virilis

Scrisoare pentru adolescente

Dragele mele purtătoare de vagin, permiteți-mi să vă impărtășesc o parte din înțelepciunea mea de copilă de 26 ani. Am văzut n postari în care vă intindeți bucăți de suflet sperând să le lipească cineva după ce a fost călcat în picioare de purtătorii de biluțe.
Există o explicație foarte simplă pentru care vi se întâmplă asta. Noi, femeile, avem scrisă în inteligența emoțională nevoia de a ne cupla cu bărbați virili, puternici pentru ca atunci când trăiam în peșteri aveam nevoie de protecție și siguranță împotriva fiarelor și a altor pericole. Cum s-ar zice că suntem leșinate după „bad boys”, indiferent de vârstă și de individualitatea fiecăreia.
Problema e că multe dintre voi nu înțelegeți diferența dintre „bad boy” și „bad toy”.
Să v-o zic mai simplu.
„bad boy” = creatură cerebrală, pompată cu testosteron de calitate superioară având margini dure de care vă puteți sprijini fără să vă fie teamă că se vor surpa.
„bad toy” = creatură bipedă/ tripedă la vederea unei țâțe, scuipător profesionist cu margini ascuțite menite doar să vă ințepe sau să vă penetreze.
Nu vă mai umeziți fizic și sufletește la orice individ care vă bombardează cu vorbe frumoase, aveți răbdare să le și concretizeze prin fapte și atitudine. „Bad toy” îți va spune că nu poate trăi fără tine și apoi va trăi bine mersi și o săptămână fără să te caute în timp ce tu faci ulcer de stres și frustrare. „Bad boy” te va pupa pe frunte și poate nici n-o să-ți spună că ii vei lipsi când va pleca, dar intr-o oră deja te va suna să vadă dacă nu ți-au înghețat buzele până ai ajuns acasă.
„Bad toy” îți va spune că ești cea mai frumoasă și mirobolantă monalisă,dar în prima conjunctură o să-l contrazică grav privirea umedă de vițel ce fuge după curul alteia. Tot el se va lăuda că te va face să urli la lună când îți va ajunge intre picioare, dar nu vei rămâne decât cu abisul dintre cuvinte și performanță, pentru că erecția vorbelor o va depăși cu mult pe cea a organului.
„Bad boy” veritabil își va ține gura închisă și ochii infipți în tine, te va respecta în tăcere pe stradă, în vizită la rude sau prieteni și va uita de tot respectul când te va vedea goală, pentru ca el nu suportă să te vadă goală, el vrea sa te umple. Trupește, sufletește, mental, spiritual.
Ăia care măsoară dragostea ce le-o porți în numărul de kile pierdute, în numărul de crize de plâns și de implorări sunt niște sugative complexate ce nu-și regasesc masculinitatea prin alte metode decâat făcându-te pe tine mai vulnerabilă.
Vă rog, aruncați un ochi la băieții/barbații din jurul vostru care poate tac mai mult sau vorbesc mai puțin, dar mai convingător. Care știu să și injure, dar să vorbească și corect gramatical. Care își respectă mamele sau alte femei. Nu mai alergați după copii deghizați în masculi și papagali fără pene.
Cu drag și simpatie, fostă colecționară de „bad toys”.

copyright: Gina Balineanu © Confesiuni Anonime

Things that irk me/make me ponder:

So, Sumerian and Akkadian Mesopotamia was overwhelmingly was a textile based society- wool was their main exportable resource, and we know they had large-scale workshops exporting textile products from the Sargonic Period at least (2400 BCE). Wool, textiles and weaving were utterly fundamental to Sumerian/Akkadian life and culture, but no actual examples have survived.

So why do artist’s depictions of Mesopotamia always only ever show people wearing, plain, white largely undecorated clothing? However lovely the art, the people always seem sterile and colourless, and are all dressed identically.

Now, the plain, undecorated skirt or one-shoulder tunic with a tufted bottom does absolutely have a precedent in Mesopotamian statues. It’s what almost every Sumerian statue or votive is wearing:

There are hundreds more examples.

But those statues are virtually always of three types of people- kings, priests, and high-ranking male worshippers who commissioned votives of themselves.

It’s entirely possible that the almost undecorated white skirt was an equivalent of the Roman Toga Virilis- a high status garment only for extremely high-ranking men.

This is one of the few truly detailed statues of a woman from Ancient Mesoptamia:

Doesn’t that look like embroidery?

Anyway, it’s entirely possible that ordinary Mesopotamians, and maybe higher ranking women, could have looked more like this:

Both above examples from the traditional dress of the Kalash people in Northern Pakistan, just to show how colourful things could have been for all we know, though in reality, the colours were probably a little more muted due to inefficient dyes. Here are some examples of traditional dress and textiles from around modern Iraq:

(Both the traditional clothes of modern day Assyrian people, astonishingly similar to ancient depictions).

We know from painting examples in Anatolia that patterns drawn on walls 8000 years ago are still used on textiles in the same area today. This is what the traditional embroidery of the Ma’adan people, whose culture is believed to have been in many ways unchanged from Sumeria up until the 1990s looks like. 

#Picture the Sumerians wearing colours 2017

4

Temple of Portunus

Rome

120-80 BCE

10.5 x 19 meters

The Temple of Portunus (Italian: Tempio di Portuno) or Temple of Fortuna Virilis (“manly fortune”) is a Roman temple in Rome, one of the best preserved of all Roman temples. Its dedication remains unclear, as ancient sources mention several temples in this area of Rome, without saying enough to make it clear which this is. It was called the Temple of Fortuna Virilis from the Renaissance, and remains better known by this name. If dedicated to Portunus, god of keys, doors and livestock, and so granaries, it is the main temple dedicated to the god in the city. It is in the Ionic order and located by the ancient Forum Boarium by the Tiber, during Antiquity the site overlooked the Port Tiberinus at a sharp bend in the river; from here, Portunus watched over cattle-barges as they entered the city from Ostia.

The temple was originally built in the third or fourth century BCE but was rebuilt between 120-80 BCE, the rectangular building consists of a tetrastyle portico and cella, raised on a high podium reached by a flight of steps, which it retains. Like the Maison Carrée in Nîmes, it has a pronaos portico of four Ionic columns across and two columns deep. The columns of the portico are free-standing, while the remaining five columns on the long sides and the four columns at the rear are half-columns engaged along the walls of the cella. This form is sometimes called pseudoperipteral, as distinct from a true peripteral temple like the Parthenon entirely surrounded by free-standing columns. The Ionic capitals are of the original form, different in the frontal and side views, except in the volutes at the corners, which project at 45°, a common Roman detail. It is built of tuff and travertine with a stucco surface.

anonymous asked:

Is witch Mercy aware of the loophole of where she can’t be pregnant by a human but can with a supernatural being? Or she just thought she can’t carry a baby? I like to imagine her suprised reaction when she found out she can.

Mercy: Well… it’s certainly unforeseen, but I suppose not completely impossible. The magic I carry is linked to my life, and, from what I had read of its previous bearers, usually wouldn’t take well to sharing itself with… other forms of life in me. ‘No seed of man can flourish in a field of fire’ and whatnot. But it would seem that your magic and mine were somehow able to…*awkwardly interlaces fingers* coalesce?
Genji: Indeed it is a great testament to my power and virili—What’s this about ‘no seed of man?’
Mercy:
Mercy: *nervous laugh* Well…it’s a funny story…
Genji: Wait—does this mean you weren’t planning to hold up your end of the deal to begin with!?
Mercy: …in my defense the monk who gave me your tea leaf pot said you were a fool. And you’ve gone on this long being none the wiser so…
Genji: I—how is that defending–You just–you—! You’re getting sneakier by the second!
Mercy: I’m precisely the same amount of sneakiness as when we met. You’re just catching on now.
Genji: Hmph. *folds arms and mutters* You’re the one who’s gone and gotten knocked up by a demon. Who’s the real fool, here?

A Young Man Unmanned by Love

Note: “The son of sea-dwelling Thetis” = Achilles, whose mother dressed him in women’s clothing and concealed him in the palace of King Lycomedes of Scyros before the Trojan War, fearing a prophecy that he would be slain if he joined the Greek expedition against Troy.

Horace, Odes 1.8

Lydia, tell me – I beg you by all the gods-
Why you make haste to ruin Sybaris by loving him,
Why he, who can easily bear the dust and brightness,
Avoids the sunny Field of Mars like the plague
And never practices his horsemanship among
His soldierly age-mates, nor guides the mouth of a Gallic
Horse with a bit that’s shaped into jagged teeth.
Why does he shudder to touch the sand-yellow Tiber?
Why does he flee from anointing his limbs with olive oil
With greater fear than he’d show toward viper’s blood,
And why does he no longer show off arms
Discolored from weapons – he who once won glory
By hurling the discus often, often the spear
Beyond the farthest mark?  O why is he hiding,
The way they say the son of sea-dwelling Thetis
Hid once, on the eve of the sorrowful deaths at Troy,
Lest manly clothing snatch him forth into
The midst of slaughter and the throngs of Lycian soldiers?

    Lydia, dic, per omnis
te deos oro, Sybarin cur properes amando
    perdere, cur apricum
oderit Campum, patiens pulveris atque solis,
    cur neque militaris
inter aequalis equitet, Gallica nec lupatis
    temperet ora frenis.
Cur timet flavum Tiberim tangere? Cur olivum
    sanguine viperino
cautius vitat neque iam livida gestat armis
    bracchia, saepe disco
saepe trans finem iaculo nobilis expedito?
    quid latet, ut marinae
filium dicunt Thetidis sub lacrimosa Troia
    funera, ne virilis
cultus in caedem et Lycias proriperet catervas?

Achilles Discovered among the Daughters of Lycomedes, Jan Boeckhorst (after Anthony van Dyck), ca. 1650

Calendar of Roman festivals: Aprilis/April

1

- KALENDS,traditionally offerings to Iuno and Ianus were given as well as offerings to the Lares*


- Veneralia, festival in honor of Venus Verticordia(Venus the changer of hearts) and Fortuna Virilis(the ‘manly’ aspect of the goddess Fortuna),historically the statue of Venus was removed from her temple to the mens baths and was undressed and washed by her female worshippers, men and women both asked Venus for help romantically and sexually.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

Ti senti più vicino a un uomo o una donna?

Ad entrambi, psicologicamente parlando mi sento sia un uomo che una donna.

Ora voi fraintenderete, immaginandomi in atteggiamenti non molto virili mentre cammino per strada sculettando e tenendo una borsetta sotto braccio, come una checca. O magari mentre mi do lo smalto sulle unghie.

Quando invece io sto parlando di sfera psicologica, ‘na ‘osa non tanto banale.
In certi atteggiamenti sono più simile ad un uomo ed altri ad una donna.

Nella sfera affettiva/amorosa per esempio sono più sono più simile ad una donna. Amo i miei figlio come li amarebbe una madre, non nego infatti di averli sempre viziati fin da piccini…

Nel campo della relazione sociale invece sono più simile ad un uomo. Mi rapporto con gli altri utilizzando gli stessi schemi psicologici di una mente maschile.

Ma è una cosa varia, mi sono sempre sentito una persona molto “mutevole”. Posso essere donna oggi, come potrei essere un uomo domani.

Sono nato dalla vite, no?

Bona Liberalia! 

Also a Happy Feast of St. Dionysus!

On Liberalia:

“There’s a popular festival of Bacchus, on the third day After the Ides: Bacchus, favour the poet who sings your feast. I’ll not speak about Semele: you’d have been born defenceless, If it hadn’t been that Jupiter brought her his lightning too. Nor will I tell how the mother’s labour was fulfilled In a father’s body, so you might duly be born their son. It would take long to tell of the conquered Sithonians, And the Scythians, and the races of incense-bearing India. I’ll be silent about you too, Pentheus, sad prey to your own mother, And you Lycurgus, who killed your own son in madness. Lo, I’d like to speak of the monstrous Tyrrhenians, who Suddenly became dolphins, but that’s not the task of this verse. The task of this verse is to set out the reasons, Why a vine-planter sells his cakes to the crowd. Liber, before your birth the altars were without offerings, And grass appeared on the stone-cold hearths. They tell how you set aside the first fruits for Jupiter, After subduing the Ganges region, and the whole of the East. You were the first to offer up cinnamon and incense From conquered lands, and the roast entrails of triumphal oxen. Libations derive their name from their originator, And cake (liba) since a part is offered on the sacred hearth. Honey-cakes are baked for the god, because he delights in sweet Substances, and they say that Bacchus discovered honey. He was travelling from sandy Hebrus, accompanied By Satyrs, (my tale contains a not-unpleasant jest) And he’d come to Mount Rhodope, and flowering Pangaeus: With the cymbals clashing in his companions’ hands. Behold unknown winged things gather to the jangling, Bees, that follow after the echoing bronze. Liber gathered the swarm and shut it in a hollow tree, And was rewarded with the prize of discovering honey. Once the Satyrs, and old bald-headed Silenus, had tasted it, They searched for the yellow combs in every tree. The old fellow heard a swarm humming in a hollow elm, Saw the honeycombs, but pretended otherwise: And sitting lazily on his hollow-backed ass, He rode it up to the elm where the trunk was hollow. He stood and leant on the stump of a branch, And greedily reached for the honey hidden inside. But thousands of hornets gathered, thrusting their stings Into his bald head, leaving their mark on his snub-nosed face. He fell headlong, and received a kick from the ass, As he shouted to his friends and called for help. The Satyrs ran up, and laughed at their father’s face, While he limped about on his damaged knee. Bacchus himself laughed and showed him the use of mud: Silenus took his advice, and smeared his face with clay. Father Liber loves honey: its right to offer its discoverer Glittering honey diffused through oven-warm cakes. The reason why a woman presides isn’t obscure: Bacchus stirs crowds of women with his thyrsus. Why an old woman, you ask? That age drinks more, And loves the gifts of the teeming vine. Why is she wreathed with ivy? Ivy’s dearest to Bacchus: And why that’s so doesn’t take long to tell. They say that when Juno his stepmother was searching For the boy, the nymphs of Nysa hid the cradle in ivy leaves. It remains for me to reveal why the toga virilis, the gown Of manhood, is given to boys on your day, Bacchus: Whether it’s because you seem to be ever boy or youth, And your age is somewhere between the two: Or because you’re a father, fathers commend their sons, Their pledges of love, to your care and divinity: Or because you’re Liber, the gown of liberty And a more liberated life are adopted, for you: Or is it because, in the days when the ancients tilled the fields More vigorously, and Senators worked their fathers’ land, And ‘rods and axes’ took Consuls from the curving plough, And it wasn’t a crime to have work-worn hands, The farmers came to the City for the games, (Though that was an honour paid to the gods, and not Their inclination: and the grape’s discoverer held his games This day, while now he shares that of torch-bearing Ceres): And the day seemed not unfitting for granting the toga, So that a crowd could celebrate the fresh novice? Father turn your mild head here, and gentle horns, And spread the sails of my art to a favourable breeze. If I remember rightly, on this, and the preceding day, Crowds go to the Argei (their own page will tell who they are). The Kite star turns downwards near The Lycaonian Bear: on this night it’s first visible. If you wish to know who raised that falcon to heaven, It was when Saturn had been dethroned by Jupiter: Angered, he stirred the mighty Titans to battle, And sought whatever help the Fates could grant him. There was a bull, a marvellous monster, born of Mother Earth, the hind part of which was of serpent-form: Warned by the three Fates, grim Styx had imprisoned him In dark woods, surrounded by triple walls. There was a prophecy that whoever burnt the entrails Of the bull, in the flames, would defeat the eternal gods. Briareus sacrificed it with an adamantine axe, And was about to set the innards on the flames: But Jupiter ordered the birds to snatch them: and the Kite Brought them, and his service set him among the stars.” - Ovid, Fasti III


From Sabazius’ Invisible Basilica:

Dionysus

(prehistoric/mythic)

by T. Apiryon

Copyright © 1995, 1999 Ordo Templi Orientis. All rights reserved.

Also known as Bacchus, Iacchus, Bassareus, Trietenicus and Liber. Thracian god of ecstasy, terror, guilt and atonement, death and resurrection, vegetation, trees, wine, madness, and drama. Crowley thought Dionysus was “probably an ecstatic from the East,” and one of the principle models for the syncretic legend of Christ. Herodotus places the birth of Dionysus (i.e., his appearance in Greece) at c. 1600 b.c.e. See Krishna, Chapter 71 of Liber Aleph,Part III of The Heart of the Master, Chapter 7 of The Book of Lies, and The Book of Thoth, II:0. Both Dionysus and his father Zeus are closely associated with the earlier Phrygian deity named Sabazios.

In the Orphic theogony (which differs substantially from the more well-known cosmogony of Homer and Hesiod), Dionysus appears successively in three forms: Phanês-Dionysus, the bisexual god of Light, burst from the silver egg of the cosmos (the so-called Orphic Egg is sometimes depicted as an egg girt with a serpent) at the beginning of time. Phanês was also known by the names of Protogonos, Ericapaeus, Eros and Mêtis ( a name previously applied to the Titaness who presided over the planet Mercury). Alone, Phanês created a daughter, Nyx (Night), with whom he begot Gê or Gaia (Earth) and Ouranos or Uranus (Heaven). These begot the Fates, the Centimani, the Cyclôpes (who built the world), and the Titans, with their leader Cronus (Saturn). In the revolt of the Titans against Uranus, Cronus became ruler of the World, and begat the gods. The leader of the gods, Zeus, wrested rulership of the world from Cronus by eucharistically swallowing his great-grandfather Phanes (Metis), assimilating his power. Zeus then took the form of a serpent and begot the second Dionysus, Dionysus-Zagreus, the Horned Child, upon his daughter Persephonê.

Zeus bequeathed rulership of the world and the underworld upon his son while he was still a child, even setting him upon the great throne and letting him hold the lightening-bolt scepter. This aroused the envy of the Titans and of his wife, Hêra. Hêra bribed the guards whom Zeus had entrusted to protect the child (the Kourêtes), and distracted the child with toys and a looking glass. While Zagreus was beholding his own face in the looking glass, the Titans, ceremonially smeared with white gypsum, entered and attacked him, tearing him to pieces and devouring him. Enraged, Zeus destroyed the Titans with his thunderbolt, and from their ashes, commingled with those of Dionysus-Zagreus, arose the human race. Humans are therefore of a dual nature: the Dionysian divine nature imprisoned in the Titanic material nature.

Athena, goddess of Wisdom, had witnessed the murder of Dionysus-Zagreus and had even managed to save his heart from the rage of the Titans. She brought it, still beating, to her father Zeus. Zeus consumed the heart, as he had previously consumed the Serpent-entwined Egg of Light of his great-grandfather Phanês. He then came to Semelê, daughter of Cadmus (Semelê was the Thracian word for “Earth”) and begot upon her the third Dionysus, known as Dionysus-Lyseus or Bakkhos, or simply as Dionysus. [Another version of the legend has Athena preserving the heart of Zagreus within a small figure she fashioned from the gypsum of the Titans, into which she breathed life.] Dionysus was born on the winter solstice in a cavern in Mount Nusa (one theory of the origin of the name Dionysus derives the name from words meaning “God of Nusa”). Having been born twice, once as Zagreus and once as Lyseus, Dionysus is known as Dithyrambos, the “twice-born.”

Hêra, always jealous of her mate’s numerous lovers and their children, disguised herself as Semelê’s maidservant and convinced Semelê that she deserved to behold Zeus in his true splendor. The next time she saw him, Semelê tricked Zeus into swearing to grant her a wish; which was, of course, that he reveal his true form to her. He reluctantly complied, and she was instantly burned to ashes by the intolerable glory of his manifestation.

Zeus placed Dionysus in the care of the Nysaean Nymphs, who nurtured him through his childhood, and for which they were rewarded by Zeus by being placed among the stars as the Hyades. [Another version of the legend states that Zeus hid the child within his own thigh until the child had attained puberty; an alternative theory of the origin of the name Dionysus derives the name from Dios-nusos, “the nurseling of Zeus”.]

When fully grown, Dionysus discovered the methods of culturing the vine and extracting and fermenting its juice; but Hêra, ever jealous, struck him with madness and caused him to aimlessly wander the earth. Walking one day on the shore on an island in the Greek Archipelago, he was abducted by Tyrrhenian pirates, who mistook him for the son of a rich king and expected a heavy ransom. They carried him aboard their ship and attempted to bind him with ropes; but the knots untied themselves and the ropes fell to the deck. The sea around the ship turned to wine, and a vine began to grow up the mast. The god assumed the form of a lion or panther, and the pirates, in terror, leapt overboard and were transformed into dolphins.

In Phrygia, he was cured of his madness by the Great Mother Goddess, his grandmother Rhea (also known as Cybelê, Bona Dea and Magna Mater), who initiated him into her mysteries. He then set out to teach viticulture and to establish his cult among the peoples of the world.

He marched through Syria, Lebanon, Caucasian Iberia (modern Georgia), India, Egypt and Libya accompanied by a retinue of his votaries, dancing ecstatically and shouting the mystic word “euoi” (Latinized as the familiar “evoe”). His votaries included the female maenads or bacchantes, tattooed, clad in fox-skins and playing frame-drums or cymbals; the male satyrs, clad in panther-skins and bearing thyrsi (a thyrsus was a rod tipped with a pine cone, with streamers of ivy); and Silenus, his fat, aged, drunken companion and keeper, riding on an ass. Despite his slovenly appearance and his perpetual drunkenness, Silenus possessed immense knowledge and wisdom, and was greatly respected by the votaries of Dionysus.

The worship of Dionysus was savage and ecstatic, his votaries participated in orgia in which live animals (usually a spotted fawn, a goat, an ox or a bull) were torn apart and devoured raw. It was believed that the god entered the worshippers and possessed them through this Eucharist of living flesh, called the Omophagia. Animal skins and masks were worn, and a bull-roarer (rhombus) was used to simulate the thundering of Zeus.

As Dionysus and his retinue traveled the world spreading his cult, those who accepted him were rewarded with ecstasy. Those who opposed him were stricken with madness, and brought down by the hideous results of their own deranged atrocities. After establishing his cult across the known world, he returned to Greece, bringing his orgiastic Phrygian rites with him. He was not well received. Pentheus, king of Thebes, had him arrested, tried, scourged and thrown into prison. For this, Dionysus drove all the women of Thebes mad, including Agave, Pentheus’s mother. They became maenads, and went out into the hills to conduct their Dionysian orgies. Pentheus imprudently followed them. Agave and her companions detected the spy, and in wild rage they fell upon him and tore him to pieces. Thus was Hellas converted to the religion of Dionysus; and Dionysus moved on.

On the island of Naxos, Dionysus discovered a girl weeping on the rocks. It was Ariadnê, the daughter of the Cretan king Minos, who had just been abandoned by Thêsêus. Dionysus fell in love with her; they wedded, and had many children.

Dionysus crowned his exploits by descending into the Underworld to recover his mother, Semelê. He took her to Olympus where she was ever after worshipped as Thyonê.

Many scholars believe that the Greek dramatic tradition ultimately originated in the ecstatic rites of Dionysus. The dramatic tradition is known to have originated in the Hellenic Mystery Schools, and the first of these schools was that of the Orphic Mysteries, which incorporated civilized, allegorical versions of the Dionysian rites into their system.

The ram, the dolphin, the serpent, the tiger, the lion, the lynx, the panther, the ox, the goat and the ass are sacred to Dionysus; and his symbols were the phallus, the bull and the thyrsus. According to Forlong, the Greek letters I.H.S. were carved over his shrine.

References:

  • Crowley, Aleister; The Book of Lies [1913], Samuel Weiser, NY 1978 
  • Crowley, Aleister; The Book of Thoth [1944], Samuel Weiser, NY 1969/74 
  • Crowley, Aleister; The Heart of the Master [Ordo Templi Orientis, 1938], New Falcon Publications, Scottsdale, Arizona 1992 
  • Crowley, Aleister; The Gospel According to Saint Bernard Shaw [1916], Stellar Visions, San Francisco 1986 
  • Crowley, Aleister; Liber Aleph vel CXI, The Book of Wisdom or Folly [Thelema Publishing, 1962], Samuel Weiser, York Beach, Maine 1991 
  • Forlong, J.G.R.; Faiths of Man, a Cyclopaedia of Religions [Bernard Quaritch, 1906], University Books, NY 1964 
  • Frazer, James G.; The Golden Bough; the Roots of Religion and Folklore [1890], Avenel Books, NY 1981 
  • Gaster, Theodor H.; The New Golden Bough, a New Abridgement of the Classic Work by Sir James George Frazer;Mentor Books, NY 1959 
  • Graves, Robert; The Greek Myths, Volume I, George Braziller, NY 1959 
  • Guirand, F.; “Greek Mythology” in The New Larousse Encyclopedia of Mythology. Hamlyn, NY 1959/1968 
  • Harrison, Jane Ellen; Themis; a Study of the Social Origins of Greek Religion [1912/1927], University Books, NY 1962
  • Herodotus; The Histories [c. 430 b.c.e.], transl. by Aubrey de S‚lincourt [1954]; revised, with an introduction and notes by A.R. Burn; Penguin, London 1972 
  • Mead, G.R.S.; The Orphic Pantheon, The Alexandrian Press, Edmonds, Washington 1984 
  • Ovid; Metamorphoses, translated by Rolfe Humphries, Indiana University Press, Bloomington 1955/1973 
  • Puhvel, Jaan; Comparative Mythology, Johns Hopkins University Press, Baltimore 1987 
  • Robinson, Herbert Spencer and Knox Wilson; The Encyclopedia of Myths and Legends of All Nations, Kaye & Ward, London 1962 
  • Wili, Walter; “The Orphic Mysteries and the Greek Spirit” [1944] in The Mysteries, Papers from the Eranos Yearbooks, Bollingen Series XXX.2, edited by Joseph Campbell, Princeton/Bollingen, Princeton NJ 1955/1978 
  • Zimmerman, J.E.; Dictionary of Classical Mythology, Harper & Row, NY 1964 


8/23/99

Originally published in

Red Flame No. 2 – Mystery of Mystery: A Primer of Thelemic Ecclesiastical Gnosticism

by Tau Apiryon and Helena; Berkeley, CA 1995 e.v.

The Roman Temple of Portunus, Rome, Italy, 1st century B.C.E.

The year 221 B.C.E. was a turning point both for Rome and for Roman art. Breaking with precedent, Marcellus, conqueror of the fabulously wealthy Sicilian Greek city of Syracuse, brought back to Rome not only the usual spoils of war -captured arms and armor, gold and silver coins, and the like- but also the city’s artistic patrimony. Thus began, in the words of the historian Livy, “the craze for works of Greek art.” […] Nevertheless, although the Romans developed a virtually insatiable taste for Greek “antiques,” the Etruscan basis of Roman art and architecture was never forgotten. The buildings and statues of the Roman Republic are highly eclectic, drawing on both Greek and Etruscan traditions.

Eclecticism is the primary characteristic of the Republican temple on the east bank of the Tiber popularly known as the Temple of the Fortuna Virilis. It is actually a temple dedicated to Portunus, the Roman god of harbors. Its plan follows the Etruscan pattern with a high podium and a flight of steps only at the front. Freestanding columns are confined to the deep porch. But the structure is built of stone (local tufa and travertine), overlaid originally with stucco in imitation of Greek marble.

The columns are not Tuscan but Ionic, complete with flutes and bases, and there is a matching Ionic freeze. Moreover, in an effort to approximate a peripteral Greek temple yet maintain the basic Etruscan plan, the architect added a series of engaged Ionic half columns to the sides and back of the cella. The result was a pseudoperipteral temple. Although the design combines Etruscan and Greek elements, the resultant mix is uniquely Roman.

-Gardner’s Art Through the Ages, Enhanced Edition, Volume I.

Photo courtesy & taken by Darkroom Daze.

“Ave, viaggiatore; quando ritornerai
nella tua terra, cerca
di non dimenticarmi.”
 
Non ho mai baciato un uomo, ancora. Come un’onda è la mia voce.
E la mia carne non è stata toccata da mani virili.
Eppure avevo fame di uno come te.
Eravamo entrambi frastornati per lo sforzo e la sorpresa.
Sia insieme dannata e benedetta la palla che abbiamo lanciato,
dopo aver steso i panni fuori ad asciugare,
quella mattina antica e dorata, quando due buffi muli avevano tirato il mio carretto…
Io sono Nausicaa. Discendo da antenati marinai.
C’è in me qualcosa di una nave che affonda, incontrata fortuitamente.
Mia madre tesse una tela di allegria, di lana purpurea.
E la casa accogliente di mio padre è imponente e magnifica.
Perciò sotto cieli antichi stiamo levando brindisi regali e insieme umili
in onore di un ospite smarrito e inaspettato…
Perché nascondi le tue lacrime sotto il mantello?
Non stiamo cercando di interrogare te, che sei potente, misterioso e libero…
Mi sciolgo nella colonna contro la quale sono poggiata…
Lascia che rimanga un segreto il modo in cui stavo in piedi, da sola, nel grande ingresso,
perché nessuno saprà mai come mi sentivo allora,
dal momento che non lo confesserò nemmeno a me stessa:
ti amo, Odisseo.
—  Judita Vaičiunaitė, Nausicaa da Vėtrungės
Che poi a me il femminismo come idea piace

La scorsa settimana ho avuto una conversazione sulla mia esistenza, che comunque è rilevante quanto la mia esistenza, ragion per cui ve la risparmio. Trascurando perciò le mie disavventure sentimentali (immagino abbiate già le vostre, e se non ne avete probabilmente mi invidiate, ed io invidio voi, quindi immagino che tra noi sia destinato ad esserci un reciproco rapporto di odio) si è discusso per lo più del femminismo, che se qualcuno – me compreso – avesse capito cosa sia magari sarebbe pure una bella cosa. Ma andiamo con ordine. Prendete un libro di fine Ottocento e apritelo a una pagina a caso. Trovate una parte in cui parla di una donna, se non c’è nessuna donna apritelo ad un’altra pagina a caso. Okay, questa non sarebbe più una pagina a caso… insomma prendete un libro e trovate una parte in cui si parla di una ragazza o di una giovane donna (spesso quelle più mature sono stipate per il ruolo delle cattive), e nel giro di poche righe a prescindere da cosa avete tra le gambe sarete innamorati di quel personaggio, che ovviamente non esiste. O che comunque se era ispirato ad una persona reale ora quella persona è morta, quindi niente lo stesso. Il mondo da allora è cambiato, le donne si sono stancate di essere beni da esposizione, di dover essere belle e graziose come fossero oggetti in vetrina, e hanno deciso di essere persone. E fin qui tutto bene.

Ora, passiamo al dilemma: quando noi diciamo “persona”, intendiamo “uomo”, e quando diciamo “uomo”, intendiamo “maschio”. E questa è una tragedia. Perché le donne potrebbero (avrebbero potuto) ricercare quella libertà emotiva ed intellettuale, ma tutto sommato mi pare abbiano preferito ottenere la parità (ricercare qualcosa in se stessi potrebbe avere dei risvolti molto gratificanti, ma è indubbiamente più complesso di desiderare e scimmiottare quello che ha il tuo compagno di banco, specie se il tuo compagno di banco all'apice della sfida con se stesso prova a ripulire la cavità nasale con una biro che poi si accerterà di mordicchiare), e quindi quella libertà propria degli uomini, le persone con il pisello, per intenderci. Il fatto è che le libertà proprie degli uomini mi sembrano per esempio quella di poter essere presuntuosi (perché nel caso sarebbero solo ambiziosi), quella di poter definire le persone dell’altro sesso come oggetti, che poi “si scopano” (perché nel caso sarebbero virili), quella di poter essere viscidi (perché nel caso sarebbero solo ammiccanti), di poter essere pigri (perché nel caso sarebbero meditativi), quella di poter essere irresponsabili (perché nel caso sarebbero degli spiriti liberi), di poter essere violenti e arroganti (perché nel caso sarebbero forti e spigliati) e altre qualità analogamente ammirevoli che si sono faticosamente conquistati nella prima fase evolutiva, grazie alla forza fisica e al fatto che non abbiano mai dovuto partorire e quindi di natura abbiano potuto far sempre quel cazzo che gli pareva. Insomma, l’uomo ha la libertà di essere un imbecille, e la donna ha subito colto come questa cosa non sia proprio giusta. Solo che poi, invece di ritrattare l'autodeterminazione delle qualità maschili ha preferito tutto sommato richiedere di poter beneficiare delle stesse libertà senza dover passare per delle poco di buono, perché gli uomini a fare (fare?) gli idioti passano per fighi. Capite che il problema quindi è che noi uomini di solito siamo degli idioti, e la donna, che oggi in molti Paesi ha finalmente il diritto di arrogarsi le medesime qualità dell’uomo, finalmente ha raggiunto obiettivi pregevoli che la portano ad un livello di parità. Possono andare in guerra, consacrare la vita alla carriera trascurando del tutto i propri figli e un sacco di altre cose che non dovrebbe fare nessuno con un minimo di buon senso.

Io non vorrei mai biasimare un valore così nobile come il femminismo, che racchiude in sé il principio della libertà, anche se pure gli uomini da quando sono liberi di essere meno uomini non mi pare abbiano fatto molti progressi oltre al farsi la ceretta e all'indossare pantaloni stretti (così da dover comprare pure loro una borsa per metterci dentro cose che altrimenti non si sarebbero mai portati dietro e probabilmente non avrebbero mai comprato). In una certa misura (non ravvisabile ad occhio nudo), io sono contento che si facciano questi progressi, perché la contaminazione è sempre un progresso (specie se trattasi di peste), ma mi pare che il modello del femminismo oggi sia non la libertà della donna di non essere merce degli uomini, ma la libertà della donna di essere uomo a sua volta, e quindi mercificare anch'essa il prossimo, la vita e le cose. Oggi usiamo dire di essere “uomini” quando siamo semplicemente villani, e di essere “virili” quando siamo solo stupidi, ma siccome la storia dell’uomo l’uomo se l’è sempre raccontata da solo, ci si è costruito un fascino che comunque per scoperchiarlo basta proseguire una conversazione oltre il “Tutto bene e tu?”. Tutti hanno il diritto di essere degli imbecilli, ma capite che l’umanità è composta da due parti, e la prima era già fottuta da tempo. Ora che il pisello ce l'abbiamo tutti, io non lo so chi vincerà in questa gara a chi piscia più lontano, ma temo che alla fine resterà solo puzza di piscio.

Nota per la mia vita sentimentale: internet offre una vasta gamma gratuita di serie tv.

Temple of Portunus (Temple of “Fortuna Virilis”) Rome, Italy, ca. 75 BCE

So this is significant because the Romans were awesome at marching and stealing people’s homelands and drinking wine and inventing aqueducts, but they basically relied almost completely on the Greeks and the Etruscans for artistic designs. So you notice how the side of this temple is flat? Yeah, so the Greeks built beautiful temples with columns that went all the way around, and the Romans were really into that aesthetic, but instead of actually going to the trouble of building columns all the way around their temples, they just kind of went ‘fuck it’ and half-assed a bunch of fake columns built into the walls (that’s called a psedoperipteral facade, by the way). Also, the arched roof and the stairs are Etruscan, but the sides? They’re stone covered with fake, imitation Greek marble. Get it together, Rome. 

HIV, AIDS e i Tram gialli di San Francisco.

In risposta all'appello lanciatomi dal Dr. Kon-Igi riguardo la seguente domanda: “se mi prendo una pasticca di Truvada mi passa la tosse e il raffreddore?” (qui)

Il Truvada, per chi non lo sapesse ancora (e magari un giorno potrebbe tornarvi utile dato che c'avete il brutto vizio di trombarvi il primo che vi capita senza preservativi), è un farmaco per curare l'HIV.

Ma andiamo con ordine e partiamo da quando Dio creò tutte le specie, tra cui Giggi Sabani, i virus e, data la sua vena altamente sadica, i retrovirus, che non sono una parola inventata dal fascismo per indicare comportamenti romanicamente deprecabili e poco virili, ma una classe di virus ad RNA. 

Ora, il 56% di voi non c'avrà capito un cazzo lo stesso e mi spiego meglio. La vita si tramanda da padre a figlio attraverso i geni. Il fenotipo (il naso grosso, i capelli fini, le tette piccole ecc.) sono caratteri genetici. I geni sono sequenze di DNA. I virus, come tutti i viventi, hanno un genoma a DNA, con il difetto che non hanno il macchinario per leggere il loro stesso DNA. Per farlo devono infettare un ospite e così si avvalgono del sistema cellulare vostro per farsi i cazzi loro. Un po’ come il tizio che vi scrocca la linea internet a vostra insaputa e ci scarica gli album di Gigi D'Alessio. Poi arriva la SIAE e dovete pagare voi le multe.

Ora, il DNA è una macromolecola a doppia elica (Bartezzaghi, 34 orizzontale). Le eliche vanno in senso antiparallelo, cioè stanno insieme facendo un 69 e quando si devono replicare, o tramandare l'informazione, usano il metodo Gutenberg: un'elica fa da stampo per la nuova con il semplice principio del calco. Lo stesso vale per la trasmissione del segnale. Il DNA si apre (le due eliche si staccano), si lega un scanner a lettura ottica all'inizio del gene e che noi biologi chiamiamo Polimerasi. Con il principio del calco, crea un filamento simile al DNA e che si chiama RNA, lungo tanto quanto il gene. L'RNA viene preso da un tizio chiamato Ribosoma che lo traduce in una proteina. La proteina è il risultato del vostro gene dei capelli fini, gli occhi grigi, le tette piccole e via dicendo.

I retrovirus, tipo l'HIV, al contrario di tutti noi, hanno un genoma ad RNA. Quindi, prima di replicarsi, devono fare il processo inverso: trasformare il loro RNA in DNA e poi farsi leggere e tradurre come detto sopra. Se non fanno sto passaggio sono utili tanto quanto un pacchetto office craccato per Microsoft scaricato su un Mac. 
Per farlo hanno bisogno di un enzima che si chiama RT: reverse transcriptase. Ora voi direte “ho capito spaam, quanti cazzi, ma sto Truvada?” Ecco, ci arriviamo. La RT cambia l'RNA al DNA e così, anni fa a qualcuno è venuta l'idea di fottere l'HIV bloccandolo proprio sul nascere, ovvero, bloccando la RT in modo da non farlo trasformare in DNA.

Il Truvada allora, blocca la RT, così che l'infezione si rallenta e questo significa che la quantità di virus, nel vostro sangue, scende in maniera consistente. In più, il Truvada aumenta il numero di cellule CD4, il bersaglio favorito dell'HIV.

Quindi, se avete un raffreddore, cioè un normale virus a DNA e prendete il Truvada, che blocca l'RT per i virus ad RNA, non gli farete una beneamata sega. Sarebbe come farsi un ciclo di chemio perché avete mal di denti o anche tagliare via l'intero Senato della Repubblica perché serve un miliardo d'euro per coprire un buco nero da 2.000 miliardi. 

Concludo con una nota per i feticisti dell'evoluzione. Quando un fesso vi viene a dire “se l'evoluzione è una teoria vera, perché oggi le scimmie non si trasformano più in esseri umani?” Allora, comprategli un chupa-chups alla cannella, dategli due pacche sulle spalle e sorridendo fategli notare come i virus e i retrovirus si adattano a nuovi ambienti, tramite mutazioni, nel giro di un anno. Un tipico esempio evolutivo.

E poi sparite via come quando fuori arriva la polizia.