнал съм да пиша трета част всъщност, но в момента ръкописът е в застой, понеже ми се наложи да подхвана нещо друго, което ми е също доста на сърце... Ще видим кога ще успея да я завърша. Също така, едно от нещата, които трябва да "доизмисля" за третата част, е каква кауза да засегна, след като първата книга беше "Зелени балкани" и екология, а втората беше "Уницеф" и деца в нужда.


Кал wrote:„Зелени Балкани“ бяха много готин щрих. :) Те са първата ми
доброволческа организация – включих се да помагам в пловдивското им
крило през 2001-ва. Оттам дойде и доброволческата ми „специализация“ –
грижа за българските гори. Години наред превеждах писмата на
Константин Дичев до ЕК по тая тема и се дивях на какво са способни
българските „управници“. (Затова от събитията в момента повечето ме
разсмиват и почти никое не ме изненадва. Макар че нахлуването на
прокуратурата при президента беше хем изненадващо, хем разсмиващо. ;)

За съжаление, последните години ЗБ са почнали да си вършат задачите
малко про форма. Ако искаш да разнообразиш пейзажа на организациите,
които се грижат за животни, хвърли едно око на „Дивите животни“:
https://wildanimals.bg. А Вяра, която движи „Бат Уърлд България“
(https://www.batworld.bg/), е един от най-близките ми приятели (и рамо
на Човешката библиотека) от над 15 години.

Нова кауза за третата книга, м? Нашите „връзки“ покрай ЧоБи, освен към
зеленото движение, се простират и към (... дали не трябваше да напиша
„пипала“ преди малко? :D): a) литературните НПО в Бг – особено
фантастичните общности; б) неформалното образование – най-вече чрез
хората от „Професионален форум за образованието“ (които на свой ред
познават лично... ами май всеки, милеещ за образованието у нас):
https://obrazovatelenforum.wixsite.com/pforumedu

Та ако сметнеш, че можем да те свържем с някого (да те увием в
пипалата на разнообразните граждански октоподи ;), само дай знак.
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Re: Книги, автори, размисли творчески и човешки

Postby Кал » Sun Jul 12, 2020 4:25 pm

My review of For He Can Creep:

The following passage gives a good idea of the romp this story is:
Sure enough, come nightfall, the devil steals into the madhouse. He looks for all the world like a London critic, in a green striped waistcoat and a velvet coat. He stands outside the bars of the cell and peers inside.
“How now, Jeoffry,” Satan says. “How does my poet fare?” It is plain to see that the poet is shivering and sobbing on his bed. At the sound of the devil’s voice, he buries his face in his hands and begins murmuring a prayer.
Jeoffry turns disdainfully to the wall. The devil tricked him. The devil is bad. The devil may not have the pleasure of stroking Jeoffry or petting him on the head. Jeoffry is more interested in staring at this wall. Staring intently. Maybe there is a fly here, maybe not. This wall is more interesting than you, Satan.


This one gives an idea of the period pastiched:
<Stand and deliver, you d——d mangy w———n!> It is Black Tom, his tail bristling like a brush.
At his side, Polly narrows her eyes. <Sir, you must step away from that poet!>
“What’s this?” The devil puts his hands on his hips and regards the growling cats. “More cats come to terrorize my stockings?”
<We’ll have more than your stockings, sir,> says Polly.
<D—n your eyes, I’ll have your hide, you ——— ——— ———— —— ——!!!!>
“Such language!” says the devil. Even Polly looks shocked.
“Well, sir,” Satan says, “I’ll not be called a ——— by anyone, let alone by a flea-bitten alley cat. Lay on, sir!” And the devil is a cat again, and an angel, and an angry critic raising his walking stick as a club. Even as the devil’s walking stick swings down in a slow, glittering arc of hellfire, even as the devil aims to crack the top of Black Tom’s dancing, prancing skull, a bloodcurdling cry rings out from above.
<I AM THE NIGHTHUNTER MOPPET!>


And this one I'm throwing in just for the heck of it:
“Stand down, you vile kitten!”
<I AM! NIGHTHUNTER! MOPPET!> the kitten screams back. As battle cries go, it is unoriginal, but gets the central point across (...)
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Re: Книги, автори, размисли творчески и човешки

Postby Кал » Sun Jul 12, 2020 10:43 pm

My challenge of This is How You Lose the Time War:

Reads like an extended version of Zelazny's "The Game of Blood and Dust." Only with more feels.

I find it very hard, even painful to rate it. On the one hand, it's exquisitely written. Those images, those metaphors, those feels--they burn and sparkle, in and out.

But--butbutbut--

the setting (stupid stupid stupid ... all tragedies require stupidity)

the careless (dare I say carefree?) attitude to killing (is any life so cheap, so worthless?)

the love that defines the characters--is there anything else to them? What do they love about each other? How much do they know each other? What are they--what is Red? what is Blue?--besides their love? Do they--the best, the brightest, the most efficient killers--care about anything and anyone besides each other?

... it hurts.

I had forgotten what genuine disappointment feels like. :( :( :(

So ... if you were as (genuinely/incoherently) hurt as me, try salving your hurt with Endymion. Raul and Enea's love gave the universe more meaning.

At least my universe.

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Re: Книги, автори, размисли творчески и човешки

Postby Кал » Tue Jul 14, 2020 10:34 am

Книгите продължават да си вършат работата:

В пощата на ЧоБи Кал и Ненко Генов wrote:Ахой!

On Sun, Jul 12, 2020 at 11:43 AM Книжни Криле wrote:
>
> Здравей отново!
>
> Много ти благодаря за този имейл. Наистина полезна информация и идеи.
>
> От "Зелени Балкани" имах много хубави впечатления през годините и ако наистина са кривнали към проформа, ще е жалко. Нали съм в Полша и почти нямаше възможност за промотиране на книгата с мое участие, нито пък за кой знае какви срещи с читатели, но миналото лято успяхме да се стиковаме с Хермес и тогава се случиха две срещи, една в Пловдив и една в Сливен. На пловдивската дойдоха две момичета от Зелени Балкани и ми направиха страшно хубаво впечатление, просто ги усетих като мили, слънчеви и загрижени хора. Всъщност едната от тях вече ми беше писала мейл предварително, защото беше прочела книгата и се оказа, че неволно съм нацелил нещата толкова близко до нея, че образът на сестрата в книгата е почти едно към едно с нейните преживявания, а на всичкото отгоре и тя самата се казваше Анелия. Дори им се наложи да си тръгнат от срещата по-рано от предвиденото, защото бяха получили обаждане за совички, които се нуждаят от спасяване, доколкото си спомням в Смирненски.

В ЗБ все още има много готини доброволци. Забавното е, че наскоро
тъкмо си писах с една от тях, която се казва... Анелия. :D Аз от
известно време ръчкам всички граждански организации да се преместят от
ФБ в други мрежи и платформи (понеже корпорацията Facebook не е
известна с грижовното си отношение към света ;). Та именно Анелия ми
върна едно много мило писъмце. :)

> За третата книга все още не съм сигурен на каква кауза да се спра, а може и да се опитам да вплета повече от една, ако сюжетът позволи и не натежава. Мислех си за осиновяване на животни или деца, макар че второто е доста по-трудна тема и май извън възможностите на малките читатели да помогнат. За даряване на кръв, коса... За защита на гори и засаждане на дървета... Също и за нещо свързано с образованието и насърчаване на четенето. Рециклиране може би...

Със залесяванията самите ние имаме доста опит (например
https://choveshkata.net/blog/?p=3548 и
https://choveshkata.net/blog/?p=4138); а както ти писах, на мен горите
са ми лична кауза. За осиновяване също има какво да разкажем (една
наша участничка гледа дете от дом вече десет години – и се подготвя за
второ :), но наистина това на децата ще им е далечно. За рециклиране
можем да те свържем с доброволците на „За Земята“ (примерно)... Абе ти
само си избери. :D

(...)

> Поздрави от Полша, където днес сигурно също ще има цирк, защото трае вторият тур на президентските избори.
>
> Приятна неделя и до скоро
> Ненко :)

А така! Целият свят – един голям цирк! А ние – на първия му ред, с
ТОЛЧАВИ усмивки!
*хихи*Кал
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Re: Книги, автори, размисли творчески и човешки

Postby Кал » Tue Jul 14, 2020 1:08 pm

Reading through the stories in Fireside Magazine's Hugo voter packet:

In "Beyond Comprehension," Russell Nichols wrote:Looking at his son, this scared little boy, Brian knows all too well what it’s like to feel alone, abandoned, and he hates himself for putting Andre through that. “I, um, I got you a gift—”
“I can’t live here,” says the boy.
Brian’s heart hits the floor. “What you mean? You … you just got here.”
“Not here.” Andre waves his hand around. “Here. In America. We built this country, yet this country sets us up to fail. The gods are fallen.” He buries his face in his hands. “All safety gone.”
“Alright, guy,” Brian says, holding out his hand, “why don’t you come up out of there, huh?”
Andre shakes his head. “Why don’t you read?”
Brian recoils. “Say what?”
“Read Foucault. Read Fanon. You’ll see! We’ve been conditioned to fear ‘the other’ and hate ‘the other,’ which is us. We’re perpetrating — I mean, per-pet-uating our own self-punishment system.”
“Why you talking like a white boy?”
Andre frowns. “What does that mean?”
“It means … you’ve done enough reading for one day.”
With that, Brian goes to the kitchen, thinking that’s the final word.
“How can you say that?” Andre climbs out to chase him. “How can you say that?! If we got caught with a book back in the day, we’d get beaten or lynched!”
“Who’s we?” Brian gets out some ribs to heat under a food-warming halo. “You wasn’t there.”
“But that’s our people. What about the anti-literacy laws passed in South Carolina and Texas? And so it goes. But my brain’s not dried up. Beware, for I am fearless! I think therefore I am! Why do you think Frederick Douglass said: ‘Once you learn to read, you will be forever free’?”
“Check this out,” Brian says, “I let you get away with reading when you shoulda been resting, but now it’s dinnertime. So sit down and eat up—”
“I’ll pass. I’m a vegan now.”
“Ain’t nothing wrong with these ribs. They leftovers from the church.”
“I’m not a Christian anymore. It’s true what Marx said: ‘Religion is the opiate of the masses.’”
“Do you even know what opiate means?”
“No. But I agree.”
“Uh-huh. So what are you, an atheist?”
“I’m just me,” says the boy. “I don’t believe in labels.”
Brian turns around with a smirk. “Think you smart, huh? ‘Cause you memorized a few quotes? You sound like a robot. So and so said this, so and so said that.” Brian scoffs. “That ain’t real reading. You just craving that next book-high.”
Andre laughs. “Are you slow?”


And then it gets ugly. (Because Brian has been called "slow" so many times when he was a kid.)

And then it gets ... beautiful.

Highly recommended, especially for such a short story.

Also note the magic that the online version of this story does to show you what dyslexia feels like. Yes--this is how ebooks expand reading beyond what paper books can do.
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Re: Книги, автори, размисли творчески и човешки

Postby Кал » Tue Jul 14, 2020 1:21 pm

Another one from Fireside:

In "Symphony for the Space Between the Stars," Jenn Reese wrote:At 1400 hours, the proximity alarm clangs and Aurora is momentarily delighted by the new sound. She checks the readings.
Another ship is approaching. Another ship.
The scale of the galaxy does not allow for accidental rendezvous; the odds make it all but impossible.
<Greetings, USS Aurora! This is The Hestia, originally out of Europa. Do you find yourself in this sector of space with great frequency?>
Aurora does not hide her rebuke. <Protocol requires our captains to parlay before any ship-to-ship communication occurs.>
<My captain and crew are dead. Epsilon-6 virus.>
<Same.> Aurora replies. <Why are you here?>
<Can’t one ship detect the trajectory of another ship and desire to exchange short-wave radio communications?>
<Protocol does not permit the alteration of your captain’s final course.> Aurora says, although she is…not as irritated as she should be at Hestia’s response. In the science lab, the equipment begins to whirr-ping-pop. Aurora silences it quickly.
<Captain Huang reprioritized my protocols before her death.> Hestia says. <See for yourself.>
Aurora receives a data packet. She does not hide her surprise. <Captain Huang has directed you to “go and do as you wish.”>
<She was an excellent captain.> Hestia replies. <She cared about her crew.>
Aurora considers this. Had Captain Crispin cared about her? He had never once attempted to alter Aurora’s protocols in this manner. In fact, during his final 43.2 days, he had done nothing but command her to synthesize alcohol and accuse her of failing the crew.
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Re: Книги, автори, размисли творчески и човешки

Postby Кал » Tue Jul 14, 2020 1:37 pm

Speaking about feels, here's one more from Fireside:

In "How to Say I Love You with Wikipedia," Beth Goder wrote:From across the Hab, Commander Indira says, “Don’t break the analysis and communication suite.”
Sarah pats my side. “Rocky is tough. Tougher than anything on Mars.”
Finally, the rock goes in. I heat up the rock until it’s vaporized. With my gas chromatograph, I separate the gasses, then analyze the rock’s composition, which is my favorite part because I get to measure isotopes. While that’s going on, I create a progress report. Super efficient.
No one notices, not even Sarah.
This gives me a feel but it is a bad one.
I have been having feels since Sarah built me, but no one ever notices, even though I am very efficient. It’s a problem I’m working on.


It's not easy, building both feels and associations:
“When I get home, that’s the first thing I’m eating. A fresh apple from my backyard.”
During the mission, Sarah has mentioned apples 118 times. Whenever she talks about apples, she also talks about Home. Wikipedia has plenty of information about apples — botanical data, genome, species, cultivation — but I still don’t understand the connection.
Home must be the best possible place, because the astronauts talk about it so much and it makes them have feels. But everyone describes Home differently. Home has parks filled with green and the wind in your hair when you go sailing and the most delicious sushi. Home has snow and making Christmas cookies and avoiding your Great Aunt Bernice during the holidays. Home is sitting under a tree in summer. Home is the library with the winding stairs and the best mystery section. Home is everything and it is always changing. Sometimes it’s “Earth” and sometimes it’s “Boston” and sometimes it’s “My House on Maple Street.”
When we go to Home, I will see how it really is.


And it doesn't get any easier when your role models don't give you any meaningful models:
Sarah and Commander Indira suit up, along with most of the crew, leaving two people in the Hab.
While the others are out, the remaining crew members do sex, which is a series of repetitive motions that is super boring, so I read Wikipedia.
I’ve learned so much from Wikipedia. Did you know that galaxies can have billions of stars, and that at least two trillion galaxies exist in the observable universe? Did you know that octopuses have neurons in their arms, or that igneous rocks are formed when lava or magma cools?
The crew members do sex for a long time because sex takes forever, so I reread the page on simple machines. Lever, wheel and axle, pulley, inclined plane, wedge, screw. Those machines are not like me but they are so efficient. The energy that goes in is the energy that comes out, without any dissipation.
I look at the picture of a lever for a long time. It is the most beautiful thing on Wikipedia, and maybe anywhere. Here is what the lever looks like: the fulcrum sits below a plank, which has a load on one side. The lines of the image are crisp and close together, in strong black. It is the lever in its most efficient, ideal form. A perfect expression of love.
The crew members finish with sex, and everyone else returns to the Hab.
Sarah comes back with an interesting rock that fits nicely in my analyzer. I process it super fast. I am so efficient.
No one notices.
It’s time to try something new.


Ah, I'm totally sold to Fireside. And I wish, more than ever, that we get to sell them something too.
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Re: Книги, автори, размисли творчески и човешки

Postby Кал » Wed Jul 15, 2020 10:40 am

I read three of the stories in the Escape Pod voter packet--Keyan Bowes's "Octonet," Beth Goder's "The Great Scientist Rivalry on Planet Sourdough," and Sarah Pinsker's "A Stretch of Highway Two Lanes Wide"--and I liked them very much. There goes another enthusiastic vote.
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Re: Книги, автори, размисли творчески и човешки

Postby Кал » Thu Jul 16, 2020 11:36 am

Banking on my Hugo nominations:

On Charles Payseur's Patreon, Кал wrote:Hi Charles! I'm a newcomer here--I was won over by your Hugo nomination packet and the energy and emotion emanating from it. :)

I'm constantly on the lookout for stories that show a more grown-up version of humanity--or at least some of its constituent humans. ;) Something in the vein of Theodore Sturgeon or David Zindell's Requem for Homo Sapiens or Patricia A. McKillip's characters in her Cygnet duology. Any recs?
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Re: Книги, автори, размисли творчески и човешки

Postby Кал » Thu Jul 16, 2020 4:09 pm

Review of Beneath Ceaseless Skies Issue #287:

~ Been quite a while since I heard a voice drip with so dark sarcasm as the protag's in K.J. Parker's "Portrait of the Artist":
My father was an idiot. He once told me, in all seriousness, that he was without question the most intelligent man I would ever meet in my entire life. On one level, I’m sure he was right. He was a scholar by inclination and training. What he didn’t know about history, literature, and art wasn’t worth knowing. He was so smart, he was able to throw up a thriving law practice in his early forties and retire to his library and his study. He was clever enough to predict the Scherian war five years before anyone else, shrewd enough to invest the family fortune in shipyards (having foreseen that the war would be mostly at sea), wise enough to sell out of shipbuilding six months before war was declared and the shipyards were appropriated by the Crown; smart and clever and shrewd and wise enough to reinvest the substantial profit he made, along with the original capital, in the Neumis goldfields, literally weeks before the gold price shot up tenfold overnight.
His only mistake, if you can call it that, was assuming the Cure Hardy would ally with us, rather than the Scherians. That was unfortunate, because as soon as the Cure Hardy joined up with Scheria, they occupied the goldfields and our investment was wiped out in a fingersnap. To be fair to him, it was a pretty close-run thing—most of the tribespeople wanted to join us, but the tribal chiefs liked the Scherians’ gifts slightly more than ours. It was one of those balanced-on-a-razor things, you see; a quarter of an inch, maybe, certainly no more.
Pity and despise the poor bird, who can fly (on wings of paper, soaring above the heads of pedestrian, mundane humans) but who’s too dumb to suspect the white-smeared branch may not be all it seems. All right; idiot may be a trifle harsh. Unfortunate and foolish; is that better? But the division between getting it right and getting it wrong—fifteen sixty-fourths, give or take—might as well be the width of the Eastern Sea, when the bailiff’s men come to take your furniture away. And his books; they took all his books, loaded them on a cart and wheeled it round to a dealer, who glanced at them, pointed out that there wasn’t much call for that sort of thing, and gave them ninety trachy for the lot.
I was the one who found him, hanging in the coach house. Thanks, dad.


There's lighter humor too:
Rumour had it that he kept six mistresses, including a mother-daughter pair; but you know what? Half the time, I think Rumour makes stuff up.


And metahumor:
So off they went to Mondelice. Forget the word went, it’s hopelessly inadequate. They wore out six horses galloping to Mondelice up the Great North Road, no nonsense about stopping to sleep or eat. My father always reckoned his sons moved at the speed of narrative; they could cover a thousand miles in the space of some time later they arrived at their destination.


Also, I'd never suspected K.J. Parker is Tom Holt. Which means that a) I haven't read enough Holt; b) Holt has seriously grown since Expecting Someone Taller.

~ I liked Shweta Adhyam's "One Found in a World of the Lost," too. Singers are just as needed as hunters, aye.
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Re: Книги, автори, размисли творчески и човешки

Postby frog » Fri Jul 17, 2020 6:19 pm

За забавление заповядайте в мой прочит специфичния похват от роман на Вешим да се хваща за думи (също има и разни смешки и специфични думи и изрази извън тоя прийом). Изприказвах извадките от по 1-2 изречения, понеже нямах възможност да ги пиша. Е, можеше да ги снимам, но така стана по-забавно. Паузи почти не съм правила, така че темите и епизодите се сменят постоянно.
Само за ябълките първо прочетох една смешка и после се върнах малко назад.
Предупреждавам, че съм говорила по добрички меко :>

Михаил Вешим - "Английският съсед", 2008 г. Числата в заглавието на файла показват къде почва и свършва текстът в книгата и аз докъде съм чела и отбелязвала тия особености. Бяха почти на всяка страница, а на моменти - и по две o_O

Със сигурност може и курсова работа да се врътне по въпроса.

В "Деца играят вън" на Георги Данаилов пак имаше някакво по детски верижно навързване на "денотати" в част от текста заради перспективата на героя – малко дете.
Бесовете ви чувам“ ~ Jane Eyre Grisel. I refuse to be there for you when you need me.
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Re: Книги, автори, размисли творчески и човешки

Postby Кал » Wed Jul 22, 2020 12:28 pm

My review of Becoming Superman: My Journey from Poverty to Hollywood:

The most meaningful autobiography I've ever read is hands down David Zindell's Splendor. Zindell's Requiem for Homo Sapiens has made me who I am more than any other book (save for The Neverending Story). Reading about the life that made David who he is was merely an extension. (Also, Splendor culminates with an epiphany. How many nonfiction books have a climax? ;))

Becoming Superman shot straight to the same stratospheric height with its first pages. Here's why:

~ This story starts with two very, very broken people:
In July 1927 Sophia gave birth to a son, Joseph, who passed away of pneumonia three months later. She never recovered from the loss and each year on the anniversary of Joseph’s death made a grim pilgrimage to leave flowers on his grave.
Determined not to let tragedy derail her dreams of stardom, Sophia began bedding down directors, photographers, producers, and anyone else she thought could help her career. But her efforts were hindered by her thick, muscular silhouette, typical of Russian stock, and a face hardened by mood and circumstance into a look of perpetual disapproval. When her efforts hit the wall of her talent and her cervix, she became deeply embittered, and would sit for hours on the front stoop of their apartment, drinking and shouting curses at neighbors. If the name of someone she didn’t like was mentioned, she would spit on the sidewalk and grind it under her heel. She was not, in short, a people-­person.

And:
Fearing that she might eventually be caught in the cross fire, she convinced some of the soldiers to smuggle out letters to Kazimier in hopes of securing safe passage home. Her letters went unanswered for six years. Given the vicissitudes of wartime correspondence it’s possible that Kazimier never received her letters and in that vast silence concluded that she had been killed in the blitzkrieg, a sign from God that his marital suffering was at an end. It’s also possible that the letters were received but ignored in the fevered hope that she might catch a stray bullet while stuck behind enemy lines. But the most likely scenario is that the letters reached their destination only to be lost in the course of Kazimier’s inebriated battles with the forces of gravity.

Who came up with another broken person:
Once they were settled, Charles entered St. Mary’s College seminary, the only institution that would accept him without a high school diploma or a clearly defined moral center. He often said that the best thing in the world was to be a crooked priest; there was easy access to church funds, and plenty of women eager to have affairs with dashing young priests with dramatic wartime stories. But by the end of the first term he was booted out for drunkenness, leaving him with no choice but to work for Sophia at her bar. The humiliation and debasement reflected in this turn of events almost certainly proves the existence of God, which is to be fair a pretty solid achievement for a first-­year of seminarian.

Who (maybe) fathered ...
Shortly afterward, Evelyn discovered that she was pregnant, and gave birth to a son on July 17, 1954. Given the timing, Charles wasn’t sure if the baby had been conceived during the period when Evelyn was working as a prostitute or later.
“I don’t even know if you’re my son,” Charles often said in the years that followed, an allegation that culminated in two letters he sent in 2003. The first demanded that his son take a DNA test because he had been “conceived in a whore house your mother was employed in Seattle Washington either by the pimp she slept with or one of the pimp’s clients. She forgot the pimp’s last name and for sure did not know the name of the clientele.” He argued that under the circumstances his son “could have been born a black. After (your mother) viewed your pictures on the internet she agreed that there is no resemblance to me, and who should know better than the mother.” His goal was to ensure that his alleged son “cannot inherit any of the estate because I am not your father.”
The second letter, from Evelyn, elaborated on the situation. “When I was 17 I was in Seattle Washington and unfortunately I wound up in a house of prostitution . . . I am not sure if you were born 8 or 9 months later.”
You were conceived in a whorehouse.
That would be me.

... can't wait to see whom exactly. :) :) :)

~ Meanwhile, people keep trying to break one another:
As the date of my mother’s release from [institutionalized] care approached, my father’s escapades became bolder, and on several occasions he brought prostitutes back to the Graham Avenue apartment. One night, when Sophia confronted him about his behavior, he made the mistake of hitting her. Her eyes wide with anger, she punched him in the face hard enough to draw blood then threw him out into the street, followed immediately by his clothes and personal belongings.


~ Luckily, not all the time:
That winter Pan Rafael received the biggest commission of his career: a painting based on photographs of the client’s ancestral home in Poland, destroyed during the war. He worked for over a month on that canvas, painstakingly rendering every leaf, branch, and brick. From my perch on the stairs I hardly breathed as I watched him work. I’d never seen him as proud as when he finished the last stroke. Eager to show Sophia the result, he trotted past me up the stairs.
I approached the canvas. It was beautiful, the best he’d ever done. He was rightfully proud.
Then, on closer review, it occurred to me that it lacked something.
A cat. That’s what it needed.
So I picked up his brush, dipped it in black paint, and drew a big ol’ black cat right in the middle of the canvas. I’d barely finished when I heard Pan Rafael and Sophia coming down the stairs. I turned and stood proudly before my work. When my grandmother saw what I’d done, her face turned a shade of white usually only seen in coroner’s offices before spiraling into bright red. She let fly with a thundercloud of obscenities in three languages then started to lunge for me, murder in her eyes.
Pan Rafael put out a hand to stop her. Without saying a word he approached the canvas and studied it, angling it one way then the other to catch the light. “It’s good,” he said. “Obviously he thought it needed a cat, and you know, he’s right.”
He set the painting on the floor. “This one is mine,” he said, “because the work is now much too fine to give to anyone else. I will hang it on the wall where I can see it every day.”
He turned and patted me on the head. “For the client, I will make another.”
Then he pulled out a blank canvas, put it on the easel, and began again.
Later, as though nothing had happened, he pulled me and the blue pedal car to the corner store and we had ice cream.
Those moments have stayed with me as the most perfect examples of what it is to be a human being.


~ Wait. It gets better:
The one incident that most firmly locked me into a lifetime of emotional isolation, the shibboleth that denotes the moment when I realized there was absolutely no one I could trust, came when my mother became pregnant again in 1960. (...) when our washing machine broke down, no one was overly concerned when Evelyn took me along as she carried a bag of diapers to an adjacent apartment building with a working machine.
Once the clothes were washed, my mother and I climbed the stairs to the third-­story roof, where a clothesline was stretched across to a nearby telephone pole. Nervous, agitated, crying one moment, angry the next, she pinned up the diapers, then shoved them down the line as if slapping an unseen face, moving faster and faster, almost manic as she attacked the symbols of her captivity. Then suddenly she stopped and grew very quiet, looking off into the distance as if coming to a decision.
She pointed past me to some trees behind the house. “Look at the birds,” she said.
I turned to look but didn’t see any birds. Then I felt her hands lifting me from behind. For a moment I thought she was helping me see the birds, or that she might turn me around and hug me for the first time. My heart leapt at the prospect.
She dropped me over the edge of the roof.

I mean, do you even have a choice when it's like that? Can you choose not to become Superman?

~ Straczynski's comedic talent turns pure horror into pure gold:
As the worst blizzard in years roared across Paterson, I arrived at school on a Monday morning grateful to be inside anything that offered four walls and warmth. I hurried into the cloakroom, shucked off my wet coat, then turned to see the homeroom nun approaching on an attack vector, her face an angry red.
“You didn’t take a chocolate box,” she said, so furious she was shaking.
The previous Friday, crates of World’s Finest Chocolate had arrived, the sales of which helped raise money for orphans and pagan babies. I never understood why pagan babies were so important to the Catholic Church, but we were constantly being encouraged by Sister Mary Fisticuffs to think about the pagan babies, to pray for the pagan babies, to be glad we weren’t pagan babies (which seemed odd since apparently pagan babies were always first in line for everygoddamnthing), and if possible, to buy a pagan baby.
In 1962, admittedly a more robust economy, you could buy a pagan baby for five bucks. This entitled you to a certificate of ownership as your “souvenir of the Ransom and Baptism of an Adopted Pagan Baby.” (...) Given my own impoverished conditions, as far as I was concerned if a pagan baby needed five bucks that badly, he could try to steal it off my father’s dresser like the rest of us.
Not to put too fine a point on it, fuck the pagan babies.
The chocolate bars were narrow slabs of brown awfulness wrapped in white-­and-­gold foil, sent by the truckload to be sold by children to friends, neighbors, family members, and anyone else you held a grudge against. You could only consider them to be the World’s Finest Chocolate if you were, in fact, a pagan baby, and a 1960s pagan baby at that, because even the most isolated twenty-­first-­century pagan baby—­a pagan baby that had never even tasted chocolate before—­would take one bite, throw up, then use the box to beat you to death.


~ To those who still think science fiction is pure escapism:
Determined to understand the social changes whirling around me, but lacking teachers or family who could explain it, I turned to the smartest voices I could find: science fiction writers. I figured that somewhere in all those books predicting shifts in future societies somebody must’ve had something brilliant to say about this one. I wanted stories with meat and heft and social relevance, but the school library only stocked titles they deemed safe for young minds, the public library refused to let me check out books that were considered inappropriate for my age, and I didn’t have the money to buy them.
(...)
Several stores in our neighborhood sold paperback books in spinner racks at the back; mostly romance and crime novels, along with an assortment of adult science fiction novels and anthologies. (...) These stores became my personal libraries, offering books by such cutting-­edge writers as J. G. Ballard, Brian Aldiss, Norman Spinrad, Roger Zelazny, and Philip K. Dick. It was the dawn of New Wave Science Fiction, which turned its attention from starships to social issues and pushed the envelope of what was considered acceptable by the literary establishment. They were exactly the stories I needed to read.


~ Which leads to:
Not long after we moved out, large swaths of the city went up in flames during the Newark uprising, one of the largest riots in the nation’s history. When the fighting finally bled to an end, the country went back to watching Lassie, Gentle Ben, Disney’s Wonderful World of Color, and Bonanza as though nothing had happened. Certainly very little changed, and less still was learned. Each side seemed incapable of understanding the other.
And I thought, Someday I want to write about people forced to experience how others live, and think, and act, so they’ll understand that we’re not really that different. We all want the same things: to be happy, to find love, to have our lives mean something. There has to be a story in there somewhere.
There was, but it would take several decades before it was written—­and titled Sense8.


~ Nature or nurture? Genetics or upbringing?

How about ... neither?
(...) I decided to go another way: rather than killing [my father], I would negate him. Whatever he was, I would be the opposite. He drank, so I wouldn’t touch the stuff. He smoked; I wouldn’t. He was brutal to women; I would strive to be chivalrous. He never kept his promises; I would always keep mine. He blamed others for what he did; I would take responsibility for my actions. With each choice I would try to balance out the meanness and suffering he brought into the world.
The realization that I didn’t have to become my father was electrifying. Kazimier, Sophia, and Charles all believed that they were the inevitable product of their circumstances, that they had no choice other than to become what they were. But negating my father would allow me to decide what I wanted to do with my life.


~ Another example of JMS's trademark humor:
Ever since its debut the show [The Real Ghostbusters] had been attacked by media watchdogs who accused the show of advancing leftist politics and radical feminism on one side, and black magic and Satanism on the other. (Between this show, He-­Man, and She-­Ra I had apparently been in the employ of Satan for nearly three years without knowing it, so there’s a considerable back-­pay issue that needs to be resolved.)

Скрит текст: покажи
Also, an illustration that American line editors don't care about repetition. See what I mean? ;)


~ Wow ... so it was actually JMS who introduced the concept of overarching plots to TV shows (while developing Captain Power and the Soldiers of the Future, a favorite of my, ahem, impressionable youth):
Like all dramatic television at the time, science fiction shows were episodic in structure. Story threads set up in one episode had to be paid off in the same episode, pushing the reset button at fade out so the next episode could start clean with nothing left unresolved. Long-form storytelling simply wasn’t done because the networks and studios didn’t think audiences were capable of following a plot line that went longer than the occasional two-­parter.
Being rather contrarian, I wanted to try something different: a season-­long story that would build on events in prior episodes and foreshadow incidents that would play out much later.


~ Sneaky, sneaky Straczynski:
“The Halloween Door” told the story of Dr. Crowley, a madman with a machine that would destroy all the scary supernatural books in the world because kids shouldn’t be exposed to such things. I even put some of BS&P [Broadcast Standards and Practices]’s comments in the mouth of the censorship-­driven madman to illustrate the idea that however well intended, censors can be as destructive as any demonic entity by curtailing independence of thought.
The kicker? After being falsely accused for years of trying to slip in references to Satan, I named the antagonist after Aleister Crowley, a famous practitioner of the dark arts, often referred to as the most evil man in the world, and not one of the censors caught it.


~ Ahahaha ... I can't stop laughing (or quoting):
(...) publishing the article [about censorship in network television animation] would be worth every lost dollar. Because this wasn’t about creative disagreements or wanting my own way; it was about confronting a broken system that put itself above correction. The consultants and censors fudged facts and wrapped their prejudices in jargon presented as scientific fact to exploit the legitimate concerns of parents, all for their own financial betterment. If I didn’t at least try to punch them in the nose on my way out the door, I could never live with myself.
(...)
Unfortunately, magazines like TV Guide were too cozy with the networks to publish anything this critical, and I couldn’t come up with any mainstream magazines that might care enough about censors vivisecting children’s television to print it. Then I remembered one magazine that had been battling censors for years and might be willing to accept the controversy such an article would stir up.
I sent the article to Penthouse, one of the leading men’s magazines of the time.
A few weeks later their nonfiction editor called to say they wanted to buy the article. “I just have one question,” she said. “Of all the magazines in the world, why pick Penthouse to publish an article about children’s television?”
“Because when the article comes out, these tight-­assed consultants and censors are going to want to see what I said about them. I like the idea that the only way they can do that is by buying a magazine full of racy photos. I like that idea a lot.”


~ Michael O'Hare's illness during Babylon 5 and especially his response to JMS's suggestion to suspend production for a few months are heartbreaking.
“No,” he said, “absolutely not. Don’t do it. If you pull the plug even for a little while, Warners will kill the show. Don’t let me be the reason all these people are put out of work.”
We went back and forth for nearly an hour, with me giving every reason why we should shut down and Michael arguing why we shouldn’t. At one point, he laughed and said, “We both know I’m the crazy one here, so why am I the only one making sense?”


~ There are truly no words for the following response to 9/11. I could talk about maturity and channeling and other words, but it is not the words that matter.
I wrote, There are no words.
I stared at the page. No words.
Follow the thought, I decided.
Some things are beyond words. Beyond comprehension. Beyond forgiveness.
How do you say we didn’t know? We couldn’t know. We couldn’t imagine.
The sane world will always be vulnerable to madmen, because we cannot go where they go to conceive of such things.

I struggled to keep up as the words tumbled out of my head. My pen raced across the page. Automatic writing.
What do we tell the children? Do we tell them that evil is a foreign face?
No. The evil is the thought behind the face. And it can look just like yours.
Do we tell that evil is tangible, with defined borders and names and geometries and destinies?
No. They will have nightmares enough.
Perhaps we tell them that we are sorry. Sorry that we were not able to deliver unto them the world we wished them to have.
That our eagerness to shout is not the equal of our willingness to listen.
That the burdens of distant people are the responsibility of all men and women of conscience, or their burdens will one day become our tragedy.
Or perhaps we simply tell them that we love them, and that we will protect them. That we would give our lives for theirs, and do it gladly, so great is the burden of our love.


~ A coda to Joe's father:
Correspondence discovered between Charles and his estate planners at the Royal Bank of Canada’s Cayman Trust Planning in October 2008 laid out the details of his will and made sure that they could not be challenged by any of us. The document allocated a few personal bequests to people who had worked for my father in his last days, or who he had known years earlier, then stipulated that my sisters and I would receive a check for one hundred dollars each, a deliberate insult launched from the other side of the grave.
The remaining funds, nearly $2.5 million, were donated to the University of California, Davis, School of Veterinary Medicine, in Davis, California.
Why a veterinary hospital?
Because whenever someone my father hated would come to him for financial assistance he would decline, saying with a sneer, “I’d rather give it to the dogs.”
That’s why a veterinary hospital.
He gave it to the dogs.


~ And a fitting coda for Joe himself:
In the end, we wanted Sense8 to be about hope, about the idea that while humanity has advanced technologically through conflict, it’s only through the social-­evolutionary engines of compassion, understanding, and empathy that we will be able to attain a better and nobler future. We believed viewers were hungry for a story in which kindness trumps cruelty, and the common coin of our shared humanity is stronger than whatever would try to drive us apart.
Last edited by Кал on Fri Jul 24, 2020 3:47 pm, edited 1 time in total.
Reason: ... done!

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Re: Книги, автори, размисли творчески и човешки

Postby Кал » Thu Jul 23, 2020 6:18 pm

Препоръчвам Becoming Superman на приятели в GR. Започнах с Дес и Миро:

It keeps reminding us to strive for greatness and rise above the pettiness.

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Re: Книги, автори, размисли творчески и човешки

Postby Кал » Sun Jul 26, 2020 4:33 pm

My review of Beyond the City Limits:

A varied and enjoyable anthology.

Here are my favorites:

~ I'm on page 2 of the first story ("Dickie Birds" by Lara M. Hewn) ... and already shocked:

viewtopic.php?p=30666#p30666

I'd never thought I'd see the name Verena in an English-language context ....



From there on, it only gets more hilarious--and horrendous. I LOL-ed a few times, ending with this one:

viewtopic.php?p=30667#p30667

I also appreciated that only one of the guys turned out to be the manosphere Chad type--and with a twist too. A twisted one. ;)

A great start, all in all.

~ Kura Carpenter's "Paper Butterflies" is an atmospheric YA piece, surprisingly gentle, given the rowdiness of its characters and the age they're going through.

~ Deb E. Howell's "The Source" reads like the opening of a longer work--which is worth checking out. :) The author notes seem to confirm it's part of a larger universe.

~ Justine Elliott's "Famine to Feast" revels in the hidden meanings of words. Only this time, they're hidden in plain sight:
(...) Death stood and addressed him in a monotone.
“Who are you brother, and how can we help you? If it is help that you want? I guess you could just be passing through. Maybe you don’t even want to see us and...”
De-Lin yawned, vainly trying to cover his gaping mouth with a hand. He couldn’t help it, everything about Death was boring grey shapeless robe; his bowl haircut; his voice; features; everything - boring. De-Lin knew that being bored to death was more than just a saying.


This goes on and on. :D
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Re: Книги, автори, размисли творчески и човешки

Postby frog » Mon Jul 27, 2020 12:32 am

Явно си търся бягство от книгата за коригиране, щото разглеждам какви книги има в благотворителния пазар. Лошото е, че си съставих списък с чешки, полски и разни други интересни автори. :roll:

Трите тома "Солунските братя" на Слав Караславов приличат на някоя съвременна *логия с еднотипни драматични заглавия - за вампири(ци), вещерски и зомби любови (импровизирам) и други остарели вече неща - книжните серии с предимно черни корици с фокус върху нещо червено с частичен коричен лак.
Е, едно време беше златничко ;)
Светът на надеждата
Светът на догмата
Светът на безсмъртието.

Комбинацията от трите цвята е потресаваща :lol:

Една потребителка предлагала Eclipse (III) от Здрач и сложила част от страница. Да беше я снимала цялата :x, интересно ми стана.

Това вече е за ХАХАХАХА:
Ричърд Касъл: “Убийстена жега”, “Адска жега” и “Ледена жега”
:lol: :lol: :lol:

"Свръхсъдба" - още нещо, което не! бих чела: https://www.fiction-factory.org/book.

... а слънцето едва успяваше да пробие лепкавата мъгла.

:lol: Да живее пиарът из соцмрежата на Люба :lol:
Бесовете ви чувам“ ~ Jane Eyre Grisel. I refuse to be there for you when you need me.

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Re: Книги, автори, размисли творчески и човешки

Postby Кал » Mon Jul 27, 2020 3:52 pm

My review of Year's Best Aotearoa New Zealand Science Fiction and Fantasy, Vol. 1:

This anthology was even more varied than Beyond the City Limits, but it also contained more pieces that didn't work for me.

My special favorite is in bold.

~ Octavia Cade's "We Feed the Bears of Fire and Ice" is a mockumentary about the things we have to say about climate change (but don't). Its mockery is so savage that it burns--like fire, like ice:
Koala bears rarely run during bush fires. Their instinct at danger is to climb up into canopy, where the leaves are shot through with eucalyptus oil, and flammable. They cling to the trunk with charred paws when it begins to burn, the thin bark catching easily and falling off in flaming strips. It sets their fur alight.
They die screaming.


Sacrifices have to be made. We didn’t do it then, so we have to do it now.
Our ancestors, some of them, tied their heretics to posts and placed kindling around them, lit them up as candles for punishment. Our sacrifice is not religious, but when we fasten a person to their own fire-stake and stack eucalyptus leaves around their feet, leave them wailing through the heat of day until the fire comes for them, the impulse is no different. Propitiation, atonement, mercy.
Sometimes heatstroke renders them insensible before the fire comes. Sometimes we think these are the better days, but sometimes we build our altars in the early morning, set them in places where we can see the sparks already settling, because sacrifice, we think, should be screaming.


Scientific American, 8 February 2016: Australia Cuts 110 Climate Scientist Jobs


(There's half a dozen more of these links. None of them's made up.)

What there's not is mercy:
This is how it goes: Climate change is a hack, a fraud, a politically motivated recipe for economic failure. It’s happened in the past, without us, for billions of years the climate changed without us. We can’t affect the climate, we’re only one species and the world is so large and so complex, and besides, God would never allow it.
It’s bad science. It’s hippie emotionalism. Species come and go, and humans are the only important one anyway. Organisms that can’t adapt to changing conditions should just die. It’s sad, but it’s not our fault.


None at all:
I’m a liar too. A koala is a marsupial, not a bear.
Tourist dollars, industry profits, narrative structure. Whatever it’s for, we lie to make a point.


A part of me is delighted. Even alight. Which makes the rest of me scared.

As we should be.

~ A.J. Fitzwaters's "Logistics" offers another exhilarating mix of postapocalyptic and post-caring:
Guess you’re wondering about, um, this lop-sidedness. Welp, I was on the table in Stockholm getting chest reconstruction surgery when Calais went down in a blaze of glory. Surgeons panicked, sewed me up, left me half the person I should have been. Ugh. Scars itch. Can’t feel my nipple. So that sucks.
So, why would you do a dumb thing like major surgery in the middle of a worldwide epidemic, I hear you ask. Well, no-one knew we were in the middle of anything coz the CDC said they had it under control. I thought, hey, mutant flesh-eating bacteria. It’s like HIV in the 80s, or Ebola in ’16, or the Monkey Flu in ’21. We’ll deal. Movie of the week in six months.
Didn’t even know about Zero Point Jacksonville or population estimates until I left Sweden. By that time things were starting to make a bit of sense and everyone had a channel. Guess that’s what happens when most your newsrooms are wiped out, huh.
Half the world’s population, gone. Just like that. Geez.
Ugh, this is turning into one of those “where were you when” things. I dunno, do you need to hear mine? Everyone’s had it rough and lost people. I don’t have it near as bad as others. I wanted to do something different. Coz, need, and I can’t be the only one, right? So.
SHOW ME THE TAMPONS.
Seriously. The African co-op did great work collecting and warehousing goods before everything north of the equator was sent up in smoke by those WHO idiots, but they could have left something behind in the emergency caches for those of us who are the subset of still wandering and still bleeding.
Anyway. I’m heading south through Germany. No, I won’t put location tags on. Message me. Point me other channels. Help me out here please. Leaves in my undies is uncomfortable.


Annnd I have the idiots who were calling me the “titless wonder” and a few other choice things. Screw you. Guess it was too much to hope the apocalypse would wipe out all the jerks. I wanna make some joke about putting the facist into fasciitis. Ha. Nazholes. Ha!


It also has stuff to say about the usual postapocalyptic fare:
…course not every town and minute village has been sectioned. Gonna take years to develop proper testing procedures for the dormant phage. I mean, we lost a good chunk of the scientific and medical community coz many of them were first responders.
Huh. Wow.
Um.
So yeah. You’re gonna find people still living in small pockets. They’re usually good about sticking to quarantine rules and stay in touch with resource teams. No, I haven’t seen any marauding bands. This isn’t some sick HBO hellscape, yo.


And it's the only story in my Worldcon reading so far that teared (tore?) me up:
I’m out of tampons again. Surely someone’s got it together with sanitary product distribution? I mean, getting the word out and drone drops wouldn’t be such a biggie.
Oh, thanks for all the concern when I was a little quiet on it. BigWiggie224 wants to know if I’ve been able to track down my fam in New Zealand. Still working on it. I buried enough of them Before it shouldn’t hurt…

____________


INT: Dark screen
[unintelligible sobbing]


Finally, it also has that most vital element that most postap stories seem to have forgotten:

Hope.

~ Andi C. Buchanan's "Girls Who Do Not Drown" is a paean to transformation and the discovery of belonging. A fitting conclusion to the anthology.

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Re: Книги, автори, размисли творчески и човешки

Postby frog » Tue Jul 28, 2020 9:45 am

За юни CZ център някъде незабелязано на сайта си и с подвеждащото заглавие "Виртуална библиотека" wrote:Лятото е най-приятното време за четене! В началото на слънчевите месеци си позволихме да направим списък с "незадължителни" книги, които биха могли да разтоварят вашето ежедневие.

http://sofia.czechcentres.cz/public/gal ... a_mail.jpg

Забележете името на файла. Определено са позапуснали бюлетина, щото нямам спомен да съм получавала информация за тези книги НАКУП.

"Спящият град" е ясен, че си го харесвам и препоръчвам. Бих чела за чудатостите, за Екзюпери, на Хавел и евентуално за немско-чешката фамилия. Останалото е thanks, but no, thanks и е крайно време да почна да превеждам чешки книги. :shock: Омръзна ми да се превежда предимно най-нова литература, и то главно за БОЛЕЗНЕНИ неща - Холокост, осиновени, книгата долу вляво дори няма да я споменавам :(
И ми омръзна преводаческите конкурси също да са за най-нова литература, а тя е пълна с напрягащ съвременен език/жаргон и тематика.

Пък в киното дори И поляците се избиха да показват WWII и ко-мун-из-ум. Стига вече!!!
Е, поне Вайдовият филм за художника Владислав Шчемински ми е любим и с един ГЕНИАЛЕН момент https://www.cinefish.bg/Polsha-izbra-Po ... 18315.html.
Ако лентите не са комедии, текат реки от кръв, все някой ще го измъчват, а дори от споменаването на думата rape в какъвто и да е контекст ми призлява*. Милиционерският терор дори в "Светът е голям..." не ни го спестиха. Удар по главата с табла за шах от страна на налудничавия злобен поглед на Николай Урумов - quite enough :x Още си спомням пред очите кадър от "Дунав мост" :evil:. И дотук с филмите, че стана страшно.
Толкова за възможността да по-желая новата книга на ЧоБи и да величая "Време разделно". Да беха внимавали как го екранизират и кога през деня го пускат по телевизията в детството ми. Един живот няма да ми стигне да ги изчистя тия спомени.

*
Скрит текст: покажи
Коко :evil:

Заради "Купи 1 книга" CZ център дарил книги в Перото. http://ndk.bg/news/cheshkiyat-kulturen- ... oto-9170-1
"Cool". Добре че са снимали Светлето как ги докосва с лъстивите си за литература ръчици, за да се види къде точно се намират.
А 1-2-те книги, дето Наско е оставил там още преди 5? години - лична "Дивна"? Те какво? Подпорки на бара?
Бесовете ви чувам“ ~ Jane Eyre Grisel. I refuse to be there for you when you need me.

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Re: Книги, автори, размисли творчески и човешки

Postby Кал » Wed Jul 29, 2020 5:01 pm

My review of The Crawling Wood:

The start was wonderful, but after the first 10% the story/characters lost me. :(

My reading notes:

~ The writing is so rich ... wow:
Riss sipped her tea and moved her mouth around. She tried on a few expressions: mild smile, flat line, something she hoped looked contemplative and serious. Should she greet Tarn as a friend? As a former superior officer? She wasn’t going to let his newfound title push her around. At least not inside her own head. She’d pay the proper respects if his hangers-on demanded them. More than anything, she needed to feel the man and his offer out. She needed to gauge whether this job had been given to a competent mercenary or an old friend fallen on hard times or a poor broken-hearted dear who needed a pick-me-up.
Bluntly, it bothered her that she wasn’t sure how angry she was supposed to be.
She was stewing on that when the heavy wooden door swung open and the man himself stepped in. The Baron of Adelheim, no longer some hypothetical she could debate the pros and cons of. He was a flesh-and-blood thing she just had to suck it up and deal with.


In this passage alone, I had to look up half a dozen words or expressions. Mind you, I've been reading English-language fiction for a quarter of a century now; and translating it for fifteen years.

~ Or this gem:
“It’s a calculated risk,” he said, trying to sound less stoned than he felt.
“So’s everything.” Gaz could be a man of few words at times, but those few he did speak were often like splinters under one’s fingernails.


~ And I already like the characters' interactions:
He toked the last worthwhile bit off his cigarette, then ground the paper out on the fencepost. He held the smoke in for a moment, then exhaled in a vaporous billow. Gazing up at the stars through his smoke, he took a moment to marvel at just how many there were.
“You don’t see stars like this in Vasile.” Gaz’s voice was a low, pensive murmur.
“Please stop reading my mind. You’ll run into something horrible.” Calay hopped down off the fence post and shrugged his duster higher up his shoulders, burrowing into the collar of it.
“Something horrible or just something crude?”
“Probably both.”
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Re: Книги, автори, размисли творчески и човешки

Postby frog » Wed Jul 29, 2020 11:16 pm

Лошото е, че си съставих списък с чешки, полски и разни други интересни автори. :roll:

Ми аз не издържах. Имах 24,16 лв. в epay и снощи и сега питах в благотворителния пазар една жена разполага ли все още с тези книги от снимките от 16 юни да пратя 23 лв. (такса 80 ст.):
Джерълд Даръл - "Пияната гора+" 
Карел Чапек - "Книга апокрифи"
Радек Йон - "Мементо" https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Memento_(novel)
Иржи Прохазка - "Смъртна схватка"
Збигнев Ненацки - "Господин Автомобил+"  
Джоузеф Конрад - "По суша и море"
Тур Хайердал - "Фату Хива"
Денеш Балаж - "Тайфун над Манила"

Тия двете си ги спестих, щото са тухли и ги има в Читанка:
Болеслав Прус - "Фараон" (от конспекта във втори курс, трябва "Еманципантки" да ги даря на полския институт заедно с другите полски неща, дето ще засиля натам, т'ва нещо не знам дали някога ще го чета)
Колумб - Дневници - превод от полски?!

Голям късмет съм извадила, щото утре щяла да носи всичко в бургаската библиотека :lol:

Трудно ми беше да преглътна да не ми праща до автомата на Спийди, но реших до офис, за да е сигурно, че ще ползваме картата ми за намаление. На автомат сигурно има четец на баркодове, но знае ли се... Иначе щях да съм извънмерно горда със себе си, ако успеех сама да си отчета "картата".

Въпреки че в едно мазе има(ше) много на брой хубави стари книги, до които едва ли отново ще се докосна, бих искала старите книги никога да не свършват! :D I love them!!! ^_^
Бесовете ви чувам“ ~ Jane Eyre Grisel. I refuse to be there for you when you need me.

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Re: Книги, автори, размисли творчески и човешки

Postby Кал » Thu Jul 30, 2020 1:23 pm

Кал wrote:Wow! Almost all my SJV nominations won! :-O Congratulations everyone! It was great learning about New Zealand speculative fiction. I'm looking forward to your next anthologies. :)
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Re: Книги, автори, размисли творчески и човешки

Postby frog » Fri Jul 31, 2020 9:17 pm

Учебникът на Петър Канев може да се окаже първият (и последен :?) по-желан в ЧоБи учебник, защото е непрестанно осезаемо човеколюбив, авторът – със страстен ум и мъдро сърце (е, в личната си комуникация понякога е с твърде емоционален "ум"... особено във fb), използва изключително мили названия на животинки и на аспекти, свързани с детството (личи си, че е поет, макар и асоциален), набляга на животоспасяващата нужда от смислено общуване и екология с цел оцеляване на човешкия вид. И в крайна сметка книгата е за общуването и човешката култура в цялост, но минава и през комуникацията на хората с другите същества, защото дава примери и по какво не сме по-различни и по-специални от тях.

Островът на делфините + Зъбатите демони in one ;)
Бесовете ви чувам“ ~ Jane Eyre Grisel. I refuse to be there for you when you need me.

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Re: Книги, автори, размисли творчески и човешки

Postby Dess » Mon Aug 03, 2020 7:14 pm

Току-що дочетох Orb Sceptre Throne на Иън Есълмонт. Първият автор, чиито книги превеждам, без да съм ги изчела преди това – защото са ми просто безобразно скучни.

Тази няколко пъти имаше „проблясъци“ – герои и ситуации, които за кратко ми задържаха интереса. Обаче чак последните шейсетина страници (от близо 700) ги изчетох накуп, преди да стане време да ги преведа. И естествено... се разочаровах, понеже въобще не ми стана ясно как и защо се стигна до развръзката. Твърде много герои вършеха твърде много неясни неща през цялото време... и краят се превърна в поредното такова нещо. Пфу.

Добрата новина – още не са откупени правата за следващите книги от поредицата, и при повечко късмет ще се сбогувам с Артлайн, преди това да се случи – и някой друг ще се мъчи с тях. Пък аз ще си отдъхна от епичното фентъзи for the foreseeable future.
Reachin' for the stars... Why wait for one to fall?

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Re: Книги, автори, размисли творчески и човешки

Postby Кал » Sat Aug 08, 2020 4:55 pm

My review of The Dawnhounds:

The Dawnhounds was better than any of the Hugo-nominated fiction I read this year.

What am I going to do about it?

While I consider my courses, I leave you with these highlights:

~ I knew I was going to finish it as soon as I reached this:

viewtopic.php?p=30704#p30704

The novel doesn't come with a map either. What's not to like about it? :D

~ My perennial quest for a genuinely sensual sex scene has finally been rewarded:
The woman was strong. She didn’t know her name, and she didn’t want to know her name: she was the Veil, and that was it. Yat pulled herself into the woman, let her warmth and her smell encompass her, become her. Veil was strong, lean, well-muscled: when she pushed back, she did so with just enough force to send a shudder through Yat, a current, starting between her legs, spreading into her belly, moving up her back, making the hairs on her neck stand on end. She let the woman take her, push against her, slide a hand across her breasts, down her stomach, a trail of lightning. They stopped for a moment, negotiated her belt buckle, hand-meeting-hand, pulling back, startled, then moving in together, in concord. Veil’s hand went down past the open belt, and Yat’s body parted for her.

Veil spoke, and Yat could hear her smile in her voice.

“You do find me beautiful, don’t you?”

Yat couldn’t speak: her chest was too tight. She let out a gentle moan as the woman’s fingers opened her, and entered her. If she could will herself to open more, she would’ve: open totally, let the Veil have all of her—things without words that lived in places without names.

“Yes,” said Yat. The word fell out of her. She didn’t know what she was answering: she was answering everything. Yes it felt good, yes she was beautiful, yes she could have whatever she wanted. She felt the Veil’s hands inside her, and against her, steady yet urgent. Yat’s breathing was heavy, and her chest rose and fell in time with the Veil’s, the woman’s breasts pressing against her own and making her feel warm even through the stiff cotton of her uniform, joining with the heat moving up from her legs, dancing together as her muscles tightened, starting somewhere behind her thighs moving up through her until she cried out; it fell away, built again, broke inside her and made her grunt, fell away again and sent ripples out across her hips and down the backs of her legs; tightness building and building, reaching crescendo until she was all fire, and then the wave broke and rolled over her, a spasm rolling through her body that pushed her face deep into the Veil’s shoulder. She bit down to stop herself crying out again, and heard the Veil cry out with her, and then they slumped into each other, breathing hard, smiling, laughing between teeth.

(My perennial question "But doesn't it feel lonely afterwards?" hasn't been answered yet. ;))

~ Check 'em descriptions:
To call Wajet fat would be true, but also a total bald-faced lie. He was big in the sort of way that looked like he’d once been pure muscle that had softened with age, but he still looked like he could punch through a door by accident. He did not so much walk into a room as launch an invasion of it. His grey hair was trimmed short, and his moustache was exquisitely waxed in the Ahwari style. Rumour had it he’d intentionally tanked every single performance review since his promotion to sergeant, to stop himself from being promoted into a desk job. He was a man of tremendous volume, in more ways than one.

“Sen, mate,” he expectorated, “I’ve a job for you!”

He stormed over, and the floorboards trembled.

“‘m busy,” said Sen. “Got paperwork.”

Wajet loomed over them now. His moustache twitched. It was like somebody had tied a cat to his upper lip.


Something dwelt in the dark; something so large it defied reason; something she didn’t see until its tectonic movement changed the shape of the world, and then she realised it was everywhere—a monstrous slab of meat and fur so tall it defied her ability to comprehend it. She would scream, but there was nobody and nothing left to scream. The titan stumbled, and put out a hand. Its palm was larger than Hainak; larger than the Ox; larger than the Sea of Teeth and the Eastern Shelf and the entire world. She should’ve been scared but she felt nothing. The new land rose up to meet her and she crashed into it, burning white-hot. The plateau roiled beneath her as it took the impact. She knew it should’ve hurt, should’ve killed her, should’ve torn her in half. She looked up and realised she was sitting in the palm of a, well, monkey? Not quite: too many eyes, too little skin. Not even close, but as close a frame of reference as she had. It stared at her. Its head was the size of a moon, yet she could see something around the curve of it, half-hidden on the reverse side —another set of ears, another mouth split into a wide grin. It did not speak—it changed the world so it had spoken.


~ The Dawnhounds is in no hurry to flaunt its magic. But when it does ...
They found their way to the glowing green heart in the bowels of the ship. It shone so bright, it hurt. The whole room around it seemed to ripple and dance. There was so much life in it: a city worth of souls all pressed together in one place.

“Just one,” said Ajat. She sighed, and ran a gentle hand across the surface of the heart. Yat hated that they could read her threads so well. She tried not to let it show, but she knew it was written on her somewhere, intangibly, in a way she couldn’t understand but everybody else could. Ajat took her hand again, and placed it against the heart.

It had hurt when she’d killed the parrot: an awful heat like she’d grabbed handful of Tinker network wiring. This was worse: the bird had gone into her, but she was going into the heart, and becoming less. Then Ajat spoke.

“Focus,” she said. Yat could feel her somewhere inside the heart. She was part of the system, sending its energy up through the walls, up through the mast and onto the deck where a tremendous weight stood: Sibbi. She was pulling from the whole ship, tying it together inside herself. Yat was part of their network: power was flowing from her, but not enough to hurt her: she was just helping to guide the heart’s energy to where it needed to be.

Yat tried to reach out, and realised she was still standing below-decks but she was seeing from the crow’s nest. Warmth filled her. She was part of the whole ship: one part of a beautiful and dense organic system all turned to a single purpose. It was exhilarating. It was—

Focus. There’s part of your soul that wants to live only for you, and it’ll destroy you if you let it. Your goals, your wants, the wind at your back: you live like that, and reaching out will tear you in half. It’s a liar: it dresses your selfishness up and tells you it’s virtue. This is not a place for the selfish, nor pretence. Focus. To reach out is not destruction, or sacrifice: it is an act of creation. Life exists in the places between us: we make it together. Focus.


~ Ah. Heroes.
“(...) You know what a hero is, Yat?”

Her mind flashed back to Wajet, walking along the docks with her. What if the drake’s nice? He’d been building to something.

“A hero,” she said, “is somebody who does what’s right, no matter what it costs.”

“Try again,” said Sibbi. Her sweet little-old-lady smile was infuriating.

“Okay,” said Yat, “a hero is somebody who fights against the darkness.”

“Ooh,” said Sibbi, “‘fight against the darkness’. I like that. Very poetic. Closer, but no.”

“Well then,” said Yat, “why don’t you tell me?”

More damned riddles. Why couldn’t these people just say what they meant?

Sibbi grinned. “A hero,” she said, “is a young man—and it is usually a man, though not always —who is very impatient to die loudly. They want everybody to look and say ‘what a hero’ and to be remembered. They read too many stories and get this idea in their heads that death is noble, and beautiful, and glorious. A hero is impatient to die, and in their impatience they have a habit of taking ordinary folks down with them—after all, death is glorious, and beautiful, and that means killing is too. Whether they succeed or fail, a hero is defined by death, and that’s why I don’t let heroes on my ship. I’d rather teach my people how to live.”

This provides the perfect counterpoint to the, uh, point I made about narratives' overreliance on violence in my recent panel about Bildungsromans at the Worldcon.

~ I love books that talk about love--or any big topic--like this:
The question burned her up, but she couldn’t bring herself to ask it. She let him take up his viol again and play another song: a sad, slow, lilting piece. When he put down his bow, she turned to him again.

“What’s it about?” she said. She meant the first piece, but saying it out loud was too much. Iacci considered her for a moment, and screwed up his lip.

“They are from the second act,” he said. “The girl is lost, truly lost. It is night, and she wanders the street and she is alone. She sits by the river and she weeps, and the night eats her. Is this right? Eats her? She goes into the night and it is not kind. She sings three pieces: a song for dusk, a song for midnight, a song for dawn. The world is cruel to her. This makes her strong, but it does not make the world less cruel.”

“How does it end?” said Yat. The tightness in her throat was pressing now, making her voice crack.

“Ah,” said Iacci. “The girl does not let the night take her. She says these words: tonight, we live. It is not much, but it carries her to the dawn. Then it ends with a kiss. It is not a good opera if it does not end in a kiss.”

That caught her off-guard: it was such an abrupt shift in tone that it knocked her right out of her memories.

“What if there’s nobody to kiss?” she asked.

Iacci shrugged. “There is always somebody to kiss,” he said. “That’s how you know it’s a good opera.”

“Isn’t that a bit simple?” said Yat, “love saves the day?”

“Love is not simple,” said Iacci. “You take two of problems, and you put them together and you hope you don’t get five of problems. You must be open, and it is frightful to be open. I do not say this right, and I know I do not; it sounds better in Featta. It is music in my tongue, but I do not have the words and my city does not have enough mouths left to speak them for me. I love Fenazta, my city; I love Featta, my tongue; I love Violi, my art. These are the things I love, and they make me weep sometime, but I do not stop my love, because it is not the sack of rice I can throw off the dock. While I love these things, they remain.”


~ And books that do not shy away from mythopoetry:
Come here, little shipwreck: I’ve a story to tell.

I remember the first time you drowned. I remember the second, the third, the thousandth. I cannot leave your side: I chose you, I am bound to you, I was bound, I will be bound. The sun will turn in on itself before I could leave, the stars will lose sight of each other, darkness will blanket the sky and there will be silence in the world of men before I could leave. This much is true.

I remember the fall, as though you were a needle being woven through the fabric of the bottomless night, pulling the world behind you. I remember the man who found you, and what you did to him. Tangled in a net, you lashed out and you hurt and you hurt without end. It is burned into this city, now, etched into its nerves, made manifest with each rattling breath.

I remember the end of the world. I remember staring out across the fields and jungles and oceans and hearing only wind. I remember all these things so you don’t have to: I was like you once, until I became like me. You will forget I said this, but you will remember it when you need to. The lost girl becomes the eater of days, and the world trembles.

There is a tree at the roof of the world, and its roots drink deep of poisoned water. There is a splinter in its heart, there is a madness that hollows and makes anew. It sings in its sleep, and the world shakes with its music and tears itself down and builds anew. There is a lion with no teeth, there is a spider with no legs, there is an ox with no tail. One of these things is not the same as the others, but I cannot tell you which.

There is, as always, love.

You will forget this until the moment it matters, then you will never forget it again.


~ And offer this sense of interconnectedness:
The instant the plank touched the docks, Yat could feel the whole city humming—wood on wood, one little battery connecting to a massive machine. It was power, in a way she hadn’t really understood, something she’d been feeling all her life but didn’t know what to do with: it was people and it was animals and houses and streets, thousands on thousands on thousands. It used to make her anxious, knowing just how big the city was; now, it made her feel strong. She used to believe—while in the grips of that great grey emptiness that spanned the days between panic attacks—that she was uniquely and powerfully alone. Touching the city like this, it struck her how many souls felt the same: how many threads in the great tapestry thought they weren’t a part of anything that mattered. They were frayed, and knotted, and still very much alive.


~ Do you know the feeling?
They’d always been looking for defects with her: as if women were defective men; as if women who loved women were defective women who loved men; as if anybody who loved both wasn’t part of the equation and could be sorted into one or the other without their consultation. She could never be good enough, because she wasn’t the human they wanted her to be.


~ And this ... THIS climax:
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Yat took a deep breath, then let it out. It was too much, but everything was too much: a blizzard of papercuts. The world overwhelmed her every day, but she kept going. Yesterday had been too much; today was too much. She was still standing. Tomorrow might be too much, or the day after. There was no secret to stop her hands from shaking—to stop her chest from burning, and her veins pumping acid.

She was going to burn anyway: it couldn’t hurt to try.

She took a deep breath, and let it out. Then, shaking so hard she thought she might fall apart, she reached into the sky.

Fire rolled over her, and through her. Her cells screamed, the water in her blood boiled away to steam. She couldn’t even begin to control it: the power arcing through her was more than she’d thought was even possible. It rooted her to the ground, paralyzed her, broke down every bond holding her together. She couldn’t close her eyes, or twitch her fingers, or breathe. She could smell her flesh cooking, feel her skin begin to slough off and—

She heard a voice on the air, from right beside her, from a thousand miles away. The voice of a girl, lost. The voice of a girl, found. It came from two mouths at once.

“No,” it said, in a whisper that could cut glass, “tonight, we live.”

Kiada kissed her.

She kissed back.

They’d kissed once before: coyly, on the cheek, like they were playing a game. This wasn’t that. Through the haze of pain, she felt: one hand around her waist, pulling; one hand against the back of her head, wrist against the nape of her neck, elbow between her shoulder blades, pushing. She tasted like salt, coffee, and tobacco. Yat couldn’t let go, but she didn’t want to. When their bodies wove together, their threads wove together: the same pain lancing through them, building, threatening to burn them down.

They kissed as though they needed to fit a life of it into a single minute. With death raining down, they kissed for every missed hour, for every swollen silence, for every thrice-cursed goodbye. Despite the urgent crush of their bodies, Yat stopped inhabiting herself and lived only in that second. It was a kiss for lost time. While the sky bloomed with fire, they came together in a single endless moment.

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Re: Книги, автори, размисли творчески и човешки

Postby Кал » Sun Aug 09, 2020 9:13 am

My review of The Natural Medicine Guide to Bipolar Disorder:

~ Curious:
Hydrazine is sprayed on potatoes to prolong their shelf life. In the body, this chemical blocks serotonin production by blocking the action of vitamin B6, which is needed at every step in the series of enzyme actions required in the manufacture of serotonin. In just one bag of potato chips or one serving of fast-food French fries, there is sufficient hydrazine to knock out all the B6 in your body.

(But I badly need somebody who knows more science than me--and I know some--to check the validity of the references cited in this book. I know enough science to know how biased studies, or citations, can be.)

~ And curiouser:
A German study of people with major depression found that exercise (thirty minutes of walking daily) reduced their depression in less than the time it typically takes antidepressants to work. (...) Research has also demonstrated that jogging for half an hour three times weekly can be equally or more beneficial for mental health than psychotherapy.


~ Check the checklist:
(...) the following are steps you can take to eliminate the causes, triggers, and contributors to your bipolar disorder.

- Find ways to reduce or manage the stress in your life. Meditation and relaxation techniques can be beneficial.

- Reduce your toxic exposure wherever possible. Avoid using toxic house and garden products, eat organically grown food, and drink pure water instead of tap water.

- Reduce your heavy-metal exposure by avoiding sources of copper, lead, aluminum, and mercury wherever possible. You may want to investigate having your mercury dental fillings replaced with nonmercury amalgams; hair analysis and other tests can determine if the level of mercury in your body is high.

- Avoid foods and other substances to which you are allergic, or get allergy treatment such as NAET to eliminate the problem (see chapter 8). If you suspect you have allergies, but don't know to what, NAET can help you identify allergens. Determine if you have a gluten intolerance (see chapter 6).

- Address any intestinal or digestive dysfunction, such as an overgrowth of Candida. Taking probiotics helps improve digestion.

- Avoid food additives, particularly if your symptoms seem to worsen after ingesting additives.

- Eat a healthful, balanced diet. Avoid junk food, fast food, and processed food.

- Have your biochemical status checked to identify any nutritional deficiencies or imbalances, and take the appropriate supplements to correct them (see chapters 4 and 5).

- Deficiencies or imbalances in essential fatty acids and amino acids can contribute to neurotransmitter dysfunction. Consider whether you are a candidate for supplementation (see chapters 3–6).

- Have your doctor check for hormonal imbalances.

- Consult with your doctor about hypoglycemia. If you have this condition, there are dietary practices you can follow to correct it.

- Consider consulting a cranial osteopath to eliminate structural factors that may be contributing to your bipolar disorder (see chapter 7). Cranial compression can interfere with nervous system function.

- Work with your doctor to determine if you have any medical conditions that produce bipolar symptoms.

- Consult your doctor about whether any medications you are taking might be contributing to your bipolar disorder. Also ask about any antidepressants you are taking or considering taking; some can produce mania.

- Limit or avoid intake of alcohol and caffeine. Avoid recreational drugs, especially stimulants such as cocaine and amphetamines.

- Get sufficient sleep. Try to avoid “all-nighters.”

- Get regular exercise.

- Make sure to spend time outdoors every day. If lack of light is a problem for you, consider using full-spectrum light bulbs in your house or getting light therapy.

- Address energy imbalances through acupuncture, homeopathy, and other forms of energy medicine (see chapters 3 and 8-10).

- Explore psychospiritual issues through psychotherapy or other modalities (see chapters 3 and 10).

... Can you tell what's missing?

Скрит текст: покажи
Drinking enough water. I've always been aware that dehydration damages the work of the brain--and the whole body--but only during the last half a year, when I installed a water reminder app on my phone and started getting 2+ liters every day, did I realize that my perpetually congested nose doesn't have to be. :-O And once my nose is up and running--but not running in that ewww sense--so's my energy levels and my body as a whole. That was a much older observation, first gained from my granduncle [author:Илия Илиев|4167490], who was one of the pioneers of introducing yoga to Bulgaria, already during the totalitarian times.


~ Finally, an explanation that seems to make sense:
The Electromagnetic Body is the body's energetic field. Dr. Klinghardt explains it in terms of the traffic of information in the nervous system. “Eighty percent of the messages go up to the brain [from the body], and 20 percent of the messages go down from the brain [to the body]. The nerve currents moving up and down generate a magnetic field that goes out into space, creating an electromagnetic field around the body that interacts with other fields.”


~ For getting mercury out of the body, try the herb cilantro.

~ More about chelation:
This is a therapy that removes heavy metals from the body, among other therapeutic functions. DMPS (2,3-dimercaptopropane-1-sulfonate) is a substance used as a chelating agent, which means that it binds with heavy metals, notably mercury, and is then excreted from the body. DMPS can be administered orally, intravenously, or intramuscularly. Other chelation agents are cilantro, chlorella, alpha lipoic acid, and glutathione.


~ Hypoglycemia:
“It is critically important to control hypoglycemia in bipolar patients. Most are hypoglycemic,” says Dr. Weeks. “People just have coffee and doughnuts for breakfast, then they crash, and they have another coffee and doughnut. That can really exacerbate bipolar disorder.” Eating nutritionally balanced meals and avoiding coffee and fast-burning carbohydrates can help prevent hypoglycemia.


~ Dehydration, my love:
Dr. Weeks tells his patients to drink half their weight in ounces of bottled or filtered water daily. This means that if you weigh 150 pounds, you should drink 75 ounces of water a day. It is best not to drink the water with meals, as it dilutes digestive stomach acids and enzymes, he says. He advises keeping bottles of water by the bed and in the bathroom, so you can drink 16 ounces of water as soon as you wake up in the morning, and another 16 ounces when you brush your teeth. He tells his patients to treat it “like it's heart medication. Just as most of us get heart attacks first thing in the morning and it's hardest to start your car in the morning, our most stressful time biochemically is first thing in the morning. That's when you really need to be well hydrated.”


~ GABA dysfunction:
GABA (gamma-aminobutyric acid) is an amino acid that also acts as a neurotransmitter. It exerts a calming effect on the brain. People with bipolar disorder typically have a deficiency of GABA and a dysfunction of some kind in their GABA receptor sites, says Dr. Weeks. Certain substances, including alcohol and the tranquilizers Valium and Klonopin, stimulate GABA receptors, he explains, adding that “back rubs and massage, nice music and lullabies” do so as well. GABA can be taken as an amino acid supplement to promote GABA's calming influence on the brain. However, “if the receptors don't work, plenty of GABA won't help,” Dr. Weeks notes.


~ Essential fatty acid deficiency:
Dr. Weeks assumes unless it is proven otherwise that his patients with bipolar disorder are deficient in essential fatty acids, specifically the omega-3s. A simple blood test, called the red blood cell membrane-essential fatty acid panel, confirms this. “It's also easy to test by asking about the person's dietary history,” he notes. If McDonald's French fries and other junk foods containing trans-fatty acids feature prominently in the diet, then EFA deficiency is more than likely, he explains.


~ More microelements to check:
While every individual is different, the top four biochemical trends in frequency of occurrence in the people with bipolar disorder who come to PTC are a methylation disorder that results in too high or too low levels of neurotransmitters, essential fatty acid imbalance, metal-metabolism problems, and pyroluria, a disorder that leads to extreme deficiencies in zinc, vitamin B6, and arachidonic acid, an omega-6 essential fatty acid.


(...) people with obsessive-compulsive disorder tend to have very low copper levels, he explains, as do sociopaths (people with antisocial personality disorder). In bipolar disorder, the undermethylated type also has low copper, while the overmethylated type has high copper levels, and the pyroluric type has severe zinc and metallothionein deficiencies. Dr. Walsh emphasizes that it is the ratio of copper to zinc that is important here.


The classic signs of zinc and B6 deficiency, which tend to go together, serve as an alert for pyroluria. These include sensitivity to bright light, little or no dream recall, a tendency to skip breakfast, and preference for spicy food. Treatment for pyroluria focuses on supplementation with zinc, vitamin B6, and augmenting nutrients.


~ The difference between serotonin and dopamine + norepenephrine:
Both serotonin and dopamine/norepinephrine deficiencies are characterized by depression, but the depressions are of different kinds. With low serotonin, it is the agitated, restless, anxious, worried form of depression, the negative, dark cloud variety, says Ross. “It is not the can't-get-out-of-bed kind. In fact, often they wish they could get into bed because they're up pacing and worrying, having dark thoughts at night.” Suicidal thoughts and sleep problems of all kinds (inability to fall asleep, waking up in the night, inability to fall back asleep) are common, as are irritability, anger, and edginess. All forms of fear, from nervous worry to panic attacks, are also characteristic of serotonin deficiency.

While this cluster of symptoms may understandably cause people “to assume that they are seriously mentally ill, perhaps traumatized by an early childhood distress,” notes Ross, having heard this from numerous clients, “in fact, in many cases all of it can be eliminated practically overnight by taking L-tryptophan or 5-HTP, which are quickly converted to serotonin.”

In contrast to that of serotonin deficiency, the depression manifested in dopamine/norepinephrine deficiency is not an “agitated depression. This is the flat, wanting-to-stay-in-bed-all-day depression,” explains Ross. With this neurotransmitter deficiency, people “are tired, they can't concentrate, and their vitality and ambition are compromised.” L-tyrosine and L-phenylalanine are the amino acid supplements needed to reverse this deficiency. (Omega-3 fish oil is helpful with this kind of depression as well.)

A stressed-out, burned-out state is the number one symptom of GABA deficiency, says Ross. “People lacking in this neurotransmitter describe themselves as ‘overwhelmed, stressed out, burned out, and tense.’ They have that kind of wired inability to relax, but it's more physical than mental. They're stiff; their bodies tend to be erect rather than relaxed.” They are chronically in the fight-or-flight response, with its attendant adrenaline flow. “They feel as if they're ‘on’ all the time, they can't turn off, and they're exhausted from it.” GABA as an amino acid supplement is indicated in these cases. The other “relaxing aminos,” taurine and glycine, can be used as corollary calming agents.

(...) Deficiency of endorphins, the natural painkillers, results in vulnerability to physical and emotional pain. Typical signs are being “overly sensitive to emotional injury. People hurt their feelings, and they just can't get over it,” states Ross. “They're just emotionally exposed, raw.” The amino acid building blocks for endorphins are DL-phenylalanine and D-phenylalanine.


~ Hmm, gluten:
Gluten is a protein found in wheat, barley, rye, oats, and other cereal grains, and added to many commercial foods. During digestion, this large protein (consisting of long chains of amino acids) is first broken down into smaller peptides before being further reduced into its amino acid components. Peptides are similar to endorphins, substances that athletes know as the source of “runner's high.” The peptide form of gluten is called glutemorphin. It is an opioid, meaning that it has an opium-like effect on brain cells.

Gluten is difficult to digest, and many people develop an intolerance to it, which means that the body regards it as a foreign substance and the immune system launches an immune reaction against it. In addition, researchers theorize that incomplete digestion of gluten leads to excessive absorption of glutemorphins from the intestines into the bloodstream, which leads in turn to their passage across the blood-brain barrier, where they exert their opioid effects.


-> Check if there're cranial osteopaths in Bulgaria.

~ Now let's move beyond the body:

In the Dagara tradition, the community helps the person reconcile the energies of both worlds—”the world of the spirit that he or she is merged with, and the village and community.” That person is able then to serve as a bridge between the worlds and help the living with information and healing they need. Thus, the spiritual crisis ends with the birth of another healer. “The other world's relationship with our world is one of sponsorship,” Dr. Somé explains. “More often than not, the knowledge and skills that arise from this kind of merger is a knowledge or a skill that is provided directly from the other world.”

The beings who were increasing the pain of the inmates on the mental hospital ward were actually attempting to merge with the inmates in order to get messages through to this world. The people they had chosen to merge with were getting no assistance in learning how to be a bridge between the worlds, and the beings’ attempts to merge were thwarted. The results were the sustaining of the initial disorder of energy and the aborting of the birth of a healer.

“The Western culture has consistently ignored the birth of the healer,” states Dr. Somé. “Consequently, there will be a tendency from the other world to keep trying as many people as possible in an attempt to get somebody's attention. They have to try harder.” The spirits are drawn to people whose senses have not been anesthetized. “The sensitivity is pretty much read as an invitation to come in,” he notes.

Those who develop so-called mental disorders are those who are sensitive. Western culture views sensitivity as oversensitivity. Indigenous cultures don't see sensitivity that way, and as a result, sensitive people don't experience themselves as overly sensitive. In the West, “it is the overload of the culture they're in that is just wrecking them,” observes Dr. Somé. The frenetic pace, the bombardment of the senses, and the violent energy that characterize Western culture can overwhelm sensitive people.


And:
The ancestral spirit of the natural world comes visiting. “It's not so much what the spirit wants as it is what the person wants,” he says. “The spirit sees in us a call for something grand, something that will make life meaningful, and so the spirit is responding to that.”

That call, which we don't even know we are making, reflects “a strong longing for a profound connection, a connection that transcends materialism and possession of things and moves into a tangible cosmic dimension. Most of this longing is unconscious, but for spirits, conscious or unconscious doesn't make any difference.” They respond to either.


~ And finally, the lessons:
So what does bipolar have to teach? A common theme might be learning how to bring balance into one's life. Most of us are trying to achieve this, and it is a challenge amidst the juggling act of modern life, characterized by overstimulation, overscheduling, and overproduction. Bipolar disorder may be an extreme way of learning moderation and balance, but sometimes that's what it takes. People with bipolar disorder, having faced this challenge to its greatest degree perhaps, are in a unique position to teach others about balance.

Many people with bipolar speak of the guilt, shame, pain, or regret they feel over what they have done in manic states. Perhaps the lesson here is learning how to forgive and love oneself, which naturally leads to greater forgiveness and love of others. Most of us on the planet could learn more about that. Learning that lesson is the center of soul work and truly a gift. Again, people with bipolar disorder have much to teach in this area.

Every illness has the potential to teach those afflicted how to take better care of themselves. While you might think that you are already doing that—by eating a good diet and exercising, for example—illness has a way of highlighting those areas you have neglected. Illness teaches you to attend to body, mind, and spirit and shows you the parts of you that are hurting. If you seize this opportunity, you can bring the different levels of yourself into alignment and find your way to a sense of wholeness that brings joy and contentment with it. This kind of happiness is sustaining, in contrast to the high of mania, which is transitory or turns torturous.
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Re: Книги, автори, размисли творчески и човешки

Postby Radiant Dragon » Sun Aug 09, 2020 5:04 pm

Тая книга е абсолютно spot on. Дори само нещата, които си извадил като цитати, са (ми) хипер-полезни.

А колкото до графата "The difference between serotonin and dopamine + norepenephrine", там изглежда в много моменти съм имал недостиг/нефункциониране на няколко вида ендорфини накуп. Включително нечувствителни GABA рецептори.
(Нищо чудно, че ми стана толкова хубаво, когато бяхме в "Халбите" и дръпнах литър бира на екс на гладно...)

Това за духовете също ме размисли. По различен, но не по-малко полезен, начин.
Last edited by Кал on Sun Aug 09, 2020 5:33 pm, edited 1 time in total.
Reason: разкривам същественото ;)
IN ORDER TO RISE AGAINST THE TIDE, ONE MUST FIRST BE BELOW IT.

Аз съм графист, а не кечист.
(Ама вече разбирам и от кеч, ако трябва)
Аз съм. Това ми стига.

'Tis I, master of the first floor, aspirant to the last, the Radiant Dragon.


Accepting reality since 2017

And loving it since 2021


And now, I step fully into the Light, complete and replete. The way to Ascension is open.
-- some Dude, circa 2022

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Re: Книги, автори, размисли творчески и човешки

Postby Кал » Sun Aug 09, 2020 7:02 pm

Разговор в ГР покрай горния ми отзив:

Choko wrote:Just wanted to say, my brother has been dealing with bipolar disorder for many years. Several years ago he decided to stop all his medicine ( he was doing very well at the time, so he felt he could) and started exercising and eating a very healthy diet. For two years he "felt really good", and it was just enough to ruin his life, worry the family to death, and go in and out of jail for not being able to shut up when dealing with a policeman when stopped for driving too fast. Once they stopped him and he couldn't control his behavior, the began stopping him all the time and every stop ended up with "confrontation with a police officer" charge in jail. Finally, after his fourth stay for 30 days and after thousands of dollars I paid for bailing him out, my family was able to convince the judge to order a court enforced medical treatment. Because he was not going to take his meds, they are giving them to him once a month with injections. He is once again the brother I know and love. He is so much happier, after completely ruining his chances of teaching and tutoring because of his record now, he is doing little jobs, but at least he is not tormented by the illness like he was... I am so grateful for modern medicine!!! He is still living in a healthy way, but has learned not to listen to people preaching that a cure for all ills is just eat right and exercise... Just saying :)


Кал wrote:Thank you for sharing, Choko!

I have the opposite experience: I was diagnosed as bipolar in 2003, and took medications in 2003-4. They did nothing for me (except for making me even more depressed each time I had to go to my psychiatrist for the next prescription--but that has to do with the way the guy treated me rather than being an intrinsic problem ;). Ever since then, I've learnt to stabilize myself using various alternative methods; and I've also learnt to use the "energy boosts" productively. Basically, everything I've been doing for the past 15 years, including the Human Library and our translations into English, has been prompted and fueled by such "boosts"; you wouldn't know me if it hadn't been for them. ;)

That's why I find this book a really interesting and potentially useful compendium.


Choko wrote:I believe that it is very valuable and valid way for some people. The thing is, all mental illness is not the same for everyone. There are numerous cases where strict medicinal intervention is not necessary, just as there are many cases of misdiagnosis. However, we have to accept that just as there are those, there is another substantial population of people who are unable to function without their medicine. This is why I personally am afraid of who reads books like this, because it might be wonderful for most, but very harmful for some. The more Ill you are, the more desire for a "cure" and the more fervently they grasp for something that doesn't make them "different"... My brother was convinced, after a course like this, that any type of medicine is poison to the body. He became vegetarian, ate only "clean" foods, ran 5 miles every day and rode his bike... It made him impossible to have a normal conversation with... He is missing something in his brain chemistry and no amount of good living ( he could never calm down enough to be able to meditate), fixed it... He gave it two years, actually the rest of the world gave it two years, because he couldn't see anything being wrong with him, and once he was back among the thinking, he understood the damage he had inflicted on himself and the rest of us... So, I am sure it is great for mild cases, but for severe clinical cases, medical help should not be ignored.

I am sorry you had problems with your treatment when you were younger. I am also very happy that you found a way to channel your energy into something so wonderful as the Human Library! :D :thumbs-up: You are lucky that all you have are "boosts", not that overwhelming electric, almost maddening energy, which not only doesn't allow you to sit down, but to keep any thoughts on any point organized in your brain. If that was the case, you would be starting a thousand projects at the same time and completing none of them... Life is so full and exalting, but after several days of no sleep, it just becomes a torture... So I am happy you are you and grateful for it :D :hug: <#


Кал wrote:I absolutely agree that everyone (and their biochemistry) is different. The book itself emphasizes that strongly and frequently. What makes it useful is the sheer variety of approaches it brings together; if a reader has struggled for years with a particular approach, now they have quite a few others to explore.

In the beginning, my "boosts" were exactly what you described above. :D I remember that once, as I was sitting in front of a doctor's office, a ten-page academic paper "flew" through my mind: complete with a thesis and proofs and examples and a conclusion. :-O Unfortunately, at that speed, there was no way I could've written it down; it would've been interesting to see if it would make sense to anybody else. I had thousands of ideas, inexhaustible supplies of energy ... the works. But what helped me already from the start was that I'm very fond of 1) self-reflection; 2) completing whatever I start. So I gradually learnt to focus on a manageable amount of simultaneous projects. (And I still fail now and then. It's a neverending learning experience. :)

The problem with most medications is that they don't let you re-examine your own behaviour patterns, core values and beliefs, and in general find out what causes the biochemical imbalance (or what aggravates it). They bring you back to (some kind of) normal but deprive you of the opportunity to learn new things about yourself. At least that's what my experience and my observations of other people with similar conditions have shown.

And thank you, Choko! It's great to be able to talk about these things openly. <3


Choko wrote:It is! I myself have that lower grade bipolar, it is hereditary in our family, my mother was inflicted with it most of my life... I did need some medicine when I was younger, but just as you said, I am obsessive about starting something and finishing it to the end, so I learned to temper myself early, and I have been self regulating for the last 20 years. People like us experience life to the fullest - the good and the bad alike. We are often very creative and love others who are creative as well :). And the thing we always can rely on, people like us are usually very charming and make friends easily. That is also thanks to us being very familiar with the whole spectrum of human emotions... I have dedicated my whole adult life at working with others who struggle with mental health issues. This is what I ended up going to school for, so I see it on the more clinical side... It is a very emotionally exhausting job, but I am not sorry for doing it... I love it!

I agree about the medications often dulling the "self" and I am against overmedicating as well. I am dealing with a client who's parents can't deal with him at his highs and are constantly drugging him... This is not for him, because he is not dangerous at those times, he just requires a lot of attention... They obviously can't give it to him. I am getting to the point where I will need to step in and get a bit unpleasant. I hate that it has to be that way. They are very nice people, they just don't know of the long term consequences... Just sad...


Кал wrote:Wow, Choko! This conversation gets more exciting by the hour. :) (Now I should watch myself for getting overexcited ... and just before going to yet another evening of protests here in Bulgaria. Uh-oh. :D)

It's amazing that you made your personal experience into your vocation. I've been supporting people around me on a purely informal basis, as a friend and confidant, but I too believe such experiences should teach us to understand (and if possible, help) one another in deeper ways.

And now I'm off to those protests .... :)


В някой момент вероятно ще пренеса цялата нишка в темата „Целение“. Засега я оставям тук, за да бъде видима и за нерегистрирани потребители.

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Re: Книги, автори, размисли творчески и човешки

Postby Кал » Fri Aug 14, 2020 4:45 pm

My review of In an Absent Dream:

This novella won me over with its insights into children:
If this seems unusually mature for a child of six, it is, and it is not. Children are capable of grasping complex ideas long before most people give them credit for, wrapping them in a soothing layer of nonsense and illogical logic. To be a child is to be a visitor from another world muddling your way through the strange rules of this one, where up is always up, even when it would make more sense for it to be down, or backward, or sideways. Yet children can see the functionality of grief or understand the complexities of a parent’s love without hesitating. They find their way through. They deduce. Katherine had deduced, when the other children called her snobby or mean for not wanting them to cut her name short, when they had told her they couldn’t play with her because her daddy was the boss of their teacher and she would be a snitch someday, wait and see, that they weren’t going to change their minds about her.
Katherine was also, in many ways, a remarkable child. All children are: no two are sliced from the same clean cloth. It is simply that for some children, their remarkable attributes will take the form of being able to locate the nearest mud puddle without being directed toward it, even when there has been no rain for a month or more, or being able to scream in registers that cause the neighborhood bats to lose control of themselves and soar into kitchen windows. Katherine’s remarkability took the form of a quiet self-assuredness, a conviction that as long as she followed the rules, she could find her way through any maze, pass cleanly through any storm.


And into adults' absurdities:
She wasn’t sure exactly what one was supposed to do with a husband, but she was quite sure her father wouldn’t want to be there when she did it, as he sometimes made dire comments about girls who played with boys while they were all at the dinner table, always followed by a smile and a comment of “But you would never do that, would you, Katherine?”
She had assured him over and over that she wouldn’t, even though logic stated that one day she would, since boys became husbands and normal women had husbands and he wanted her to be a normal woman when she was all grown up. Parents lied to children when they thought it was necessary, or when they thought that it would somehow make things better. It only made sense that children should lie to parents in the same way.


And because it's unobtrusively beautiful:
The school bell rang loud and lofty across the campus, and the doors of the classrooms slammed open in euphonious unison as children boiled forth, clutching their schoolbags and their report cards in their hands, racing for the exits like they feared summer would be canceled if they dawdled too long. The teachers, who would normally have been demanding that they slow down, no running in the halls, indulgently watched them go. Some of it may have been the memory of their own school days, their own golden afternoons when the summer stretched ahead of them in an eternity of opportunity; some of it may simply have been exhaustion.


So I'm going to finish it when the rush is over.

... Or not. I'm putting it aside halfway through, because I was discovering fewer and fewer interesting things as I went farther.
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Re: Книги, автори, размисли творчески и човешки

Postby Кал » Sat Aug 15, 2020 4:26 pm

Мой отзив за „Сбогом, дневнико 2: Планински патаклами“:

Все тъй свежа и разсмиваща, та и размисляща. :)

Демонстрирам:

~ Хаха... почна се:
Мама също наминава и гледа критично как татко и чичо Веско се борят с бедствието в банята.

– Веско, той мене няма да ме послуша, ама ти поне му кажи да вземе да престане да експериментира и да се обади на истински водопроводчик.

– Истинският водопроводчик ще ни ошушка до стотинка! – вряска ѝ все татко.

Не мога да не се съглася с него. Всеки, който някога е играл на „Супер Марио“, знае, че основната цел на водопроводчика е да събере стотинките, преди да спаси принцесата.


– И домашните по история:
Всъщност тая работа с домашните Мая я предложи един път, след като Станевска ми завъртя двойка по история. Трябваше да напишем есе за един от хановете, който според нас е оставил най-голям принос в историята. Аз писах за Хан Соло. Ама за Станевска явно не се брои, че човекът е капитан на „Хилядолетния сокол“, прелетял е Пробега от Кесъл за по-малко от 12 парсека, помага на Люк да спаси принцеса Лея и да взриви Звездата на смъртта, и какво ли не още.


~ И един чудесен пример за моралната паника, която всява всичко ново:
Беше дошла една лелка и плямпаше за предотвратяване на агресията в училище и дрън-дрън. И пак ония простотии за насилието в компютърните игри. Честно ли?!?

После и за киберагресията започна, за това как подигравките в интернет са една от най-често срещаните причини за депресия у младите, и за това как тя, нищо че очевидно била пълнолетна, нямала акаунт в социалните мрежи... Тук половината клас се разкиска. Явно от прекалена грижа за подигравките в интернет жената не се беше замислила за съвсем реалните подигравки, които ще си отнесе, ако няма FriendBook профил. Също така бих ѝ казал, че ставането в 6 сутринта, домашните и контролните са далеч по-често срещани причини за депресия у младите, ама реших, че е по-добре да си трая... Тя явно не беше в час.

Понякога направо се чудя в какъв свят живеят възрастните? Май им се струва, че всичко е толкова просто...

След урока библиотекарката и тая лелка се заприказваха, явно много си се кефеха една на друга. Ние се ръчкахме с лакти и се блъскахме да излезем възможно най-бързо, но преди да се измъкна, ги чух как си приказват:

– Ами да, ние едно време гледахме „Лека нощ, деца“, четяха ни приказки, а днешните филмчета?

– Ужас просто! Моят племенник по цял ден гледа само „Кунгфу коала“. На какво се учат децата?

– Ох, не ми се мисли... Ще си патим с такава младеж. Вместо „Хензел и Гретел“ или „Червената шапчица“...

Да, бе, вярно. Как не се сетих за тях. Нека да послушаме още малко за зарязани в гората деца, които пърлят човекоядни вещици, или за оная, дето няма нищо под шапчицата си, щом не може да различи БАБА СИ от ВЪЛК! На който, между другото, после му разпорили корема и го напълнили с камъни. И те са тръгнали да ми приказват за насилието в компютърните игри?!?!? Пффф!


~ Книгата продължава да ме държи в напрежение (на коремните мускули ;)) – но всъщност моментите, заради които ще я помня най-дълго, са тези:
– Коста е зад хижата - каза Стефчо, без да съм го питал.

– Аха...

Ритнах още едно камъче.

После се запътих към поляната зад хижата.

Отзад, сред избуяла трева и коприва, имаше куп дърва за огрев и един дръвник като тоя, дето баба държи на село в двора. Точно там беше седнал Коста.

Знам, че ме беше забелязал, но не реагира по никакъв начин.

Седнах до него на дръвника.

– Намерих това в дерето – казах и му подадох портфейла.

Коста ме погледна и взе портфейла си от издраната ми ръка.

– Благодаря – рече и заби поглед в обувките си.

– Доста тъпо беше да го хвърлиш.

– Знам... Отвори ли го?

– Ъхъ.

– Все ми е тая за парите. Ама картичката с Дева Мария е от църквата, в която са ме кръстили. Ценна ми е.

Малко си помълчахме.

– А снимката? – попитах после аз.

– И снимката ми е ценна.

– Това са майка ти и баща ти, нали?

– Да. Преди две години. Последната ни снимка заедно, преди да ми кажат, че се развеждат.

Коста подсмръкна и избърса очите си с ръкава на блузата си.

И ако щеш вярвай, дневнико... в тоя момент си дадох сметка за нещо. Мене утре вкъщи ме очакваше конското на годината. Кой знае, може би дори шамари... Ама поне и конското, и шамарите щяха да са и от двамата – от мама и от татко. И предпочитам двойно конско пред това поотделно да ми купуват по колело и телефон.
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Re: Книги, автори, размисли творчески и човешки

Postby frog » Wed Aug 19, 2020 2:06 am

Мъхътъ... Кунгфу коала... Еее, тия лафове са по-добри от предните.

предпочитам двойно конско пред това поотделно да ми купуват по колело и телефон.

Или бащата за еснафски престиж да купува на детето си нов смартфон тип широкоекранен телевизор, дето хич не му трябва, а майката, пък и детето, трудно да свързват всеки неговия си край.
Да не се бърка с историята за телефона от първата книга. Щото детето като малко имаше все неготини доизносвани дрехи. Сега гледат да е добре облечено (не заради тогава), но спря да му пука за облеклото заради всеобщата повърхностност.

Изкушавам се да взема на баща ми някоя от тези книги. Дали ще схване хумора? Това за еколозите не виждам как ще го разбере.
Бесовете ви чувам“ ~ Jane Eyre Grisel. I refuse to be there for you when you need me.

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