Solving the SNCF mystery.
The sun in the cathedral, with its palm trees.
The Archive of Aragon, with Columbus’ original capitulations.
Getting a library card.
The theatre listings, the Café de la Opera.
The tourists, the trendy shops.
Buying green shoes. The rain.
Lost and there were no locals to ask for directions, nobody knew and many shopkeepers did not really speak Spanish or Catalan, they were mysterious immigrants.
Those guys on my doorstep when I finally got home, talking about the Atacama desert.
Mercès. Adeu. Bona nit.
Or one week of goodness, although I am hoping to get three. I had four days of peaceful writing at home, and four days of excellent work at a summer institute. Otherwise this summer has had more problems and far less calm than had been foreseen or planned. Now I am going on three weeks of vacation.
This involves twelve days of Barcelona, a week of Burgundy, and two days of Paris, spending all my frequent flyer miles. I will stroll and do schoolwork. I am meeting my pen pal. We have been writing since we were eight, and have not seen each other since then.
Una piedra en el camino / me enseñó que mi destino / era rodar y rodar / rodar y rodar / rodar y rodar…
That is from the most hilariously machista and probably gun-slinging song that could exist, but look what a beautiful voice Vicente Fernández had when he was young.
The song comes to me because, dateline Maringouin, the metropolis across the Atchafalaya is praying and praying, hay que rezar y rezar. We will pray and we will decry the excesses of the Westboro Baptist Church but at a certain level we are not different from them if we take the shootings as an “act of God” and not an effect of the power of the arms industry.
Nuestro destino es rezar y rezar.
Filed under Banes, News, Songs
I am interested in this piece.
Most current talk of forgiveness and reconciliation in the aftermath of collective violence proceeds from an assumption that forgiveness is always superior to resentment and refusal to forgive. Victims who demonstrate a willingness to forgive are often celebrated as virtuous moral models, while those who refuse to forgive are frequently seen as suffering from a pathology. Resentment is viewed as a negative state, held by victims who are not “ready” or “capable” of forgiving and healing.
Resentment’s Virtue offers a new, more nuanced view. Building on the writings of Holocaust survivor Jean Améry and the work of the South African Truth and Reconciliation Commission, Thomas Brudholm argues that the preservation of resentment can be the reflex of a moral protest that might be as permissible, humane or honorable as the willingness to forgive. Taking into account the experiences of victims, the findings of truth commissions, and studies of mass atrocities, Brudholm seeks to enrich the philosophical understanding of resentment.