the fact that there are animals who can see colors that i cant which means that there are colors that exist that it is literally impossible for me to envision is such fucking bullshit that i wanna rip open a couch and eat it
“I learned that [Italo Calvino] had already tried out—and flunked—one English translator, and I wanted to know the reason for my colleague’s dismissal. Indiscreetly, Calvino showed me the correspondence. One of the stories in the volume was called “Without Colors.” In an excess of misguided originality, the translator had entitled the piece “In Black and White.” Calvino’s letter of dismissal pointed out that black and white are colors. I signed on.”—The Art of Fiction No. 130 - Italo Calvino, The Paris Review (via borgevino)
laughing at the people arguing about whether loki meant “i did it for frigga” or “i did it for you” when he said “i didn’t do it for him”
because, seriously, that’s it. that’s the character. that stubborn ambiguity is the whole point. the only thing more difficult than catching loki in a lie is pinning him with the truth. what he actually says is probably literally true: he didn’t do it for odin. but who did he do it for? himself? thor? frigga? all of the above? none of the above? some combination of the above? does he even know why he does what he does? probably not! and, heck, we don’t even know what he actually did yet!
so the real question is this: “what emotional response did he desire from thor that caused him to say that particular thing in that particular way at that particular moment?” and i think we alllllllllllll know the answer to that one.
all loki has ever needed is the truth and a crooked star to steer her by, and that’s what i love about this character. it’s impossible for me to get invested in someone who simply lies all the time, but a character who fashions the truth into a weapon is endlessly fascinating, because the shape of the resulting blade always always always says more about them then it does about their intended victim.
#you know how cats wake up and stretch along the back of couches with their claws out and pricking in the upholstery?#I just want to do that with this post#just pleased-cat-scratch all over it#yeeeeeesssssssssssssss#*rubs head against post and purrs*#*in a totally non-creepy way*
"I’m not vaccinating my kids because they’ll build up immunity naturally anyway"
Excuse me, when I was born I reacted badly to the first round of injections given to me and didn’t have anymore - and I have never had an injection at any other point in my life. I’ve never had any serious illness in my life.
It’s the parents’ decision whether their young children have injections or not, not someone on the freaking internet.
It is well established that a small percentage of the population is unable to receive vaccinations for various medically valid reasons. The reason you did not get sick despite not being vaccinated is that you were protected by herd immunity. Herd immunity means that if enough people are vaccinated, diseases are much less likely to gain a foothold in the population due to there being very few available hosts. Those diseases, unable to find enough hosts to multiply and mutate, die off quickly and do not present a threat to the general population. Once vaccination levels begin to drop, however, herd immunity no longer protects those who are unable to be vaccinated (very young infants, those with immune deficiencies, those who are allergic to the inert contents of vaccines, etc…). As someone who is unable to be vaccinated, you should be urging everyone who is able to receive vaccines to get them. All of those people are what is standing between you and vulnerability to many deadly but preventable diseases. This is why vaccines are a public health issue, not a frivolous personal choice.
Let me tell you: if you want a heartbroken, overconfident, self-loathing trickster nobleman caroming off all corners of Europe post-Henry VIII, then you want Francis Crawford of Lymond. And if you survive the rocks on which he is tossed to book five, you get Tsar Ivan the Terrible and Russia rising out of the wreckage of Mongol rule. Not that it’s the high point of the series, but it might be a selling point. The high points I’ll leave as secrets to be sprung when you least suspect.
When you are left exposed like a seedless dandelion after an anarchic shitstorm, don’t bend down & yank your roots from the ground. Don’t dream of licking the dirt from your fingernails. Don’t vibrate on the breeze of blame. Don’t dress yourself in the darkness of victimhood or suffocate yourself with shame. This loss is not death. Imagine a blaze of breath spilling from a pair of thick lips stained with your wine. Think of yourself a necklace lolling on a lover’s neck still wet with kiss. Sever your perception from truth by popping your head off. Shove every sad song into the hollow of your stem & spread the milk on your skin like salve. Learn by heart that you can’t predict the weather only prepare for it. You will outgrow this. You are lion’s teeth. You are medicine tongue. Your roots are resilience. When you have your heart under a magnifying glass the only thing left to do is sing for the sun & light yourself on fire. Be ready for the next good gust but remember that you are not a candle. You are not a match. You are a goddamn wildfire.
There were two kingdoms only: the first of them threw out both him and me. The second we abandoned.
Under a bare sky I for a long time soaked in the rain of my body, he for a long time rotted in the rain of his.
Then like a poison he drank the fondness of the years. He held my hand with a trembling hand. “Come, let’s have a roof over our heads awhile. Look, further on ahead, there between truth and falsehood, a little empty space.”
Translated from the Punjabi by D.H. Tracy & Mohan Tracy.
“I should throw something, perhaps,” said Sounis, “but I do not think it would relieve my feelings.”
“I have not found it to do so,” said Eddis.
“Gen evidently does.”
“Gen is Gen,” said Eddis.
“Gen is a bastard,” said the king of Sounis.”—Megan Whalen Turner, A Conspiracy of Kings
“‘The book will kill the building,’ Frollo declares in Book V, Chapter I, and then Hugo’s narrator elucidates in the next chapter. The printing press will change everything, has changed everything, is an endless architectural monument producing bricks for a tower, and replaces monuments like Notre-Dame itself. And, of course, he is right, because here is this novel, safe from weather, fire, revolutions, renovations, earthquakes. It cannot be blown up by man or toppled over by God; it fits in your hand but is larger than a cathedral.
Reader, here is your book.
Elizabeth McCracken, introduction to Hunchback of Notre-Dame
“The magus and I both thought it was unwise to use the main pass, and we went back to the one we had used years ago when we went adventuring after Hamiathes’s Gift. Both of us were thinking of that trip, when we had ridden out of Sounis with the conquest of Eddis in mind. So much had changed since then.
It was only a little less daunting than it had been on the first trip. Our way was cut through solid stone by the trickle of a stream at the bottom of a gorge, and there were many places where we climbed straight up with only shallow handholds carved into the rock for aid. I was stronger than I had been, and the handholds seemed closer together than they had been before, but still, it was hard going, and I was tired out by the end of the first day. In the evening, at a tiny cookfire, looking at the climb that waited for us in the morning, the magus said thoughtfully, “That lying little monster complained about everything: the food, the horses, the blankets, the company. He even found fault with the stories I told by the fire, but I cannot recall that he ever once complained about the climbing.”
“So many things are obvious in retrospect, aren’t they?” I said.
The magus looked at me seriously, and then he smiled. “Indeed,” he said.”—A Conspiracy of Kings by Megan Whalen Turner
an important conclusion reached by chloe and i today while watching henry iv pt. 1:
we think of shakespeare as writing in a Dignified Manner up in his room with a quill and looking very serious and occasionally getting writer’s block and staring dramatically out the window as he pens kingly speeches
but it is probably likely that a good 50% of the gorier ones were written in a tavern with kit & ben looking over his shoulder going “oh my god oh my god bill put him in a pie OH MY GOD NOW MAKE HER EAT THE PIE, oh my god ‘OUT YOU MAD-HEADED APE’ that’s fucking HILARIOUS, do a dick joke next, somebody order another beer”