rosecardigan

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new kind of guy dropped

he's right though

Whimsigoth on runway

Guinevere's wedding dress and chainmail veil in Excalibur 1981

I can’t stop thinking about this quote, from The Atlantic’s article about Mr. Rogers and his legacy:

That last bit, “we all long to know that there’s a graciousness at the heart of creation” has been stuck with me all day. Partly because there are echoes of the Catholic I used to be in its phrasing—the idea that we are all hungering for grace is embedded in my very skull; I don’t think it’s ever washing out. But there’s something about graciousness in particular…

These days, I take a bus to work. Once, long ago (i.e., 2012) a coworker described public transportation as an exercise in mutual tolerance—a group of perfectly unaffiliated strangers come together in a crowded, constrained environment with the understanding that this will be mutually painless only insofar as we make it painless for each other. This means: you don’t talk loudly on your cellphone. You listen to music with earphones. You pretend not to be reading what your immediate neighbor is texting her friends. You squeeze yourself into as small a space as you can and say liberally “sorry” and “excuse me.”

And still…..there are older people on my route, and pregnant women, and a couple folks with the big motorized wheelchairs. And every time, I’m still surprised—touched, even, by the people who very gently brush an older woman’s elbow and ask “Would you…?” and when she nods, gather their things and stand. The nervy-looking young man who rockets to his feet to offer the pregnant woman somewhere to sit. CTA buses are somewhat-to-mostly ADA accessible, but only if the people sitting in the designated seats get up and lift the plastic, ugly-colored pew they were sitting on to make room. I’ve never heard the bus driver do more than start to lower the access ramp; the people in those seats nod, gather up purses and laptop bags and coffee cups and make their way to a convenient hanging strap. 

It’s not anything profound, it’s not special. This should be the way the world works on every level, the ordinary and rote grind of mindfulness of how others move through the world—even perfect strangers, stuck in traffic on Lakeshore Drive. I think often graciousness is a habit, a rote lesson learned and reiterated and made ordinary by its consistent application. Saying “thank you” is gracious even if it isn’t meant, small talk with coworkers is gracious even without any sort of real or genuine connection. Graciousness, the unthinking social response to need, to difference, to the other people you occupy the world with, and all others who you don’t personally know, can be deeply and movingly virtuous by virtue of its existence. Still mundane, absolutely, but….making it a part of our ordinary reality gestures to an even better one, where the good and the gracious are even more boring and commonplace.

For contrast: there are a number of times I’ve run to catch a bus (or watched someone else run for the bus while I’m on it) and every time the bus driver waits for you feels like an unearned gift. The bus driver is not obligated—they have a proscribed route and a certain timeline for fulfilling it, they are under no obligation to wait for panting, half-running person wind-milling her arms in an attempt to stall. But for me, the difference between grace and graciousness is that exactly. We all want to believe that at the heart of creation is an elevated kindness, a true and earnest desire to help; I believe that. And there’s certainly evidence of it in graciousness—last week when a man slipped in the slush of Michigan Ave and strangers rushed to help him up; a woman hanging off a pole lost her grip as the bus stopped suddenly, and another woman was already reaching out to steady her. But there’s also those situations you can’t write off as habit or instinct—sometimes there’s a choice, and you can either keep going and serving your self and your agenda, or you can stop, and let someone skip-run across the intersection and catch their bus.

Venice, the Entrance to St. Mark's Basilica, Antonietta Brandeis (1848-1926)

❝ Desperate to protect her people, Lady Johanna at last donned a man’s mail to lead the men of Lannisport and Casterly Rock against the foe. The songs tell of how she slew a dozen ironmen beneath the walls of Kayce — ❞

— Fire&Blood

Thinking about how that for all their religiosity, you never see anyone in Dune worship any sort of god. Technically, belief of higher powers exists in the canon, but I’m nearly done with the first book and I can’t find any mention of someone actually praying to a god. No preaching about any sort of afterlife. What does this mean for Paul and the Fremen I wonder. Are they following this boy in the absence of a god??? Or is this a symbol of the deteriorating of their culture once they begin to follow him???

I dont have fully coherent thoughts on this either but i feel it exists in the context of other 50s-70s sci fi. isaac asimov's foundation also features religion but it's always by the masses of people in the barbarian kingdoms who are being manipulated by the Foundation through the cult of nuclear science to believe that the Foundation is imbued with awesome powers and destined to rule the galaxy through hari seldon's prophecy (lots of dune parallels there now that i think abt it). in foundation, "religion is something that other people do". i think that applies to dune and other works of this age too, like 2001: a space odyssey (the obelisk worship) and star wars (jedi) where religion is expressed as vague cosmic spirituality with ritual and the actual trappings of religion are treated with suspicion. the only counterexample i can think of is "a canticle for leibowitz" which is explicitly pro ritual, pro hierarchical structure, pro futuristic catholicism as a force for preserving civilization in the Dark Age (though it gives some critiques of it still)

When Daenys was still a maiden she had a powerful prophetic dream, showing the destruction of Valyria by fire.

Euripides (Tr. Anne Carson) / @wholeheartedsuggestions / Jenny Slate / Euripides again

why do all the words sound heavier in my native language?

˗ˏˋ☕ˎˊ˗        

ludovic de saint sernin fw24

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franco battiato was right non cambierà non cambierà no, cambierà! forse cambierà ma non cambierà non cambierà sì che cambierà vedrai che cambierà! si può sperare ma la primavera intanto tarda ad arrivare

Even without the shitty last seasons and character developments, asoiaf books take the W for the simple fact that the obvious young hero of the first book is like. 15. Like even in the pjo or hp series where there are fated young heroes haunted with tragedy something about robb stark just makes me want to sob.

He's 15 and his beard is just starting to grow, one day he's playing with his siblings and friends and the next day he learns that his father will leave for king's landing, and then his little brother falls from a tower and he is crippled. his father leaves his home and his men to his mother and him, but his mother does not leave his brother's side, doesn't eat, doesn't sleep. the whole castle and the region depends on him to function, he listens to everyone but it's not enough and he begs his mother for help, then he begs his mother so that she rests a little. His mother gets better but still leaves him, and now he functions fully as the heir of winterfell. he dislikes killing even the wildlings, but he recognizes the duty but he still sighs in relief when he's advised not to kill. He takes care of everyone and then he cries with his brother at night, his voice shakes when he defends his brother but his sword doesn't, even the ones he trusts the most does not run for his brother like he does. He's scared all the time but he keeps going and he keeps listening and he keeps caring and it's just not enough.

His father dies. he's the lord of winterfell now, and then king of the north. he's fifteen. no matter what he does, he's fifteen.