Skam

Tiziano Vecellio, The Bacchanal of the Andrians, 1523-24

 Det finns inget farligare än en skamfull narcissistisk mansperson, för en ursäkt skulle underminera hans grandiosa självbild och därför måste omvärlden straffas med de starkaste medel tillgängliga. Det som börjat med psykisk misshandel i form av nedlåtande tillmälen och kommentarer kommer snart att eskalera till en styrkekapplöpning i form av fysisk misshandel. 

Om en kvinna känner skam drar hon sig antingen undan, eller så skrattar hon åt saken och gärna i grupp. Om detta är en inlärd process, det vet jag ingenting om eftersom vetenskaplig forskning kring skam inte behandlar könsskillnader, men att könsskillnaden är kulturellt betingad och existerar, det står utom all rimlig tvivel. 

En kvinna som utsätts för reprimander av en man med skam, kommer behöva förekomma det oundvikliga med överslätande kommentarer eller förstående handlingar för att inte bli förnedrad, slagen och dödad. Jag vet. 

Blood is on the streets of Iran as mass protests continue, hundreds have been shot and killed. 

People in Gaza are being killed every day, the death toll has passed 70.000 as Israeli army continues with the attacks.

ICE shot and killed a mother. Her wife said "we had whistles, they had guns".

Over 100 people were killed i Sudan this week during violent attacks.

Billionaire Bill Ackman donated $ 10K to GoFundMe for ICE agent who killed Renee Nicole Good.

A man was just accused of drugging and raping his wife for 13 years.

Musk's AI Grok is generating thousands of nude images every hour without consent.

Nä, litet fest i glada vänners lag skulle nog inte skada bland våra makthavare ibland, för visst verkar det som att det finns en gemensam nämnare på skeendena runt oss? Så för att ytterligare spä på med svårartad hybris i form av vilda sociologiska och kulturella antaganden utbrister jag: Ta ett glas ihop, ta två, efter tre kan du skratta i sorgen och gråta i skrattet. Njut, för fan!

 

In Xanadu did Kubla Khan

A stately pleasure-dome decree:

Where Alph, the sacred river, ran

Through caverns measureless to man

   Down to a sunless sea.

So twice five miles of fertile ground

With walls and towers were girdled round;

And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills,

Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree;

And here were forests ancient as the hills,

Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.

But oh! that deep romantic chasm which slanted

Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover!

A savage place! as holy and enchanted

As e’er beneath a waning moon was haunted

By woman wailing for her demon-lover!

And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething,

As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing,

A mighty fountain momently was forced:

Amid whose swift half-intermitted burst

Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail,

Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher’s flail:

And mid these dancing rocks at once and ever

It flung up momently the sacred river.

Five miles meandering with a mazy motion

Through wood and dale the sacred river ran,

Then reached the caverns measureless to man,

And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean;

And ’mid this tumult Kubla heard from far

Ancestral voices prophesying war!

   The shadow of the dome of pleasure

   Floated midway on the waves;

   Where was heard the mingled measure

   From the fountain and the caves.

It was a miracle of rare device,

A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice!

   A damsel with a dulcimer

   In a vision once I saw:

   It was an Abyssinian maid

   And on her dulcimer she played,

   Singing of Mount Abora.

   Could I revive within me

   Her symphony and song,

   To such a deep delight ’twould win me,

That with music loud and long,

I would build that dome in air,

That sunny dome! those caves of ice!

And all who heard should see them there,

And all should cry, Beware! Beware!

His flashing eyes, his floating hair!

Weave a circle round him thrice,

And close your eyes with holy dread

For he on honey-dew hath fed,

And drunk the milk of Paradise.

 KUBLA KHAN, Samuel Taylor Coleridge

DN Söndag Kultur: Sven-Eric Liedman: Svenska politiker kryper för en brottsling som Donald Trump 

Jag läser Ett år av vila och avkoppling, av Ottessa Moshfegh, och Drunk, av Edward Slingerland. 

Life On Mars - Bowie