marika hackman - ‘81
i remember being at a gig when she announced she was doing a joanna newsom cover and internally screaming + fumbling for my phone to record + making awkward creepy-grinning eye contact all at the same time. i rarely like covers of joanna newsom songs, but this makes me so happy.
“Perfection is not just about control; it is also about letting go.”
what to wear when…in a tunisian fairy tale.examples: sabra وزوجها gadanfar الذي كان أسد (sabra and her lion-husband gadanfar), وفاة أبي nowas وزوجتهg (the death of abu nowas and of his wife), قصة حب غريبة من gador وbaya (the strange love story of gador and baya)
[tunisian] female storytellers reclaim and reconstruct the figure of the patient wife to combat discourses that undermine women’s agency and sense of power…thematically, the story of the [fairy tale motif of the patient wife] is this: a wife endures silently her husband’s cruelty for many years while he deprives her of her family and friends, her children, and even her position as wife. when she finally speaks out, he praises her patience, recognizes her as his wife, and reunites her with her children, now grown…[in the west,] the griselda tale fits the medieval patriarchal paradigm and we can easily read this story as reinforcing normative values and aiming at the domestication and repression of women [but] the motif of the patient wife, as received by the north african audience, is heard differently…[variants found in الجمهورية التونسية and المغرب] often emphasize the patient wife’s role in reforming her husband, preserving the family, and thereby restoring order to their marriage and her life [and] emphasizes the husband’s reform and domestication in his devotion to sabra. whereas at the beginning of the tale both husband and wife are fragmented, the tale ends with two complete humans collaborating in creating a family…the narrator of the sabra tale might choose to position patience and humility as virtues…this emphasis on patience and its practice represents a difference between the cultures…in arabic, connotations of the noun sabr (patience) include composure, equanimity, steadfastness, firmness, self-control, self-command, self-possession, perseverance, endurance, and hardiness, reflecting the actively resistant potential of patience. in muslim arabic [fairy tales], the discourse of patience and resistance transcends the boundaries of gender to become the ultimate principle of life, weaving the fabric of community and providing a model for all to follow.
post 665 of an infinity-part series
Andy Goldsworthy works with nature only and creates so-called land art. His works are vulnerable and transient. For his ephermal works, Goldsworthy often uses only his bare hands, teeth and found tools to prepare and arrange the materials.
seems that you and i; our paths were e n t w i n e d from the very start.
remember who the real enemy is.
Google Doodle for Maria Callas 90th Birthday
Of Monsters and Men | Silhouettes
The Patience Stone (2012) - dir. Atiq Rahimi
7 Villains - [7/7] Evil Fairy from “Sleeping Beauty”
“The oldest Fairy’s turn coming next, with a head shaking more with spite than age, she said, that the Princess should have her hand pierced with a spindle, and die of the wound. This terrible gift made the whole company tremble, and every body fell a-crying.”
"I want to give my thanks to the tributes of District Eleven," I say. I look at the pair of women on Thresh’s side. "I only ever spoke to Thresh one time. Just long enough for him to spare my life. I didn’t know him, but I always respected him. For his power. For his refusal to play the Games on anyone’s terms but his own. The Careers wanted him to team up with them from the beginning, but he wouldn’t do it. I respected him for that."
For the first time the old hunched woman - is she Thresh’s grandmother? - raises her head and the trace of a smile plays on her lips.
The crowd has fallen silent now, so silent that I wonder how they manage it. They must all be holding their breath. I turn to Rue’s family. “But I feel as if I did know Rue, and she’ll always be with me. Everything beautiful brings her to mind. I see her in the yellow flowers that grow in the Meadow by my house. I see her in the mockingjays that sing in the trees. But most of all, I see her in my sister, Prim.” My voice is undependable, but I am almost finished. “Thank you for your children.” I raise my chin to address the crown. “And thank you for all the bread.” I stand there, feeling broken and small, thousands of eyes trained on me, There’s a long pause. Then, from somewhere in the crowd, someone whistles Rue’s four-note mockingjay tune. The one that signalled the end of the workday in the orchards. The one that meant safety in the arena. By the end of the tune, I have found the whistler, a wizened old man in a faded red shirt and overalls. His eyes meet mine.
What happens next is not an accident. It is too well executed to be spontaneous, because it happens in complete unison. Every person in the crowd presses the three middle fingers of their left hand against their lips and extends them to me. It’s our sign from District 12, the last goodbye I gave Rue in the arena.
And I heard, as it were, the noise of thunder, one of the four beasts saying, “Come and see.” Then, behold, a pale horse, and his name that sat on him was Death, and Hell followed with him.