Portrait of Virginia Woolf – born 131 years ago today – by Roger Fry, 1917.
The clock never started! So Heidemann had more than one second to land the winning touch. At the very least, whether she landed it in time was highly in doubt. The match should have continued into another round, but instead Shin was declared the loser. So South Korea’s coach went to the judges.
Despite the clock issue, they ruled that the touch was good and that Heidemann was the victor. South Korea’s coach went off to file a formal appeal.
And Shin A Lam, now in tears, refused to live the piste (the platform that they fence on). In fencing, leaving the piste means that you have officially accepted the judges’ ruling. And seeing as the clock didn’t start, and she should still have a shot at gold, she sat down. It’s the filibuster of fencing.
(Reblogged from explore-blog)
Dopeness.
This wily bitch!
“So, like a forgotten fire, a childhood can always flare up again within us.”
—Gaston Bachelard from The Poetics of Reverie.
Photo by Andreas Koberle. (Taken with Instagram)
Fur ElisaI saw a very nice film last night on SBS Australia, “Balzac and the little seamstress” set in china during the cultural revolution. Two spoiled sons of the intelligentsia are sent to a remote mountain village to be re-educated. They meet an illterate but feisty peasant girl, the little seamstress, and both fall in love with her. The film centres around their efforts to educate her which they do by reading translations of French novels to her. The books change her life and she leaves them both to seek a new beginning in the city. They are devastated and remain in love with her for the rest of their lives; they look for her but cannot find her. I cannot explain why but the film affected me very deeply. My childhood flared up within me.
This says a lot about the nature of reality. One person cannot be less real than another and yet the feeling cannot be denied. In following this thread to its source the true nature of reality can be found.
The kiss of death.This astonishing sculpture forms part of Barcelona’s Poblenou Cemetery. The Kiss of Death (El Petó de la Mort in Catalan and El beso de la muerte in Spanish) dates back to 1930. A winged skeleton bestows a kiss on the lips of a handsome young man: is it ecstasy on his face or resignation? Little wonder the sculpture elicits strong and varying responses from whoever gazes upon it.
“You may not control all the events that happen to you, but you can decide not to be reduced by them. Try to be a rainbow in someone’s cloud.”
—Maya Angelou from Letter to My Daughter
Photo by Mizzy Pacheco (distributed with instagram)
Agni at the dandaka forest.
