If, however, a culture has not got beyond a point at which the satisfaction of one portion of its participants depends upon the suppression of another, and perhaps larger, portion - and this is the case in all presentday cultures - it is understandable that the suppressed people should develop an intense hostility towards a culture whose existence they make possible by their work, but in whose wealth they have too small a share. In such conditions an internalization of the cultural prohibitions among the suppressed people is not to be expected.
Well this is the first picture I will be putting on here this is A Sigmund Mochi from the Bad God AU that kyokyo866 and lambofthelions and maybe a few others created as you can tell Mundi here is from the Hell Route of the AU *shudders*. Anyway I’ll stop rambling now bye bye I hope you like it!
My steps through the Goblet were slow as the sun reached the horizon. Gold and orange stretched out across the clouds, and a warm breeze drifted over the massive stone walls of the district. I found myself drawn more to the setting sun than the myriad of colors around me. Yellows, reds, banners in pink and purple surrounded me. Rooftops and decorated balconies stretched out around the curving streets, and occasionally people drifted by. I watched them for a time, studying their clothes and they way they walked. It was something of a game I played in my own mind, guessing at who and what the people that passed me by were. Few of them caught my eyes studying them, but the occasional few that did found only a courteous smile and a faint nod. Often I got a disapproving scowl or a turned cheek as they sped along their path.
“Excepto la ansiedad que no nos decepciona, todas las demás emociones son esencialmente falsas” (Sigmund Freud)
Para Freud todas las emociones engañan excepto la ansiedad, ya que la angustia se expresa tal y como viene, sin tapujos, porque el resto de emociones pueden ser falsas: como por ejemplo el odio que puede encubrir un amor; la soledad ocultar un miedo; la ira enmascarar una depresión …
The sand blasted us, pushing us back like a solid wall of dirt. Goggles protected my eyes from the worst of it, but the bits that couldn’t be held back began to collect in the lining of my boots and shirt. I could feel the coarse granules shifting against my skin, and I wanted nothing more than to be done with this blasted job. When you get paid to escort some nothing merchant you don’t expect to be dealing with the breadth of the desert itself, shifted in on an evening gale. Yet here I was almost neck deep in the thick of it with some green behind the ears fur trader trying to make it to Drybone. Why she didn’t just buy passage there was beyond me.