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June 19 2017

fuck yeah, evolution!
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Improvisiertes Werkzeug-Rollmäppchen aus einem Bein einer irreparabel abgenutzten Hose.
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Ants put together a gecko from scratch
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June 18 2017

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June 17 2017

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June 16 2017

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Oh, oh, this reminds me of the only known bilingual palindrome:

Anger? ‘Tis safe never. Bar it! Use love.

Spell that backward and you get:

Evoles ut ira breve nefas sit; regna!

Which is Latin for:

Rise up, in order that your anger may be but a brief madness; control it!


Whenever I see stuff like this I wonder how people even come up with it. 

Reposted fromkneadedbutter kneadedbutter viaAnovisco Anovisco
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June 15 2017

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June 14 2017







the thing about lotr that the movies don’t convey so fully is how the story is set in an age heavily overshadowed by all the ages before. they’re constantly traveling through ruins, discussing the glory of days gone by, the empires of men are much diminished, the elves (especially galadriel) are described as seeming incongruent, frozen in time….some of the imagery is even near-apocalyptic, like the ruins of moria and of course the landscape surrounding mordor

this is a strange thought to me, somehow: that the archetypal “high fantasy” story is set at the point where the…fantasy…used to be much higher? this is not the golden age; this is a remnant

LotR is Mad Max: Beyond Thunderdome of the elves.

i want to emphasize that people have added excerpts of their theses in reply to this post but this is still my favorite reblog

Honestly I’d take it further than that: it’s Fury Road. And that’s part of what makes Galadriel’s choice so fucking central, and so amazing, and so heartbreaking. 

Because she was there. She was there from the BEGINNING. She grew up in the Undying Lands in the light of the Two Trees. She even LEFT the Undying Lands because she could pretty plainly see there was no chance to build great kingdoms or new things there. 

She helped lead her people across the grinding ice after Fëanor and his sons abandoned them. She lived in Doriath at its height, her brother created Nargothrond at its height, the peak of cooperation between Khazâd and Quendi, her cousin built Gondolin. 

And she watched all of it die. 

She lost her brothers, two to war and one to torture and then being half-eaten by a demon-wolf in the depths of Sauron’s first stronghold. She saw Thingol murdered and Melian wrecked. She saw her brother’s shining Nargothrond fall to Glaurung and become a desecrated pit of hell. She saw her cousins die, one by one; then she saw her cousins turn on her own people (again) and murder over half of them. 

She saw all of the lands she’d known wrecked and destroyed: some polluted and destroyed by Morgoth, some destroyed in the War of Wrath. She saw Khazad-dûm polluted and destroyed by the Balrog. She saw Númenor - whose royal line were also her kin, via Turgon and Idril - polluted, turned into a brutal hideous empire and tyranny, and then sunk. 

She saw Celebrimbor, her young cousin, try to make the rings as tools to make the world better - and saw Sauron use and betray him, and then come back and utterly destroy his kingdom, slaughtering his people, who fled to her, to Thranduil, and to Elrond. She saw Gil-galad’s last kingdom and the very Pyrrhic victory in Mordor, followed by the slow but unstoppable decay of what she in Lorien, Thranduil in Greenwood or Elrond in Imladris could actually protect. 

Then she saw her only child captured by orcs and held captive and tortured and gods know what else until Celebrien was incapable of staying in Middle Earth - not for her children, or her husband, or her parents. She saw the rise of the Necromancer and his unmasking. 

She has bled and lost and grieved for thousands of years. Not a single person she came to Middle-Earth with still survives. Celeborn is the only person she loved she has ever got to keep with her, and she met him there. She couldn’t even keep her own child safe. 

And now she’s being offered the One Ring, the source of more power than even Melian had (and Melian was strong enough for the Girdle to protect Doriath from Melkor). She’s being offered the one thing that exists that could even possibly let her change that, make that not so. The only thing that exists that could keep the final end of all of that being the death of Lorien, the loss of Imladris, the loss of everything she ever wanted or worked for. 

Without the Ring, she was strong enough to hold Sauron off. With the Ring she could have erased him. She would have been stronger than Lúthien, who enchanted even Melkor. She could make the whole world like Lothlorien. And Frodo is offering it to her. 

More than that, he’s asking her to take it. He’s saying “I’m too weak, I’m too small, I’m tired, I’m scared, it hurts, I don’t want it. Please say you want it and I will give it to you.” 

And she says no. She doesn’t take it. She doesn’t ask for it. 

She accepts that everything she has ever done is going to die. That she will be forgotten, that her people’s home will decay and disintegrate, that nothing she made or anyone she ever loved made will endure. 

She fights the war that comes afterwards (and the movies ALSO mislead like fuck on that: Lothlorien and Rivendell were both under MAJOR siege during the war and a LOT of people died, and that should be even scarier: that Sauron fully felt he had the power to attack not JUST Gondor, but at the same time the Golden Wood, Imladris, the Lonely Mountain … and in all of them come so close to winning that it’s only the Ring’s destruction that saves the world; that’s how strong he was) in order to make sure that this will happen. That exactly the thing that will be the final nail in the coffin - the destruction of the Ring - will come to pass. 

And then goes back to the Undying Lands as an exile returning on sufferance, alone, because Celeborn can’t bring himself to leave yet. 

Elrond’s story is just about as tragic, and the thing is, this is the context of their last acts: throwing themselves at the war, at death, at the destruction of everything they love, because it’s the only chance that the people who come after them will get anything better than brutal slavery to the Enemy. They don’t get to keep shit. Elrond even loses his daughter - permanently, because her soul goes wherever human souls go. He’s already lost his twin brother like that. 

And despite what everyone draws as parallels, Aman isn’t “Heaven”. There’s no guarantee of healing or happiness there. It’s more likely than in Middle-Earth, but Fëanor’s mother effectively died of exhaustion, and even Nienna, one of the Valier herself, lives in permanent shattered mourning for the desecration and suffering of the world. Even as Frodo’s offered the right to go there the wording is always may. 

His wounds and weariness may be healed. Not will be. But may be. 

There’s no guarantee that Celebrien is there waiting for her mother or her husband when they get there: she may still be the wreck she was when she left Middle Earth. There’s no guarantee of anything. 

So it has a lot more in common with Fury Road, and the end of Fury Road - Max having given his all to help someone else win their victory and freedom, and then walking away because he can’t stay - than anything. And that’s pretty heartbreaking. 

Reposted fromlordminx lordminx viaSirenensang Sirenensang

das macht den Unterschied. Schleierfahndung ist gut!
Reposted fromdarksideofthemoon darksideofthemoon viasofias sofias

SWR2 Wissen: Der russische Anarchist Michail Bakunin (MP3):

„Bakunins Entwurf eines Staates war die Anarchie, das heißt: Leben ohne Zwang und Gewalt, ohne Ausbeutung, ohne Kontrolle von oben. Seine Ideen werden bis heute kritisch diskutiert.“
Reposted fromgruetze gruetze

das macht den Unterschied. Schleierfahndung ist gut!
Reposted fromdarksideofthemoon darksideofthemoon

June 09 2017

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June 08 2017

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So somebody on my Facebook posted this. And I’ve seen sooooo many memes like it. Images of a canvas with nothing but a slash cut into it, or a giant blurry square of color, or a black circle on a white canvas. There are always hundreds of comments about how anyone could do that and it isn’t really art, or stories of the time someone dropped a glove on the floor of a museum and people started discussing the meaning of the piece, assuming it was an abstract found-objects type of sculpture.

The painting on the left is a bay or lake or harbor with mountains in the background and some people going about their day in the foreground. It’s very pretty and it is skillfully painted. It’s a nice piece of art. It’s also just a landscape. I don’t recognize a signature style, the subject matter is far too common to narrow it down. I have no idea who painted that image.

The painting on the right I recognized immediately. When I was studying abstraction and non-representational art, I didn’t study this painter in depth, but I remember the day we learned about him and specifically about this series of paintings. His name was Ad Reinhart, and this is one painting from a series he called the ultimate paintings. (Not ultimate as in the best, but ultimate as in last.)

The day that my art history teacher showed us Ad Reinhart’s paintings, one guy in the class scoffed and made a comment that it was a scam, that Reinhart had slapped some black paint on the canvas and pretentious people who wanted to look smart gave him money for it. My teacher shut him down immediately. She told him that this is not a canvas that someone just painted black. It isn’t easy to tell from this photo, but there are groups of color, usually squares of very very very dark blue or red or green or brown. They are so dark that, if you saw them on their own, you would call each of them black. But when they are side by side their differences are apparent. Initially you stare at the piece thinking that THAT corner of the canvas is TRUE black. Then you begin to wonder if it is a deep green that only appears black because the area next to it is a deep, deep red. Or perhaps the “blue” is the true black and that red is actually brown. Or perhaps the blue is violet and the color next to it is the true black. The piece challenges the viewer’s perception. By the time you move on to the next painting, you’re left to wonder if maybe there have been other instances in which you believe something to be true but your perception is warped by some outside factor. And then you wonder if ANY of the colors were truly black. How can anything be cut and dry, black and white, when even black itself isn’t as absolute as you thought it was?

People need to understand that not all art is about portraying a realistic image, and that technical skills (like the ability to paint a scene that looks as though it may have been photographed) are not the only kind of artistic skills. Some art is meant to be pretty or look like something. Other art is meant to carry a message or an idea, to provoke thought.

Reinhart’s art is utterly genius.

“But anyone could have done that! It doesn’t take any special skill! I could have done that!”

Ok. Maybe you could have. But you didn’t.

Give abstract art some respect. It’s more important than you realize.

Reposted fromziyoxis ziyoxis viamolotovcupcake molotovcupcake

Glaube an allmächtige russische Hacker als Religion anerkannt

Berlin (dpo) - Sie wohnen in jedem Computer auf der ganzen Welt und lenken die Geschicke der Menschheit: Der Glaube an allmächtige russische Hacker, die den Lauf der Weltgeschichte bestimmen, ist heute offiziell als Religion anerkannt worden. Besonders in den USA, aber auch in Deutschland erfreut sich die Glaubensgemeinschaft immer größerem Zulauf. Anhänger des sogenannten Russohackismus sind fest davon überzeugt, dass geheimnisvolle Computerexperten aus Russland hinter nahezu sämtlichen größeren Ereignissen stecken, für die es sonst keine zufriedenstellende Erklärung gibt. Dazu zählen nicht nur klassische Hackerangriffe unbekannten Ursprungs, sondern unter anderem auch Falschmeldungen, überraschende Wahlergebnisse, Strafzettel, Hexenschuss und verknotete Kopfhörerkabel.  Wir besuchen einen russohackistischen Gebetskreis in Berlin-Wedding:
"Russische Hacker sind allmächtig. Sie bestimmen, wer Präsident wird, sie beeinflussen die Bundestagswahl, sie veröffentlichen Nacktbilder von Promis", beschreibt Frank Grebbler (44) nach dem gemeinsamen Gebet seinen Glauben.  Aus der Kirche ist der ehemals gläubige Katholik ausgetreten: "Ich habe den falschen Götzen abgeschworen, um mich ganz der Verehrung russischer Hacker hinzugeben. Codes Gnade sei mit uns!" Ob Wladimir Putin mit den heiligen Wesen in Verbindung steht, wird unter Russohackisten kontrovers diskutiert. Während manche den Präsidenten Russlands für einen Propheten halten, ist er für andere nur ein Scharlatan, der sich im Glanz der unsterblichen Hacker sonnt.  Auch die Frage, welches Ziel russische Hacker mit ihren allgegenwärtigen Attacken verfolgen und warum sie etwa den Iran-Verbündeten Katar bloßstellten, ist laut Grebbler unklar. "Wir können und müssen nicht alles wissen. Es wäre anmaßend, ihrem allmächtige Wirken irgendwelche kleinlichen Motive zu unterstellen. Die Wege der russischen Hacker sind unergründlich."
Reposted fromgruetze gruetze viaraindancer raindancer



why are non-millennials so personally offended by everything? like if i’m still wearing my jacket indoors, it’s because i’m cold, not because i disrespect your home/your classroom !! if somebody has got your order wrong, it’s because they’re very busy and simply made a mistake, not because they’re trying to jeopardise your meal !! if somebodies phone rings during a meeting/lecture, it’s because they accidentally forgot to put it on silent, not because they want to disrupt your speech !! just calm down, sharon, not everything is about you

my personal favorite is when you yawn and they’re like “am I boring you?”

like bitch i’m running on five hours of sleep and chronic anxiety 

Reposted fromziyoxis ziyoxis viahexxe hexxe

June 07 2017

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Reposted fromfmcg4545 fmcg4545 viaSirenensang Sirenensang

Stanisław Lem - Liebe und Tensor Algebra

Komm, lass uns tanzen in den Banach-Raum, Wo Punktepaare wohlgeordnet sind, Und Riemannsche Blätter rascheln im Wind, Gefaltet, geheftet, schön wie im Traum.
Ich pfeiffe auf Bernoullis Fixpunktsatz,  Was soll'n mir Hilbert, Euler oder Venn Mit ihren Indizes von eins bis n, Wenn Du mich liebst, mein rationaler Schatz!
Fixpunkte träumen von Kontraktionen, Vektor schmeichelt der schönen Matrize,  Spalten bring er in siedende Hitze,  Heiß und ergodisch glühen die Zonen.
Mordells Vermutung ist kein leerer Wahn, Denn Deine Kurven sind mein höchstes Ziel, Ich zählte süßer Punkte endlich viel, Und meine Graphen kreuzten ihre Bahn.
Du bist mein maximales Ideal, Der Zustand meiner Liebe ist stabil, Doch deine Kovarianten sind labil Und unbestimmt wie Eulers Integral.
In Deinen Augen glänzt der Eigenwert, In jedem Seufzer schwingt ein Tensor mit, Du weißt nicht, wie mein Operator litt, Hast Du ihm doch Funktionen stets verwehrt.
Den Ring aus Polynomen gab ich Dir, Dazu die Markov-Kette mit dem Stein, All Deine Tensorfelder waren mein, Nur Dein Quotientenkörper fehlte mir.
Lösch mich nicht, denn was wird von mir bleiben? Parabeln, deren Brennpunkt niemand weiß, Abzissen, zwei Mantissen und ein Kreis. Laserstrahl wird mich zu Staub zerreiben.
Erstarren werden meine positiven Glieder, Näht man mein topologisches Leichenhemd, Vergiß mich nicht, werd mir nicht teilerfremd Und sing am Grab mir lineare Lieder!
Reposted fromgruetze gruetze

June 06 2017

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