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a Christmas message from the WPISide by side, their faces blurred,
The earl and countess lie in stone,
Their proper habits vaguely shown
As jointed armour, stiffened pleat,
And that faint hint of the absurd—
The little dogs under their feet.
Such plainness of the pre-baroque
Hardly involves the eye, until
It meets his left-hand gauntlet, still
Clasped empty in the other; and
One sees, with a sharp tender shock,
His hand withdrawn, holding her hand.
They would not think to lie so long.
Such faithfulness in effigy
Was just a detail friends would see:
A sculptor’s sweet commissioned grace
Thrown off in helping to prolong
The Latin names around the base.
They would not guess how early in
Their supine stationary voyage
The air would change to soundless damage,
Turn the old tenantry away;
How soon succeeding eyes begin
To look, not read. Rigidly they
Persisted, linked, through lengths and breadths
Of time. Snow fell, undated. Light
Each summer thronged the glass. A bright
Litter of birdcalls strewed the same
Bone-riddled ground. And up the paths
The endless altered people came,
Washing at their identity.
Now, helpless in the hollow of
An unarmorial age, a trough
Of smoke in slow suspended skeins
Above their scrap of history,
Only an attitude remains:
Time has transfigured them into
Untruth. The stone fidelity
They hardly meant has come to be
Their final blazon, and to prove
Our almost-instinct almost true:
What will survive of us is love.
The earl and countess lie in stone,
Their proper habits vaguely shown
As jointed armour, stiffened pleat,
And that faint hint of the absurd—
The little dogs under their feet.
Such plainness of the pre-baroque
Hardly involves the eye, until
It meets his left-hand gauntlet, still
Clasped empty in the other; and
One sees, with a sharp tender shock,
His hand withdrawn, holding her hand.
They would not think to lie so long.
Such faithfulness in effigy
Was just a detail friends would see:
A sculptor’s sweet commissioned grace
Thrown off in helping to prolong
The Latin names around the base.
They would not guess how early in
Their supine stationary voyage
The air would change to soundless damage,
Turn the old tenantry away;
How soon succeeding eyes begin
To look, not read. Rigidly they
Persisted, linked, through lengths and breadths
Of time. Snow fell, undated. Light
Each summer thronged the glass. A bright
Litter of birdcalls strewed the same
Bone-riddled ground. And up the paths
The endless altered people came,
Washing at their identity.
Now, helpless in the hollow of
An unarmorial age, a trough
Of smoke in slow suspended skeins
Above their scrap of history,
Only an attitude remains:
Time has transfigured them into
Untruth. The stone fidelity
They hardly meant has come to be
Their final blazon, and to prove
Our almost-instinct almost true:
What will survive of us is love.
My family is woven into European history. As a royal, you have a damned duty to know what the story is about. It is one's whole raison d'être that one is part of that history. --Dagmar (Zarina Marija Fjodorovna) married a Russian because it was in Denmark's interest, but she also took it fully upon herself. And her children met such a horrible end.This media is not supported in your browser
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"AI technology is the devil"
AI tech:
AI tech:
Forwarded from Retard's Retort
If the forces of the World Toad are planning to use AI to drown the world in a cacophony of ugliness and falsehood, we must in turn use it to create a symphony of beauty and truth. Generating waifu pics and conjuring Dan out of chatGPT are but embryonic forms of a nascent cultural reconquista.
Forwarded from 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐁𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐂𝐥𝐮𝐛
He does not love his cat, but his cat’s kittens; nor, in truth, the kittens, but only the kittens’ kittens, and so on forward forever to the end of cat-dom. The “purposive” man is always trying to secure a spurious and delusive immortality for his acts by pushing his interest in them forward into time.R e t r o g r a d e d , n o t L e f t B e h in d.
— Whoever, in the present day, still derives his
development from religious sentiments, and perhaps lives
for some length of time afterwards in metaphysics
and art, has assuredly gone back a considerable
distance and begins his race with other modern
men under unfavourable conditions ; he apparently
loses time and space. But because he stays in
those domains where ardour and energy are
liberated and force flows continuously as a volcanic
stream out of an inexhaustible source, he goes
forward all the more quickly as soon as he has
freed himself at the right moment from those
dominators; his feet are winged, his breast has
learned quieter, longer, and more enduring
breathing. He has only retreated in order to
have sufficient room to leap ; thus something
terrible and threatening may lie in this retrograde
movement.
— Whoever, in the present day, still derives his
development from religious sentiments, and perhaps lives
for some length of time afterwards in metaphysics
and art, has assuredly gone back a considerable
distance and begins his race with other modern
men under unfavourable conditions ; he apparently
loses time and space. But because he stays in
those domains where ardour and energy are
liberated and force flows continuously as a volcanic
stream out of an inexhaustible source, he goes
forward all the more quickly as soon as he has
freed himself at the right moment from those
dominators; his feet are winged, his breast has
learned quieter, longer, and more enduring
breathing. He has only retreated in order to
have sufficient room to leap ; thus something
terrible and threatening may lie in this retrograde
movement.