Hong Kong

mystery of erwin drood

scary ambient music

Newspeak

It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen. Winston Smith, his chin nuzzled into his breast in an effort to escape the vile wind, slipped quickly through the glass doors of Victory Mansions, though not quickly enough to prevent a swirl of gritty dust from entering along with him.

The hallway smelt of boiled cabbage and old rag mats. At one end of it a coloured poster, too large for indoor display, had been tacked to the wall. It depicted simply an enormous face, more than a metre wide: the face of a man of about forty-five, with a heavy black moustache and ruggedly handsome features. Winston made for the stairs. It was no use trying the lift. Even at the best of times it was seldom working, and at present the electric current was cut off during daylight hours. It was part of the economy drive in preparation for Hate Week. The flat was seven flights up, and Winston, who was thirty-nine and had a varicose ulcer above his right ankle, went slowly, resting several times on the way. On each landing, opposite the lift-shaft, the poster with the enormous face gazed from the wall. It was one of those pictures which are so contrived that the eyes follow you about when you move. BIG BROTHER IS WATCHING YOU, the caption beneath it ran.

Inside the flat a fruity voice was reading out a list of figures which had something to do with the production of pig-iron. The voice came from an oblong metal plaque like a dulled mirror which formed part of the surface of the right-hand wall. Winston turned a switch and the voice sank somewhat, though the words were still distinguishable. The instrument (the telescreen, it was called) could be dimmed, but there was no way of shutting it off completely. He moved over to the window: a smallish, frail figure, the meagreness of his body merely emphasized by the blue overalls which were the uniform of the party. His hair was very fair, his face naturally sanguine, his skin roughened by coarse soap and blunt razor blades and the cold of the winter that had just ended.

Outside, even through the shut window-pane, the world looked cold. Down in the street little eddies of wind were whirling dust and torn paper into spirals, and though the sun was shining and the sky a harsh blue, there seemed to be no colour in anything, except the posters that were plastered everywhere. The blackmoustachio'd face gazed down from every commanding corner. There was one on the house-front immediately opposite. BIG BROTHER IS WATCHING YOU, the caption said, while the dark eyes looked deep into Winston's own. Down at street level another poster, torn at one corner, flapped fitfully in the wind, alternately covering and uncovering the single word INGSOC. In the far distance a helicopter skimmed down between the roofs, hovered for an instant like a bluebottle, and darted away again with a curving flight. It was the police patrol, snooping into people's windows. The patrols did not matter, however. Only the Thought Police mattered.

Behind Winston's back the voice from the telescreen was still babbling away about pig-iron and the overfulfilment of the Ninth Three-Year Plan. The telescreen received and transmitted simultaneously. Any sound that Winston made, above the level of a very low whisper, would be picked up by it, moreover, so long as he remained within the field of vision which the metal plaque commanded, he could be seen as well as heard. There was of course no way of knowing whether you were being watched at any given moment. How often, or on what system, the Thought Police plugged in on any individual wire was guesswork. It was even conceivable that they watched everybody all the time. But at any rate they could plug in your wire whenever they wanted to. You had to live — did live, from habit that became instinct — in the assumption that every sound you made was overheard, and, except in darkness, every movement scrutinized.

Winston kept his back turned to the telescreen. It was safer, though, as he well knew, even a back can be revealing. A kilometre away the Ministry of Truth, his place of work, towered vast and white above the grimy landscape. This, he thought with a sort of vague distaste — this was London, chief city of Airstrip One, itself the third most populous of the provinces of Oceania. He tried to squeeze out some childhood memory that should tell him whether London had always been quite like this. Were there always these vistas of rotting nineteenth-century houses, their sides shored up with baulks of timber, their windows patched with cardboard and their roofs with corrugated iron, their crazy garden walls sagging in all directions? And the bombed sites where the plaster dust swirled in the air and the willow-herb straggled over the heaps of rubble; and the places where the bombs had cleared a larger patch and there had sprung up sordid colonies of wooden dwellings like chicken-houses? But it was no use, he could not remember: nothing remained of his childhood except a series of bright-lit tableaux occurring against no background and mostly unintelligible.

The Ministry of Truth — Minitrue, in Newspeak(1) — was startlingly different from any other object in sight. It was an enormous pyramidal structure of glittering white concrete, soaring up, terrace after terrace, 300 metres into the air. From where Winston stood it was just possible to read, picked out on its white face in elegant lettering, the three slogans of the Party:

WAR IS PEACE
FREEDOM IS SLAVERY
IGNORANCE IS STRENGTH

The Ministry of Truth contained, it was said, three thousand rooms above ground level, and corresponding ramifications below. Scattered about London there were just three other buildings of similar appearance and size. So completely did they dwarf the surrounding architecture that from the roof of Victory Mansions you could see all four of them simultaneously. They were the homes of the four Ministries between which the entire apparatus of government was divided. The Ministry of Truth, which concerned itself with news, entertainment, education, and the fine arts. The Ministry of Peace, which concerned itself with war. The Ministry of Love, which maintained law and order. And the Ministry of Plenty, which was responsible for economic affairs. Their names, in Newspeak: Minitrue, Minipax, Miniluv, and Miniplenty.

The Ministry of Love was the really frightening one. There were no windows in it at all. Winston had never been inside the Ministry of Love, nor within half a kilometre of it. It was a place impossible to enter except on official business, and then only by penetrating through a maze of barbed-wire entanglements, steel doors, and hidden machine-gun nests. Even the streets leading up to its outer barriers were roamed by gorilla-faced guards in black uniforms, armed with jointed truncheons.

Winston turned round abruptly. He had set his features into the expression of quiet optimism which it was advisable to wear when facing the telescreen. He crossed the room into the tiny kitchen. By leaving the Ministry at this time of day he had sacrificed his lunch in the canteen, and he was aware that there was no food in the kitchen except a hunk of dark-coloured bread which had got to be saved for tomorrow's breakfast. He took down from the shelf a bottle of colourless liquid with a plain white label marked VICTORY GIN. It gave off a sickly, oily smell, as of Chinese rice-spirit. Winston poured out nearly a teacupful, nerved himself for a shock, and gulped it down like a dose of medicine.

"mesh with no limits" copied from facebook

Kregg Miller Antoine Bret , "mesh with no limits" implies to me an infinite space or an infinite mesh so I'd have no problem understanding that the matter within a universe simply 'drifts' apart into an infinite 'mesh' or 'space'. I have a problem only when the 'space' is thought to be finite or temporal from a 'big bang' creation.

Is 'space' or the 'mesh' thought to be infinite?

book of tobit

tobit 5

The Angel Raphael.1Then Tobiah replied to his father Tobit: “Everything that you have commanded me, father, I shall do.2But how will I be able to get that money from him, since he does not know me, and I do not know him? What sign can I give him so that he will recognize and trust me, and give me the money? I do not even know the roads to Media, in order to go there.”3Tobit answered his son Tobiah: “He gave me his bond,^* and I gave him mine; I divided his into two parts, and each of us took one part; I put one part with the money. It is twenty years since I deposited that money! So, son, find yourself a trustworthy person who will make the journey with you, and we will give him wages when you return; but bring back that money from Gabael while I am still alive.”

4Tobiah went out to look for someone who would travel with him to Media, someone who knew the way. He went out and found the angel Raphael standing before him (though he did not know^* that this was an angel of God).^a5Tobiah said to him, “Where do you come from, young man?” He replied, “I am an Israelite, one of your kindred. I have come here to work.” Tobiah said to him, “Do you know the way to Media?”6“Yes,” he replied, “I have been there many times. I know the place well and am acquainted with all the routes. I have often traveled to Media; I used to stay with our kinsman Gabael, who lives at Rages in Media. It is a good two days’ journey from Ecbatana to Rages,^* for Rages is situated in the mountains, but Ecbatana is in the middle of the plain.”7Tobiah said to him, “Wait for me, young man, till I go in and tell my father; for I need you to make the journey with me. I will pay you your wages.”^b8He replied, “Very well, I will wait; but do not be long.”

9Tobiah went in and informed his father Tobit: “I have found someone of our own Israelite kindred who will go with me!” Tobit said, “Call the man in, so that I may find out from what family and tribe he comes, and whether he is trustworthy enough to travel with you, son.”

10Tobiah went out to summon him, saying, “Young man, my father is calling for you.” When Raphael entered the house, Tobit greeted him first. He replied, “Joyful greetings to you!” Tobit answered, “What joy is left for me? Here I am, a blind man who cannot see the light of heaven, but must remain in darkness, like the dead who no longer see the light! Though alive, I am among the dead. I can hear people’s voices, but I do not see them.” The young man said, “Take courage! God’s healing is near; so take courage!” Tobit then said: “My son Tobiah wants to go to Media. Can you go with him to show him the way? I will pay you your wages, brother.” He answered: “Yes, I will go with him, and I know all the routes. I have often traveled to Media and crossed all its plains so I know well the mountains and all its roads.”11Tobit asked him, “Brother, tell me, please, from what family and tribe are you?”12He replied, “Why? What need do you have for a tribe? Aren’t you looking for a hired man?” Tobit replied, “I only want to know, brother, whose son you truly are and what your name is.”^c

13He answered, “I am Azariah,^* son of the great Hananiah, one of your own kindred.”14Tobit exclaimed: “Welcome! God save you, brother! Do not be provoked with me, brother, for wanting to learn the truth about your family. It turns out that you are a kinsman, from a noble and good line! I knew Hananiah and Nathan, the two sons of the great Shemeliah. They used to go to Jerusalem with me, where we would worship together. They were not led astray; your kindred are good people. You are certainly of good lineage. So welcome!”

15Then he added: “For each day I will give you a drachma as wages,^* as well as expenses for you and for my son. So go with my son, and16I will even add a bonus to your wages!” The young man replied: “I will go with him. Do not fear. In good health we will leave you, and in good health we will return to you, for the way is safe.”17Tobit said, “Blessing be upon you, brother.” Then he called his son and said to him: “Son, prepare whatever you need for the journey, and set out with your kinsman. May God in heaven protect you on the way and bring you back to me safe and sound; may his angel accompany you for your safety, son.”

Tobiah left to set out on his journey, and he kissed his father and mother. Tobit said to him, “Have a safe journey.”18But his mother began to weep and she said to Tobit: “Why have you sent my child away? Is he not the staff of our hands, as he goes in and out before us?19Do not heap money upon money! Rather relinquish it in exchange for our child!20What the Lord has given us to live on is certainly enough for us.”21Tobit reassured her: “Do not worry! Our son will leave in good health and come back to us in good health. Your own eyes will see the day when he returns to you safe and sound. So, do not worry; do not fear for them, my sister.^*22For a good angel^* will go with him, his journey will be successful, and he will return in good health.”1Then she stopped weeping.

Is Western logic useless in real life?

Western logic is the operating mode of the Western World 🌎 and has always been the go-to source of analyzing the info in our lives, as we do math and science with it. It has three rules of operation: everything must be what it is, nothing can be what it is not, and there is no middle term, but with regard to time. This appears to be a great way to do scientific things, but just try to apply it to real life, and there are suddenly problems. This line of thinking about the world 🌎 implies that everything and everyone can be put into nice neat boxes, which most people will be offended at. Western logic also tells you that you should fight battles against enemies in order to gain glory. It says that nobody has any control over their fortunes. It says that the people that we see 👀 in our lives today are in a way 👻 ghost memories. We are reminded of people that we knew in the past. A good 👍 example of this is the idea 💡 that one's daughters are a lot like one's sisters. This is a totally weird idea 💡. Also is the idea 💡 that things should be categorized by their definition, which is their class plus differentia. Who says that this is really what things are like? Nobody really. Nature. This idea might work in math to have such an arbitrary source of truth, but in a court, just try to say that you follow Reason, and let's just try to see how far you get with it. But Greeks do not have any problems with this. Why?

Cartoons that can never be made live action

Cartoons that can never be made live action:
South park
The Simpson's
Magician
Salad fingers
Alphazekko
masha and the bear
Cyanide and Happiness
Moomin
Stickman
Stephen Universe

Actually TMNT does not fit. It became live action

Fast of Tisha B'Av

Why do we fast on Tisha B'Av? We do so because of the destruction of the Jerusalem. Is there any sorrow as great as theirs? No, the Greek gods rarely interacted with them. They ever gave any laws to them! There were times in which nymphs and monsters came to men, but they always ran away soon after. Greek wisdom wished that it could have a Sinai. That was not to be.

Israel however was different. Moses  gave the law. We were told that God never had an image. We do not even know how to pronounce His Name. He said not to have false gods. He said to not have incest or child sacrifice. Israel did both. This resulted in their destruction. And they were destroyed multiple times. Yet nothing. They did not repent. This is why Babylonian Captivity happened. Mothers ate their daughters. Sisters ate their brothers. "And thou shalt eat the fruit of thine own body, the flesh of thy sons and of thy daughters." -- Deuteronomy 28:53 Priests were assassinated in the Temple.  " Behold, O LORD, and consider to whom thou hast done this. Shall the women eat their fruit, and children of a span long? shall the priest and the prophet be slain in the sanctuary of the Lord?" Lamentations 2:20. This is what Tisha B'Av is about. It is about the destruction of Jerusalem. We fast for all those women who had nothing to eat. We do not listen to music, because of the lack of children in the city. Music 🎶 is always associated with children in the Bible. The children were dead and eaten. This killing of relatives appears to be to get meat and as a form of mercy killing so that their children will not have to starve.

See the example of Mary, who lived in the times of the Jewish War, a similar time, mentioned in the writings of Josephus. Mary killed her son and ate half of his body. Then she tried to compel others to eat the other half to shame them out of sharing where she got her secret stacte of meat. Then all mourned.

The mourning of the Jews is why we fast. Their grief matters. The Jewish Culture matters. They gave us the Bible. They may not have all the Reason, but this is only because they have actual lives to live. They are too concerned with people killing them to worry about things like philosophies.

 But some claim that Russian grief is just as powerful. They had a year for many years and had no means to redress their grievances against a society that impressed them. Then Napoleon Bonaparte invaded And he came with the possibility of democracy. France was better because of the revolution, right? This is what bright about a series of Revolution s that culminated in 1917. Then Stalin betrayed the Revolution. Socialism within a state. Trotsky was killed. This is Russian grief, horror over what happens to you.

From the Almagest

From the Almagest:
It seems to me that these true philosophers, Syrus, very wisely separated the theoretical part of philosophy from the practical. For even if this happens, practicality will prove to be theoretical before it becomes practical, but one can find a great difference in them; not only because some moral virtues may belong to the everyday unconscious man and one cannot come to the theory of entire sciences without learning, but also because in practical matters the biggest advantage is the continuous and repeated operation of things in themselves, while in knowledge theoretical should be followed. Therefore, we thought about practicing our activities even in the application of imagination, not to forget about everything that would happen, taking into account their beautiful and well-ordered disposition, and devote ourselves to meditation mainly to make many beautiful statements, and especially those called mathematics.
 In fact, Aristotle quite correctly divides theory into three direct types: physical, mathematical and theological. Considering that all beings have their existence from matter, form and movement, and that none of them is visible, but only thoughts in their subject separately from others, if one should look in their simplicity for the first cause of the first cause by moving in the universe , he would consider God invisible and unchanging. And the science that seeks Him is theology; for such an act can only be considered high above somewhere near the highest things in the universe and is absolutely independent of reasonable things. But a kind of science that tracks this material and constantly moving quality and is related to white, warmth, sweetness, softness and such things would be called physics; and such an essence, because it is only what it is, is found in corrupt things and below the lunar sphere. And a kind of science that shows quality in terms of forms and local movements, character search, number and size, as well as place, time and similar things would be defined as mathematics. For such an essence falls somewhere between the other two, not only because it can be felt with both senses and without senses, but also because it is the case of absolutely all mortal and immortal beings, things that change with them always change , according to their irreversible form, and maintaining the unchangeable form immutability in eternal and ethereal things.