frost giants or manheimr steamroller

Here’s a clever and cute depiction of the nine worlds of Norse mythology, linked together by the cosmic tree of life, Yggdrasill. The legend of the map is accepted by most, the populations of each planet, like Manheimr home world to the humans or Jötunheimr for the Giants and with the same cast of characters, like the Squirrel, Ratatoskr, a mercurial figure that spreads gossips and carries insult from world to world, the different creatures assaulting the tree and the Eagle perched high above and stirring the winds on Earth with its wings. There is quite a bit of disagreement, apparently, on how these realms are arranged and relate to one another.

Were there supposed to be three levels, triads grouped together and clinging to the tree, like the chthonic, mundane and Olympian hierarchies of Greek mythology—or something completely different?

It is interesting, I think, how there are nine distinct regions and the Earth is acknowledged as just one among these—like the ninish planets of the Solar System, and that the Sun and Moon are not figured into the cosmology. Here is also an illustration from Carl Gustav Jung’s Red Book (Liber Novus) representing a similar archetype but perhaps as a tree of self-actualization. Having devoted sixteen years of work and reflection to this tome in order to better understand and explore his own theories on the collective unconsciousness and myth-making, I am sure that Jung also wondered about the ways we could map the universe and firmly believed in the importance of imagery and imagination.

voracious or conqueror worm

Something with a voracious appetite has unfortunately been snacking on our geraniums, which is a little surprising since they’re supposedly odious things to eat and even release chemicals that create a fire-wall for mosquitoes that the pests will avoid. That’s why they’re grown in window boxes, to keep intruders out. Examining the holes, we first wanted to blame a snail but then wondered how a snail would manage to reach the balcony. After some more investigation, we found the culprit feasting away, a poisonously green Hawk Moth caterpillar (Pappelschwärmer).

Gently, humanely, it was displaced to another buffet to complete its metamorphisis into that strange humming bird-like insect.  The flowers are surviving as well. This would also account for those mysterious microscopic pellets—caterpoo.

frühstücken oder morgen post

I really liked this tableau by Danish artist Laurits Andersen Ring, recently featured on the English Wikipedia home-page as a featured image.
Productive from the fin d’siècle until the 1930s, Ring’s style and subject matter helped define the Socio-Realism movement, which embraces such iconographic works as Grant Wood’s American Gothic, the anonymous and evocative profiles of the Great Depression in America (like the photograph of Migrant Mother [DE]) and the cavalcades of propaganda art from different confessions and persuasions yet all with common ways of portraying, lensing society. Focusing on the craftsmanship of the furnishings and small details really complete the scene, which is also pregnant with symbolism that slowly emerges. The allegorical is a subtle thing and can tell stories that are inexhaustible, noting the way the way shadows dapple, the copy of the page, the halo of greenery at the woman’s head, the intention of the palette and so on. Taking a moment to appreciate the unfolding reminds one that links do not allegory make.

energie wende

There are curious trees and reefs being cultivated across the plains of Germany, planted in response to the country’s plans to wean an energy hungry public and industrial sector off nuclear power.

Tilting at these gigantic windmills that form well-landscaped corridors that line the Autobahnen or at the expansive arrays of solar panels that are spreading across hill and field, I find the scale of substitution, replacing the smoke-stacks and cooling towers with alternative and passive means, quite impressive works of engineering—chasing and harnessing forces of nature that wouldn’t otherwise go unused and unappreciated but still without robbing its intended, but seeing this infrastructure grow still does excite some seeds of doubt and skepticism.

I believe that we are moving in the right direction, of course, but I do wonder what sort of green-washing might be undue distractions and skewed motivators: bio-fuels, depending on the source, do not ultimately affect less environmental impact, taking into account resources diverted for raising crops, destined for the tank and not the plate plus the extra kilometers potentially driven due to the cheaper price or false-comfort of being more ecologically friendly at the pump or residential insulation and energy-efficiency modernization programmes that are a boon to the construction and home appliance sectors but may yield diminishing returns for the environment and consumers.

Some very clever people, I am sure, have mulled and processed these returns but the effectiveness rings somehow less than expert. I suppose that the sleek and clean housing and the installation of windmills are quickly off-set and solar arrays are on fallow fields and are rotated, rather than taking up agricultural land and produce enough power to negate the impact, but one does have to wonder about the notion of risk-free, renewable power. Being human is a dirty-business that’s very taxing on space and resources and consumers and providers ought to work always towards innovation and break-through, but yet mindful that making do with less is ultimately the most efficient use of resources.

abstract-concrete

Via the always splendiferous Neatorama, artist Fuchsia Macaree (the link is no longer) shares a brilliant visual logographic alphabet of a treasury of poetic foreign words that have no equivalents in English, like T for the Scottish term Tartle, the act of hesitation upon forgetting someone’s name, or P for the Russian Pashlost, which is a self-satisfied vulgarity masquerading as high morality—plus more to learn with everything else from Age-Tori to Zhaghzhagh.

There a lot of novel, neat words that are pretty lyrical and that I had not heard before, but this is not an exhaustive presentation of things that defy translation. What would you include in an alphabetical format?

Idiosyncratic and family pet-names names for things and concepts or a how about list of the weird jingo and abbreviations of concepts hard to visualize thrown around freely at the office, those words that would be completely foreign sounding and unassailable to a non-native speaker?

verkehrsverhältnis

On roadways throughout Europe and beyond, vacation season cues traffic congestion and traffic jams (Staus). The phenomena of herding over multiple lanes, however, is an interesting one, though the study and wonder while one is in the middle of things unfolding and taking interminably long to reconcile itself does not make the occurrence merely academic. Still trying to understand the causes of such viscosity is part of the journey.
 I was not expecting such stop-and-go traffic conditions in Denmark, but these signs that indicate lanes merging that look like an awareness-ribbon along their highways seemed to signal without fail a bottleneck. It is understandable, I suppose considering this country of just five million is being descended upon by travelers coming and going could spur some relative over-cautiousness, which is probably just an extension of being polite and courteous. The display was more acute and regular there, but most Staus pass without explanation or incident with the hesitation and the snowballing reactions of being put in and taken out of formation. Often times, the only delay visible is from people rubbernecking at a scene in the opposite lane. Everyone should be safe and patient, and of course that goes a long way to minimize a true accident, since the occasion for rushing is almost always before one leave home. Sometimes I think the whole mess could be sorted out in no time with a holographic traffic warden directing cars to stay on course and discouraging second-guessing and hesitation. Driving, however, is a taxing and unnatural activity and one ought to acknowledge the compensation and tactics needed to keep traffic flowing may not always be instinctual.

WWII week: nacht und nebel

There is nothing more difficult to face than inhumanity become concrete. The dishonor, ostracizing, terror, torture, enslavement and disregard were unique in scale and system, but not without painful precedent and legacy, since it is the quality of dismissive otherness that empowers one group to do this to another. Jews, Jehovah’s Witnesses, the Romani, Freemasons, the Poles, the Russians, homosexuals, handicapped people, communists, anti-social types, political dissidents and other undesirables all could be stripped of their humanity in fact because it was decided with sanction that never shared it with the oppressors in the first place, on whatever grounds.

Why this was allowed to continue and to what extent the civilian population of Germany and the rest of the world were morally complicit is a question, I think, no one is equipped to fully articulate. What will people believe—not only that it is a dutiful thing to deprive another of his rights on such baseless grounds—the everyday struggle we have with our own petty judgments and prejudices are most certainly successors to all the strife and hate of history but the best any of us can do is strive to be better and positively influence others—but also the sanitized reports that enforced the euphemisms?
I wonder what it is that people want to believe or what is easier to reconcile quickly slips into truth and fact. Today, some former concentration camps are hallowed grounds, memorials to unthinkable loss and cruelty that are unflinching testimony. Like the words on the gate of Dachau, Arbeit Macht Frei, the inscription on the gate of Buchenwald is a double-entrende: Jedem Das Seine could mean “to each his own.”
> When the gate closes and the words are facing the inmates of this largest concentration camp near Weimar, that housed all kinds, the meaning could also be “you get what you deserve.” Nacht und Nebel is the moniker for the overarching Nazi war programme to eliminate all elements that threatened state security (“die deutsche Sicherheit gefährden”) through rendition (being disappeared—night and fog, the term is a spell summoning the powers of sword and magic helmet of Wagner’s Ring Cycle), and of course the existence of such detention facilities was an open secret, vexing with the constant disorientation of transporting internees all over occupied territories, separating families and neighbours, so no witnesses could give the same account for what was happening or the missing might be remembered. Let us hope that we begin to see through such cloaks of the lowest charisma and never forget that a share of humanity is necessarily a share of otherness.

ragnarok or five minutes til midnight

The archeological site and ancient royal estate of the coastal town of Avaldsnes in Rogaland County in western Norway offered many engrossing and diverse themes. There was the natural majesty of the narrow cove and shipping lane, the on-going excavations from the age of the Vikings, the uniting and venerable residence, the cultural museum, hidden underground to preserve the landscape, all dominated by the medieval church of Saint Olav, which served for a long time as a landmark for sailors passing through the strait. There’s a lot going on here. The church, though, I think is most storied: according to tradition, it was built by future king and saint Olaf Tryggvason, who converted to Christianity on the sage advice of a fortune-teller he met while pillaging in Cornwall. The chapel royal was an important symbol and hastened acceptance by the people.

Curiously, the tallest and one of the last remaining standing stones of an earlier era is planted very close by and over the centuries as the foundations settled, now leans precariously close to the gothic-style edifice. Locals regard this pillar as jomfru Marias synål, Mary’s Needle, and lore has it should the stone come in contact with or break the stained glass window, the Day of Judgment is nigh. I refused to touch this doomsday rock, though it looked pretty solid and there’s a story that a priest once climbed it and chiseled it down a bit already when it was looming too close. I don’t know if that’s true but one could see that the window had been reinforced. What an ominous yet little-known thing to have among one’s attractions and heritage.