We are the echo of the

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    We are the echo of the future
    On the door it says what to do to survive
    But we were not born to survive
    Only to live

    –W. S. Merwin.

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It is not enough to destroy

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    It is not enough to destroy one’s own and other people’s experience. One must overlay this devastation by a false consciousness inured, as Marcuse puts it, to its own falsity.

    Exploitation must not be seen as such. It must be seen as benevolence. Persecution preferably should not need to be invalidated as the figment of a paranoid imagination; it should be experienced as kindness. Marx described mystification and showed its function in his day. Orwell’s time is already with us. The colonists not only mystify the natives, in the way that Fanon so clearly shows, they have to mystify themselves. We in Europe and North America are the colonists, and in order to sustain our amazing images of ourselves as God’s gift to the vast majority of the starving human species, we have to interiorize our violence upon ourselves and our children and to employ the rhetoric of morality to describe this process.

    In order to rationalize our industrial-military complex, we have to destroy our capacity to see clearly any more what is in front of, and to imagine what is beyond, our noses. Long before a thermonuclear war can come about, we have had to lay waste to our own sanity. We begin with the children. It is imperative to catch them in time. Without the most thorough and rapid brainwashing their dirty minds would see through our dirty tricks. Children are not yet fools, but we shall turn them into imbeciles like ourselves, with high I.Q.’s, if possible.

    From the moment of birth, when the Stone Age baby confronts the twentieth-century mother, the baby is subjected to those forces of violence, called love, as its mother and father, and their parents and their parents before them, have been. These forces are mainly concerned with destroying most of its potentialities, and on the whole this enterprise is successful. By the time the new human being is fifteen or so, we are left with a being like ourselves, a half-crazed creature more or less adjusted to a mad world. This is normality in our present age.

    Love and violence, properly speaking, are polar opposites. Love lets the other be, but with affection and concern. Violence attempts to constrain the other’s freedom, to force him to act in the way we desire, but with ultimate lack of concern, with indifference to the other’s own existence or destiny.

    We are effectively destroying ourselves by violence masquerading as love.

    –R.D.Laing from: “The Politics of Experience”

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Subhankar Banerjee

    Indian born artist-educator-activist Subhankar Banerjee uses photography to raise awareness about issues that threaten the health and well-being of our planet. Since 2001 he has focused all his efforts on indigenous human rights and land conservation issues in the American Arctic. His photographic work from the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge was instrumental in the United States Congress to defeat oil drilling legislation and preserve this ecological treasure both for wildlife and for the indigenous human cultures, the Gwich’in and the Inupiat communities. His Arctic photographs have been exhibited widely in museums in the United States and Europe and published in over one hundred magazines and newspapers internationally. He has lectured extensively to educate the public about land conservation, resource wars and cultural diversity issues. He has received many awards for his Arctic work including the inaugural Cultural Freedom Fellowship from Lannan Foundation and the inaugural Greenleaf Artist Award from the United Nations Environment Programme. Subhankar makes his home in Santa Fe, New Mexico.
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Pynant


Remains – Porth y Nant

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SLS & Colloquia & The Obvious, R.D. Laing

    I started to try to see through the dense opacity of social events from the study of certain people who were labelled psychotic or neurotic, as seen in mental hospitals, psychiatric units and out-patient clinics. I began to see that I was involved in the study of situations and not simply of individuals. It seemed (and this still seems to be the case) that the study of such situations was arrested in three principal ways. In the first place the behaviour of such people was regarded as signs of a pathological process that was going on in them, and only secondarily of anything else. The whole subject was enclosed in a medical metaphor. In the second place this medical metaphor conditioned the conduct of all those who were enclosed by it, doctors and patients. Thirdly, through this metaphor the person who was the patient in the system, being isolated from the system, could no longer be seen as a person: as a corollary, it was also difficult for the doctor to behave as a person. A person does not exist without a social context. You cannot take a person out of his social context and still see him as a person, or act towards him as a person. If one does not act towards the other as a person, one depersonalizes oneself.

    Someone is gibbering away on his knees, talking to someone who is not there. Yes, he is praying. If one does not accord him the social intelligibility of this behaviour, he can only be seen as mad. Out of social context, his behaviour can only be the outcome of an unintelligible “psychological” and/or “physical” process, for which he requires treatment. This metaphor sanctions a massive ignorance of the social context within which the person was interacting. It also renders any genuine reciprocity between the process of labelling (the practice of psychiatry) and of being labelled (the role of patient) as impossible to conceive as it is to observe. Someone whose mind is imprisoned in the metaphor cannot see it as a metaphor. It is just obvious. How, he will say, can diagnosing someone as ill who is obviously ill, make him ill? Or make him better, for that matter? Some of us began to realize that this aspect of the theory and practice of psychiatry was an essay in non-dialectical thinking and practice. However, once one had got oneself out of the straightjacket of this metaphor, it was possible to see the function of this anti-dialectical exercise. The unintelligibility of the experience and behaviour of the diagnosed person is created by the person diagnosing him, as well as by the person diagnosed. This stratagem seems to serve specific functions within the structure of the system in which it occurs.

    I was struck by a remark that Sir Julian Huxley made to me a few years ago. He said he thought the most dangerous link in the chain was obedience. That we have been trained, and we train our children, so that we and they are prepared to do practically anything if told to do it by a sufficient authority. It is always said, “it couldn’t happen here,” but it is always happening here.’

    We can put no trust in princes, popes, politicians, scholars, or scientists, our worst enemy or our best friend. With the greatest precautions, we may put trust in a source that is much deeper than our egos-if we can trust ourselves to have found it, or rather, to have been found by it. It is obvious that it is hidden, but what it is and where it is, is not obvious.

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The official website of Nuri Bilge Ceylan photography

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Bienvenue sur le Site officiel de la harpiste celtique et chanteuse Cécil

Cécile Corbel

on myspace

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YouTube – Respire – Mickey 3D

Breathe

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RAFAL TARAS – MALARSTWO www.rafaltaras.com

    I know where Sadness lives
    Among roses and the clouds
    In memory-haunted houses
    With long sun-stained walls

    I know the paths it walks at sunset and dawn
    The twilights between worlds
    The cliffs from where it watches
    The tide go out and return

    I know where it lies down to sleep
    And where its coat is kept
    On an empty peg in the wardrobe
    Of Always Never Yet

    ~stef.

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Untitled

[Cartoon from here]

    “THE MOOMINS AND THE GREAT FLOOD

    by TOVE JANSSON

    It must have been late in the afternoon one day at the end of August when Moomintroll and his mother arrived at the deepest part of the great forest. It was completely quiet, and so dim between the trees that it was as though twilight had already fallen. Here and there giant flowers grew, glowing with a peculiar light like flickering lamps, and furthest in among the shadows small, cold green points moved.

    ‘Glow-worms,’ said Moominmamma, but they had no time to stop and take a closer look at them. They were searching for a nice, warm place where they could build a house to crawl into when winter came. Moomins cannot stand the cold at all, so the house would have to be ready by October at the latest.

    Continued…

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