New York City. 1919. A triumphal victory pyramid built with the captured helmets of German dead. Estimated 85,000 helmets.
Israeli’s celebrating the defeat of their colonial oppressors with the retaking of the Temple Mount, the central holy site of their indigenous homeland, in 1967. Am Yisrael Chai!
Be defiant.
Arthur is gone . . . Tristram in Careol
Sleeps, with a broken sword - and Yseult sleeps
Beside him, where the Westering waters roll
Over drowned Lyonesse to the outer deeps.
Lancelot is fallen . . . The ardent helms that shone
So knightly and the splintered lances rust
In the anonymous mould of Avalon:
Gawain and Gareth and Galahad - all are dust.
Where do the vanes and towers of Camelot
And tall Tintagel crumble? Where do those tragic
Lovers and their bright eyed ladies rot?
We cannot tell, for lost is Merlin's magic.
And Guinevere - Call her not back again
Lest she betray the loveliness time lent
A name that blends the rapture and the pain
Linked in the lonely nightingale's lament.
Nor pry too deeply, lest you should discover
The bower of Astolat a smokey hut
Of mud and wattle - find the knightliest lover
A braggart, and his lilymaid a slut.
And all that coloured tale a tapestry
Woven by poets. As the spider's skeins
Are spun of its own substance, so have they
Embroidered empty legend - What remains?
This: That when Rome fell, like a writhen oak
That age had sapped and cankered at the root,
Resistant, from her topmost bough there broke
The miracle of one unwithering shoot.
Which was the spirit of Britain - that certain men
Uncouth, untutored, of our island brood
Loved freedom better than their lives; and when
The tempest crashed around them, rose and stood
And charged into the storm's black heart, with sword
Lifted, or lance in rest, and rode there, helmed
With a strange majesty that the heathen horde
Remembered when all were overwhelmed;
And made of them a legend, to their chief,
Arthur, Ambrosius - no man knows his name -
Granting a gallantry beyond belief,
And to his knights imperishable fame.
They were so few . . . We know not in what manner
Or where they fell - whether they went
Riding into the dark under Christ's banner
Or died beneath the blood-red dragon of Gwent.
But this we know; that when the Saxon rout
Swept over them, the sun no longer shone
On Britain, and the last lights flickered out;
And men in darkness muttered: Arthur is gone . . .
Francis Brett Young
Commando Memorial. Spean Bride.
The final minute of this transcends from music into a mans soul spilling out into the universe through his guitar strings.
“ Lovers ” “ Title Unknown “ by Claire Wendling
Thank you Love-stephan for posting this sensual image.
Sliabh na Caillí. Loughcrew passage tombs, 2015. The tombs and art within are estimated to date from around 3300 BC.
My advice is do not look up. Huge spiders.
Anqing, 1860-61.
At a time that Americans remember for a Civil War that killed 620,000 people the Chinese were fighting one that killed 20,000,000-30,000,000.
Of the ten deadliest wars in history five were uprisings or clashes in China, and a sixth would be the war between China and Japan from 1937-1945.
It is a staggering history of bloodshed that repeats itself over and over again throughout history. Something to ponder for Xi.
From “An Army At Dawn” by Atkinson
A generation can become hardened when it is called to.
Zhukov made this movie.
Chekhov's gun is not just a narrative principle. I am starting to believe it is a real world principle, too. And that is scary.
I have clipped this dog out of the depiction of a famous historical event. Who can name the event?
For those who guessed Boston Massacre, bingo.
I have clipped this dog out of the depiction of a famous historical event. Who can name the event?