Segunda-feira, Março 13, 2006

Kill 'em all, let god sort them out

Tuez-les tous, dieu reconnaitra les siens

Auteur : Arnaud Amalric (? - 1225)


Date : 1209


Contexte historique :

Cette phrase aurait été prononcée lors du terrible massacre de Béziers dirigé contre la religion Cathare en 1209.
Parfois attribué ? Simon de Montfort, elle aurait en fait été prononcée par Arnaud Amalric, légat du pape chargé de réprimer l'hérésie Cathare.

Les Cathares, originaires d'Orient, croyaient en un dieu unique et en deux principes opposés régissant le monde, ceux du Bien et du Mal. Leur installation en France au début du millénaire a été tr?s rapide ; créant des dioc?ses et nommant des év?ques de leur religion, ils sont vite devenus une menace pour l'Eglise Catholique, qui décida donc de les éliminer.

Arnaud Amalric ayant pour ce faire investi la ville de Béziers, ses hommes lui demand?rent comment distinguer les Cathares des Catholiques. Il aurait résolu le probl?me en recommandant ? ses hommes de tuer tout le monde, Dieu devant ensuite reconnaître les "bons Catholiques"...

Ce massacre, qui fit entre 20 000 et 60 000 morts, marqua le début de la "Croisade des Albigeois", qui se termina en 1244 par un autre bain de sang ? Montségur, dans le Comté de Foix.

http://vdaucourt.free.fr/index.htm

and the first 45 minutes he spent...

the cosa tomada translation project has seen many challenge in its adaptation. though i have recently become the only person under the age of 25 in the village that knows the equivalents for the conjunctions "but" and "or", there is the problem that there seem to be no names for european articles of clothing such as shawl, vest, tricot; nor can we translate the verb "matear," which concerns the apparent argentine custom of constantly drinking maté. then the question of using the passive voice or talking about people that are dead now and what their preferences might be...

i'm trying to figure out how logical statements are constructed in the languages here, as many of us foreigners come away talking to locals with the feeling that although we understood each individual word that was said, the entire utterance does not seem to have any meaning.

typical conversation:
-jesse, i'm so glad to see you. in visiting a house you must pass the arch. do you understand?
-we're outside
-what i'm trying to say is that brunus is a good man, because, eh?"
-yes
-no, what i'm trying to say is that i understand the traditions. you must understand african tradition.
-is brunus not a good man?
-no, you don't understand.

until i figure this out i've decided that it won't make any difference if what i say makes logical sense to me, something that has worked spectacularly for me on some occasions.

-hey, you.
-yeah?
-do you not remember me?
-of course i do, i know you
-then you remember the time you left your phone here. i was very kind to you. thieves could have taken it. but you did not even congratulate me with a beer.
-so?
-yes
-are you not a man who drinks beer?
-i am
-and do you not trust your family above others?
-so
-yet here is your brother, this man at your side
-this my brother is a good man
-though he will tell you that the very beer i paid to congratulate you, he drank. he said it was he the man who saved my phone
-so, eh?
-...
-...
-[5 minutes later] yes, we have discussed, and this man has admitted [pointing to a third man]
-he has admitted.
-an honest man this

ndungate'


never gets old
Originally uploaded by jlovegren.
the charge for the roof found a better use for the money, the will had been altered, and they were only able to catch an owl; but still you don't see owls tethered to palm nut bunches or one hundred bE tro' every day, so I had little cause for complaint. also they were selling beignets with part of a boiled egg fried inside. i was offered a seat with the canadian military delegation or the missionaries, but decided to stay standing in the mud; this way i could drink beer with the burntskin drivers and eat fried snacks-- most importantly i could leave early without any sort of scandal. the fons of lewoh, njenawum, fongo tongo, besali and fontem were present. gawkers informed me of teh political implications each time any of them left their seat.
---
like i said they are supposed to shoot the chicken down. the palace was deserted, with only one fifth of a roof and two two weeks' old bird carcasses hanging from moribund indian bamboo stalks. the consensus is that ndungate' has got to get their shit together. anyone with the capability to rehabilitate the traditional political institutions has been seduced by the coastal cities and their riches

i'll so offend to make offense a skill, redeeming time when think least i will.


fear
Originally uploaded by jlovegren.
the song that's been stuck in my head ever since san jose, i could have settled the matter almost a year ago. perry and my younger brother wallace went to Ueta in Progresso, then opted for tacos in teh unmarked store with tinted windows; fresh inside with a family atmosphere. the mesero gave us some cups with ice for our Buchanan's cadeau bottle, so long as we agreed to be furtive about it. Palates cloyed and apetites surfeited, we walked back towards the bridge. the song was playing. it was coming from behind a mobile torta stand. the only other time i've heard it since was a hip-hop remix on the radio at Ajong's, but it was too noisy. I went and told the woman I wanted the CD. she sent a little boy, who returned and told her to tell me that it was five dollars, though she should accept four if i offered. I didn't want to part with four dollars, nor did I want to have wasted my time, so I payed a dollar for a torta and had it wrapped up. i sat on the recliner and played burnout the rest of the day.

i wear my sun at my side


running water
Originally uploaded by jlovegren.
in order to brush up my french before coming to cameroon, i studied lists of typical foods eaten in france. it was decided that we'd eat jambon et beurre on petits pains on the drive through the desert. there was the matter of whether the key should be left under the mat while the AK was in the closet, and whether we should drive with the windows up and A/C off so as to be able to afford another bottle of whisky. i doubt that either got past the drawing board; we were in del rio by the time the first decision had to be made. the police harrassed us exactly as much as we figured border agents would a dirty carload of five different ethnicities. duylinh was the first to realize, after three days, that an eskimo pie is more refreshing than either a ham and butter sandwich, black label, roasted stew meat with curry sauce or tamarindo gummies, though frank was obstinate on this last point. we saw a vulture eating a snake in some spiny bushes, and my copy of diana had been stained with blood fromt he stew meat. on the road home, i woke up and the car was slowing down.
-fucking cops. look behind the ice chest for the insurance.
-the reason i pulled you over is because you ran a yellow light
-is that against the law?
-no, but i gotta pull you over still
-officer, are you smoking?
-no sir, it's coming from under your hood.

Domingo, Março 12, 2006

A Story about a Family

A Story about a Family
By Bih Wancho

Once upon a time there was a woman called Vera. She was a prostitute. She had three girls called Yayo, Mangdeze and Yango. Their mother called for them and was advising them of which of her children had separate fathers. The first daughter was called Yayo and she asked her mother,
"Mama, are my junior sister and I of one father?"
"Yes," said the mother.
"Mama, you are a liar. [Some day] you will send us to our father."
Yayo called her sisters and told them:
"Mama is advising us but she is a prostitute. Let's decide not to stay with Mama anymore. Let's beat Mama and send her out of our grandmother's house, because she has a very bad way of life. If not, we shall see something in this house."
The third daughter said to her sisters:
"Grandmom told me that if Mama doesn't stop prostitution, we should come and sit on top of her grave and sing a song:
Prostitution is not good.
If you do that you will have a bad life."
And their grandmother appears in front of them. Their mother has escaped to go and see her husband, and their grandmother gave them 200 000 CFA to buy food and eat, then disappeared from there. They came and packed their mother?s dresses and burned them.
Their mother has been out of the house for five months, not coming to take care of them. One day a woman was dressed as a boy and discussed with [Mama] to have sex and she accepted to sex. Their mother first removed her dress and the woman who dressed as a boy said
"I am a girl."
And they started fighting and the mother of Yayo had wounds and she ran to meet her children and they drove their mother away and she went to the forest and stayed with a dog in the same house with a dog and slept with the dog. And she was chased to have sex and she told the dog
"We'll have sex."
And the children married and lived happily with eachother. Then their mother died and they did not go to bury the corpse.

Editor's Commentary
Though there is not much that Bih Wancho does well in my class other than disturbing, she has managed to produce a short story, for the occasion of International Women's Day, that not only gives a child's perspective on decision-making and agency amongst women, but shows a broad understanding of the complex struggle between generations, making trenchant criticism of the current adult regime while investing cautious optimism in the younger generation. Also, the story is artistically bold. As with any talented author, Wancho's readers come away from reading with few answers, but mostly questions, dilemmas, and personal paradoxes. Her treatment of prostitution, miscommunication between the genders, and esoteric sexual practices is nothing if it does not instigate and challenge the societal taboos she faces. In fact, it was the very revolutionary character of her work that offended the decencies of various publishers, who have refused to make serious consideration of her work.
Wancho's criticism of the current generation becomes markedly acerbic through her use of symbolism, drawing on the mystical elements of classical Arabic fairy tales. For her, magic symbolizes the possibilities that the world holds for young girls, such possibilities having the foil of quotidian reality. Grandmom, the story's djinn, is a magical, munificent matriarch of the story, represents the contrast between a child's idea of how the world should work and the mess that adults have made of it. While the grandmother provides the children with important advice that helps to shape their views on life, she also provides for them materially, two things that their mother has spectacularly failed to do. The complete absence of middle-aged leadership caused by the flight of Mama and one of her unnamed husbands, and the fragmented family's ability to abide it, is Wancho's way of noting that society's least appreciated members are those who do its important work. The political implications of this episode are beyond the scope of this writing.

chuck norris


chuck norris
Originally uploaded by jlovegren.
i said that the road looked like a good place, and johnny agreed. the liberian football star was asleep. evangelina always indulges in these whimsical detours, whether it's kicking an inflatable abdominal exercise ball around the parking lot or turning into the road that has a disclaimer at its entrance about how the government does not maintain it during certain months. we quickly lost interest, remembering that it was necessary to return to the city and deal with the matter of the embezzled gift cards. it was agreed that i would drive, while everyone whoknew what direction to face would sleep. evangelina buied her face in her hands, laughed, and twirled her index finger in one complete circle, indicating that we had reached the dairy queen with a sale on blizzards, 12 miles outside of jargo. the keys got lost, but they were in my pocket or someone else's pocket. i had butterfinger flavor. there was considerable indifference towards the gift certificate back in the city. the next day we ate corn dogs and added on to the snowman during the FAA recommended you must arrive at least 45 minutes

cocaine


cocaine
Originally uploaded by jlovegren.
the interior of the bus is dark, seats soft, and the muted roar of the engine puts you poised upon a sleepy (or at least dreamy) ride. leg rests that you move up and down, lights and ventillation ducts you can turn on and off; perhaps such mastery of the environment will make the ride seductive enough that you won't want to step down at its conclusion. the thin cone of light on a book or piece of food you packed against hunger or boredom, illuminuated as if by a flashlight, adds to the dreaminess. silvia is making an extemporaneous translation to english of a volume she just bought for a cordial young german whose name i don't recall, though i would have altered it if i could.
-what is "roble" in english?
-my sources tell me it's a tree of grand size, common in the bosques of europe
-let's say oak.
-and niebla?
-some kind of cloud.
-yeah, but which one?
-that which reposes upon the terrestrial superfice, a feminine noun.
the german suggests fog, but at this point i realized the seat would eventually hurt my back and the legs of my pants were too restrictive. we brushed our teeth on the seventh floor of the provincial ministry for education.

a vida é menene, como a criança

this is really a complicated story. to summarize, i've managed to find a song that can be played again and again for about three hours in a row before you realize that it's been played once, and when it goes off, you miss it. i burned it on a cd 15 times in a row and played it in a common area full of passive-aggressive people, and no one actively complained to me. we had to play the cd 3 times. i'd like to test this phenomenon on others. kindly get a hold of the song and play it for about 20 hours straight and see if you stop liking it. i'm appointing johnwell to be my distributor for this song (for which i own all copyrights). i'd also like any portuguese speakers to correct my transcription and come up with a translation that is catchy when sung in english

Luvas Verdes

Chorus:
Nós somos as luvas verdes
A gente vem te pegar
(x2)

Fantasias
Contos doutros cantos
Imaginação
Tão mãe escondida dentro da menina
Suje o coração

Chorus x2

Fantasias
Contos doutros cantos
Imaginação
Tão mãe escondida dentro da menina
Suje o coração

A musica da vida
Lembra à crianza
A vida é perene como a infancia
Dos meiodia à amanhã
Eu acudia
Dias de viajar
Pelas historias
Da nossa cidade

Chorus x2

Fantasia
Contos doutros cantos
Imaginação
Tão mãe escondida dentro da menina
Suje o coração

A musica da vida
Lembra à crianza
A vida é perene como a criança
Dos meiodia à amanhã
Eu acudia
Dia de viajas
Pelas historias
Da nossa cidade
Como a infancia

Chorus x2

y yo no sé a quien amar

Towards t he eastern terminus of Medellín's light rail line is a pleasant suburb built of old drug and ranching money now nurtured by hi-tech and multinational money. The corporation that now controls the city's utilities has built a smart-looking headquarters of silvered glass, galvaniced steel and a moat of emerald water that is scrubbed out weekly, or at least anyone who knew the cleaning schedule wouldn't be indignant enough to interject here. It's known locally as the 'edificio inteligente.' The public relations wing of the complex includes an internet café and an interactive museum that helps us to appreciate the sacrifice that is required to produce electricity and clean water to a city.
This is on the south side of the tracks. To the north, there are competing supermarkets, french and colombian, a cobblestone restaurant and night club district, and the computer businesses.
The metro's western terminus contains a cable-car line going up into the hills where the poor neighborhoods are, and from where most of the city's manual labor and small-scale entrepreneurship comes. While the two sides of the city have sharply contrasting modes of living, the metro line smooths out the inequality gradient in some ways. Workers coming down from the hills into the city proper for work can cut their transit times in half, and city authorities can impose de facto curfews by manipulating the operating hours. The commerce encouraged by the metro has also brought with it a delightful variety of symbiotic pétite commerces along its tracks: counterfeit shoes, cd's watches, t-shirts; freshly fried buñuelos, empanadas and potatoes; fruit from the country where you either do or don't eat the seeds, and the part you eat tastes like gummy bears or carrots. Venture away from the tracks in centro and there is the museum and statues by the modern artist Fernando Botero, hats, ponchos, and teenage prostitutes for tourists.
We are at a bar in the cobbled section with a group of software engineers and profligate youth of bueñas familias, drinking mojitos and discussing the implications for teh Academia Española in the event of teh introduction of the verb pailar to the lexicon. While the exclamation paila!, usedon occasions of ironic misfortune, would not be difficult to incorporate, the verb form will need further experimentation in the laboratory of bullshit discussions amongst groups of salacious, drunk and overeducated software gliteratti. Should the word include (or be limited to) transitive, intransitive, or ditransitive senses? Should archaic forms of address and literary tenses be defined? One of Exito's database programmers, who everyone was addressing as either Diablo or Richard, brought the example of qué hubieraís pailado [that ye may have fucked up] to show that such forms would probably never be used for other than facetious reasons. I spilled my beer - lo pailaste, qué te arranquen al cárcel - and we change tables so the sun wouldn't get in our eyes (though I quite enjoyed watching the plumes from Kike's cigarette rise against the stark shadows)
A young mother in the group, a paisa, had to slap her little girl then take her to the washroom to wash her tears and coo at her, for she said paila. (Truly she said chévere, but you understand my need to change things) Young girls from buenas familias of paisas are expected by their family to be pretty, shy, and graceful, and are expected by outsiders to have fake breasts and chase after young men with nice cars. That evening we either went on the chivo rumbero, open-air school bus that tours the city and stops so you can buy bottles of rum, or the nightclub that was like a rap video.

Sábado, Março 11, 2006

i-ma-gi-na-ção

we went to the library and i saw a book called tense logic. oh i just have to tell the story about the enthronement. when i passed on the way out the owl and the fowl were still there. they didn't even respect tradition and shoot the fowl down. i felt bad for the owl, it had a nice plume. after that i went to something they call the fair in bafoussam and anytime someone tried to sell me an imported product i claimed that as a national of the country you claim the product comes from, i can denounce it as a counterfeit.