your-lil-snow-queen

also apparently this rock art dates across multiple periods spanning thousands of years? but i couldn't find much detail on that so i can't give specifics

but yeah, this isn't just a memory of giraffes, but of giraffes now absent encountered by people just 2000 years (the difference between the late roman republic and today) out of the ice age, in a climate unfamiliar to any of the hundred billion people born since the desertification of the sahara drove the ancient egyptians to the nile, near the start of the agricultural revolution

the time between this and the birth of the sahara was nearly as long as the time between the birth of the sahara and now, in which all recorded history is contained, and all languages we can recognise at all - the language and culture of these people would be totally alien to current libyans, twice the difference between the oldest european language and english, predating all but libya's mountains!

All Teachers Are Bastards.

We are part of a carceral system. We are bricks in the wall that seperates children and teens from full personhood and agency. We are part of a machine that encourages obedience and "studying" and punishes questioning and learning. We are not "forming the next generation of change", we are "pressing kids into molds of good little workers", or at least we are supposed to. We are part of the "biopower" that makes children and teens not human. That makes children and teens less than.

This applies all over the world but especially in the west (Europe, Canada, the USA).

In a lot of marginalized communities being a bastard is actually unavoidable for teachers, because us forcing the kids to conform might one day save their life. I wanted to say "especially now, you have to lock in, because we know what happens to those of us who are not useful." to my students in remedial tutoring so many times when they ask me why I am bothering and why they should bother.

I hate my job. The more I learn, what my job actually is and what other smarter people already figured out about the job, the more I hate it.

I hate that we already know that we are bastards (critical education theory/science, critical social work), but if we're not bastards then the bastards with guns and handcuffs are going to get them.

I hate that we know that children and teens are people, not "people in the making", but are expected to treat them as the second one anyway because that's just how it is.

I hate that we know that a third of children in each class will be neurodivergent and/or disablef, about half of them will be affected by poverty, half to two thirds will be racialized, about a third will experience queerphobia, about a third (if they are above 14) will either work or be caretaker of a relative, and nanny of them will fit more than one or even two of these but we are not allowed to speak up about that, or stand up for them.

I hate that the sentence "remember I am a mandated reporter, you can not tell me everything" has become part of my vocabulary, instead of the "that sounds hard, I am here to listen and to give advice whenever you need it" that I want to say.

I hate that we all know that exams, assignments, tests and grades are not the "tools of objective assessments" the system, and as it's proxy we teachers, claim they are, but simply tools to exert power, create hierarchy and determine who gets resources and who doesn't.

I want to be there for my students, I want to accompany and help them on their learning journeys and in their development, but, god damn it, I'm not actually allowed to.

I didn't enrol in teachers college to become a fucking cop! And I know for a fact most of my fellow coursemates didn't either, but non of us actually know what to do. Do we quit? Do we protest? Do we try and change the system from the inside? Do we try and be the one good teacher, everyone of us had, and aspires to be? Do we join and sabotage?

It feels like no matter what we do, we fail the ones we choose this job for in the first place. No matter what, the children will be the ones suffering the most.

Free Harvard courses. Free Courses from Stanford. Free Courses from MIT. Free courses from Yale. Free courses from Princeton.

Free courses on Coursera.

Free Courses on EDx Free Courses on Alison

For paid, there's The Great Courses+/Wonderium. 20$ a month for unlimited courses.

And I also wanted to mention that humanitarian organisations have free courses too, like the Red Cross on international humanitarian law.

Marianne Dashwood, living a plot perfect for a tragic death by illness to preserve the beauty of her first attachment and disappointment? Nope, she lives and loves with her whole heart again. Maria Rushworth, the fallen woman who cheated on her husband does not die for her crimes or even fall into poverty or prostitution, her father and Aunt Norris will provide for her. She is punished, but she's protected. Lydia Bennet? Her two sisters will provide for her for the rest of her life. Her husband's debt will not destroy her. Miss Bates? There is an entire community around her no matter what happens and her newly rich niece will provide. No woman is even left as a governess, Miss Taylor is Mrs. Weston, Jane Fairfax becomes Mrs. Churchill instead. Mrs. Smith is pulled out of her indigent state by Anne and Wentworth.

The only woman Jane Austen allows to suffer a terrible fate is off-page and dead long before the novel begins: Eliza Brandon. Eliza Williams, her mother's affair baby, is ruined by Willoughby. Colonel Brandon could easily have washed his hands of her and her affair child, but he doesn't. Eliza Williams is going to be okay. Her child will be okay.

Antagonist women never fall into poverty or die for their crimes, most of them are even in loving marriages. Fanny Dashwood is cruel to her mother and sisters-in-law, one could imagine her falling low in karmic retribution, but no, she's fine. Lady Susan, the delightful anti-heroine, marries a baronet at the end of her novel. No punishment looms on the horizon for her promiscuity and deception. Caroline Bingley has a loving family that will never turn her away and an independent fortune. Mary Crawford has a loving sister. Isabella Thorpe may have lost the big prize, but she has her mother. Never is a woman thrown to abuse or poverty, even when they have attacked other women. The only punishment would come from their own conscience or regret for the goodness they have thrown away.

imagine there was a man in the story who went around giving speeches about the importance of the lottery as a tradition. He said the casualties were unfortunate, but also an inevitable price of freedom. Imagine he treated those who sought to end the senseless cycle of violence with condescension and derision, calling them idiotic, naïve, and diseased.

yet when that man was selected for the lottery and stoned to death, everyone mourned him and said how unfair it was that a bright young family man should die so soon. And when people pointed out that this man was killed by a system he adamantly defended and worked to perpetuate, they lost their jobs and were shunned from the community as insensitive and monstrous.

"You are beautiful when you do beautiful things."

"The present tense of regret is indecision."

"We understand so much, but the sky behind those lights-- mostly void, partially stars-- that sky reminds us we don't understand even more."

"Be proud of your place in the Cosmos. It is small and yet it is."

"Believe in yourself. You are an ancient, absent god, discussed only rarely by literary scholars. So if you don't believe, no one will."

"Death is only the end if you assume the story is about you."

“Whisper a dangerous secret to someone you care about. Now they have the power to destroy you, but they won’t. That’s what love is.”

"Are we living a life that is safe from harm? Of course not. We never are. But that’s not the right question. The question is are we living a life that is worth the harm?"

"When we talk about teenagers, we adults often talk with an air of scorn, of expectation for disappointment. And this can make people who are presently teenagers feel very defensive. But what everyone should understand is that none of us are talking to the teenagers that exist now, but talking back to the teenager we ourselves once were – all stupid mistakes and lack of fear, and bodies that hadn’t yet begun to slump into a lasting nothing. Any teenager who exists now is incidental to the potent mix of nostalgia and shame with which we speak to our younger selves."

"We are not history yet. We are happening now. How miraculous is that?"

"Wednesday has been cancelled due to a scheduling error."

"We have nothing to fear except ourselves. We are unholy, awful people."

"A million dollars isn’t cool. You know what’s cool? A basilisk."

"There's nothing under your bed. There's nothing in your closet. Nothing waits in every darkness. Nothing is the most terrifying thing of all."

"The night sky is ten miles wide, eight miles deep, and floats three miles up. Its favourite food is grape jelly. It wants to be a drummer."

"Look to the sky. You will not find answers there, but you will certainly see what everyone is screaming about."

"Ignorance might not actually be bliss, but it is certainly less work."

"And now, a special report. Crocodiles: Can they eat your children? *YES.*"

"Lie down and look up at the ceiling and breathe with those curiously fragile lungs of yours and remind yourself: Don’t worry. Don’t worry. All is as it was meant to be. It was meant to be lonely and terrifying and unfair and fleeting. Don’t worry."

"As long as I’m reminding myself things, I’m a good person, worthy of love – both from myself and others."

"Guns don't kill people! It's impossible to be killed by a gun. We are all invincible to bullets and it's a miracle!"

"Everything is exciting! Particularly existence. Existence is the most thrilling fact of all."

"There is a monster under your bed. A monster at your window. A monster any place you imagine one. You project your monsters on the world."

"You miss 100% of the bank robberies you don't commit."

"I like my coffee like I like my nights. Dark, endless, and impossible to sleep through. "

"A friendly desert community where the sun is hot, the moon is beautiful, and mysterious lights pass overhead while we all pretend to sleep. Welcome to Night Vale."

"And now, the weather."

I discovered this podcast at the beginning of high school, and let me tell you, it rewired my synapses.

Not only was it my first experience with positive LGBT representation, it was the show I clung to when everything else went to shit. Whatever was going on in my life, I knew I had this show in my corner, making me laugh, making me cry, making me feel okay about my place in the universe.

I do want to specifically shout out Dr Thomas Latta, who is the person who gave us IV hydration, and pretty much magically cured cholera with it in his first attempt. From his diary:

I attempted to restore the blood to its natural state, by injecting copiously into the larger intestines warm water.. trusting that the power of absorption might not be altogether lost, but by these means I produced, in no case, any permanent benefit.. I at length resolved to throw the fluid immediately into the circulation. In this, having no precedent to direct me, I proceeded with much caution. The first subject of experiment was an aged female. She had apparently reached the last moments of her earthly existence, and now nothing could injure her – indeed, so entirely was she reduced, that I feared I should be unable to get my apparatus ready ere she expired. Having inserted a tube into the basilic vein, cautiously – anxiously, I watched the effects; ounce after ounce was injected, but no visible change was produced. Still persevering, I though she began to breathe less laboriously, soon the sharpened features, and sunken eye, and fallen jaw, pale and cold, bearing the manifest impress of death's signet, began to glow with returning animation; the pulse, which had long ceased, returned to the wrist; at first small and quick, by degrees it became more and more distinct ... and in the short space of half and hour, when six pints had been injected, she expressed in a firm voice that she was free from all uneasiness, actually became jocular, and fancied all she needed was a little sleep.

Diarrhea can very easily be death by dehydration, especially when you can't consume oral fluids (Cholera causes extreme vomiting as well). Not only did we solve part of the problem with clean water, the other half was learning how to put clean water into our bodies (with salt).

Just a bunch of things I've read recently.

The Authoritarian Roots of India's Democracy by Tripurdaman Singh

Why is Everything So Ugly?

Casual Viewing by Will Tavlin

“You are Next”: Unmarried Urban Women in India and the “Marriage Talk” by Shilpa Phadke

Crossing Days by Thomas Dai

Inside the Indian Manosphere by Lhendup Bhatia

Optimism and Desperation by Camilla Grudova

Everyone is Cheating Their Way Through College by James Walsh

Blunt-Force Ethnic Credibility by Som-Mai Nguyen

When My Authentic is Your Exotic by Soniah Kamal

The discontent of Russia by Joy Neumeyer

On anti-political projects by Kat Rosenfield

The Protagonist Is Never in Control

Walk in these

The existentialist philosophy of Lana Del Rey

On Terror; The Incomprehensible Sublime

An art history lesson from painter Helen Frankenthaler, 60 years later

Between Two Fires: The Music of French and Italian Poetry

An aesthetic little life

Frida Kahlo's Body

Annie Ernaux fixed my disintegrating attention span

No one told me about proust

Our narrative prison

A lot of his most interesting and most deeply moral characters are angry ones. Granny Weatherwax, Sam Vimes, Tiffany Aching. All are to a large extent driven to do good by anger.

He was angry at the world because he loved it, and he wanted us to feel the same, to not feel helpless, to know that something can be done, to know that anger is not just the tool of abusers and tyrants but the chisel by which The People might chip away at oppression and fear and bring it crumbling down. He gave us the drive needed to believe in hope. because he wanted to make the world better with words and not violence.

understood the pen is a

sword in its own right.