Bourbaki's Axiom
lostinfictionbooks:

Book and tea

I just finished reading this, and it was great!
I starts as light as Artemis Fowl, but before long it was more like One Flew over Cuckoo’s Nest. Or something. You should read it.

lostinfictionbooks:

Book and tea

I just finished reading this, and it was great!

I starts as light as Artemis Fowl, but before long it was more like One Flew over Cuckoo’s Nest. Or something. You should read it.

Students in Bologna

Venezia by moonlight.

Venezia by moonlight.

bourbakiaxiom:

(Painting: Moonlight, by Vilis Ozols)


Epiphany I
(Latvian original by Imants Ziedonis; my English translation)
It is very early. The sun has not yet opened his eyes. Mother has not begun rocking my cradle. Father has not yet gone to tend the horses. The shoes are having a lie-in, beyond the door, over the threshold, on the paths.


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I am reblogging this in memory of the painter Vilis Ozols, who passed away on the 2nd of July, 2014.
This is all very personal for me. Vilis was my uncle, yet I only met him for the first - and it turns out only - time a few weeks ago, when we visited Latvia.
RIP Vilis.

bourbakiaxiom:

(Painting: Moonlight, by Vilis Ozols)

Epiphany I

(Latvian original by Imants Ziedonis; my English translation)

It is very early. The sun has not yet opened his eyes. Mother has not begun rocking my cradle. Father has not yet gone to tend the horses. The shoes are having a lie-in, beyond the door, over the threshold, on the paths.

Read More

I am reblogging this in memory of the painter Vilis Ozols, who passed away on the 2nd of July, 2014.

This is all very personal for me. Vilis was my uncle, yet I only met him for the first - and it turns out only - time a few weeks ago, when we visited Latvia.

RIP Vilis.

Another of the Bologna Uni environmental art posters…

Another of the Bologna Uni environmental art posters…

More Bologna University environmental art posters…

More Bologna University environmental art posters…

Another set of Bologna uni Green posters…

Another set of Bologna uni Green posters…

More Bologna Uni “green posters”. More to come…

More Bologna Uni “green posters”. More to come…

Green Bologna Posters
The area around Bologna University had lots of environmentally-oriented posters, all in monochrome. I don’t know what the story was behind them, but they were excellent, both graphically, and for the thought and/or action they might provoke.

(Considerable Falls of Snow, (1938), by the British printmaker, Eric Ravilious (1903-1942))
Epiphany - Snowball
by Imants Ziedonis (my translation)
Is it then so incomprehensible? Flowers are given as presents, wine, and the press of human flesh. Fire is given as gift, and all that is warm. I was standing by the door of your house. I had brought you a snowball. Was that so incomprehensible?
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This year the first snow fell in Cēsis, but you live in Auce. Would I be able to bring you a snowball across Latvia? When I picked it up by the Cīrulis St tramline, my hands were warm, and, so that it wouldn’t melt, I held it just by my fingertips. Over Amata, down through Kārlis, I got through to the Vidzeme Highway. For the first kilometers the snowball was melting in my hands, but after that it melted less and less, for my hands were not that warm anymore, and I was happy that all will be well - perhaps I will manage. Indeed at times I did stick the snowball under my arm, but only long enough to have a smoke, then I would again carry it in my hands. Wasn’t I freezing? It seemed to me that there was nothing warmer than a snowball, which one carried to another.What warmth was there in that handshake, that vase, that rose, that you were given? Or in that book or bottle, that lolly box, that was returned, carried across just here, from street across street? I knew, that never had such warmth been returned in any gift, and so I was young, strong and felt no cold at all. I was like a young birch tree, from which the sweet sap flows forth, glistening. And so my warmth flowed away into a white piece of snow. By the Lor River I had given from my wrists to my elbows. By Riga I had already given you my hands.
Occasionally a car would stop, and invite me inside. It seems that it was odd, looking on: a person walking, the snow gently wafting, and in his hands is a snowball. At first I accepted, got in, but the snow began to melt, and slowly droplets began to drip onto the cabin floor. “Throw it into the field,” the driver said. “What’s with you? Something unhinged, or what?”Then I climbed out, and I knew I had to go, that otherwise pretty soon I’d be reported to the militia. From then on, I kept away from car rides. I went the whole way on foot. Only just near Auces did I waiver, and I asked a milkman to take me for the last bit. My hands were getting cold. High pitched and strange was the ringing of the milk cans. Now always, when I am cold, I hear behind me the sound of clanking, shivering milk cans.
And then this thought entered my mind: perhaps it was like this, that Weidenbaum had shivered, when he carried that poem of his for the whole journey, which also was like a snowball, and took it with him to the end.“What do you think, old man? Did Weidenbaum die with snow in his hands?”“Don’t mess about! Throw it away! You will get rheumatism,” said the old milkman, as we drove up to the town’s edge. It got still colder from his words.
But you didn’t come out to meet me, your door was locked, and your neighbours said that you are away from home.“That’s fine,” I said, “I’ll wait for her.”“She won’t be soon,” the neighbours informed me, inviting me in to warm up, “she drove to Cesis.”“Nevermind,” I said, “I’ll wait.”I didn’t go in with them, for the snow was beginning to melt again, for my hands had become warm, perhaps from the upset.I went into the forest, by your roadside, sat on a log and waited. The snow melted slowly, unstoppably. And then you came.“What snow in Cēsis! Astounding! Lots, lots and white, the whole world full. I was like a puppy rolling in the snow,” you said, and you took from my eyelashes a little ice crystal, and tossed it to the ground. “Such cold hands you have.”“Yes, they’re frozen.”What else was there for me to answer? There by the log, where the snow drifted into the moss, a small fir tree grew. Small, stunted, and filled with frost.The frost didn’t even melt in the summer.A now the fir is quite big, but the frost doesn’t disappear.

(Considerable Falls of Snow, (1938), by the British printmaker, Eric Ravilious (1903-1942))

Epiphany - Snowball

by Imants Ziedonis (my translation)

Is it then so incomprehensible? Flowers are given as presents, wine, and the press of human flesh. Fire is given as gift, and all that is warm. I was standing by the door of your house. I had brought you a snowball. Was that so incomprehensible?

Read More