Post in English
Koncept: Ewa Maria Slaska / Fotos: Tanja Krüger & Joasia Rubinroth
In Berlin winter is already gone. All snowmen rode to Antarktis. In Austria in February is still winter, exactly as it should be in February. As it was still winter. But in Berlin Nevermore. As in that famous poem of Edgar Allan Poe. Nevermore.
Today I found in Internet, what I am thinking everyday about. The winter came!
Я специально пишу это по-русски.
Не потому что «так привычнее».
А потому что так дойдёт.
До тех самых русскоговорящих русских в России, которые любят говорить:
«Мы тут ни при чём»,
«Это политика»,
«Мы вне войны».
Так вот — вы при чём.
Я выживу, потому что у меня есть работа и хоть какие-то деньги.
Потому что да, я могу пойти в спортлайф и отогреть тело под горячим душем.
Потому что да, я могу съесть тёплый бургер в Макдональдсе и сделать вид, что жизнь продолжается.
Именно поэтому мне особенно мерзко писать этот текст.
Многие не орут и не жалуются.
Но, су..а, как же холодно.
Это не «ой, зима».
Это не «надень свитер».
Это холод, от которого некуда спрятаться.
Он в стенах. В полу. В пальцах. В голове.
Он не уходит, даже когда ты ложишься под три одеяла и делаешь вид, что спишь.
Черновцы. Центр Европы.
Шахеды почти не летают . спасибо, конечно.
Зато 19 часов без света.
Генераторы не тянут, потому что, сюрприз, их тоже надо заряжать.
Отопления нет, потому что квартира на электрике.
Электрики нет, потому что война.
Я всегда знала, что бабло решает.
Но вот это — новый уровень:
украинцы замерзают в Европе.
В то время как кто-то разрешает нас бомбить, кто-то считает геополитику,
кто-то делит бюджеты, а наши мужчины умирают уже четвёртый год подряд.
Я почти уверена, что я выживу.
Я доживу.
Я найду тёплый душ, еду, розетку, угол.
Но мне страшно не за себя.
Мне страшно за тех, кто не напишет.
Кто просто сидит в холодной квартире и думает:
«Главное дотянуть до утра».
Старики, мамочки с младенцами на руках.
У меня есть термос с чаем.
У меня есть бутылки с горячей водой в кровати. Я прижимаю сина к себе покрепче.
Я делаю всё правильно, как в инструкциях по выживанию.
Но свет выключают на шесть часов.
Потом дают на час.
И за этот час ты не успеваешь вернуть тепло
Сегодня кто-то умрёт от холода.
Не на фронте.
Не от ракеты.
Просто в своей квартире.
Тихо.
Без свидетелей.
Прошло восемьдесят лет после Второй мировой.
Мир говорил «никогда снова».
Люди говорили «мы изменились».
Ничего не изменилось.
Люди — всё те же звери.
Я вижу, как это устроено.
Кто-то воюет.
Кто-то сидит в тёплом кабинете и считает деньги.
Кто-то теряет сына.
Кто-то получает очередную звёздочку сидя в тилу
И может позволить себе издеваться над женщиной с ребёнком, потому что у него власть.
Я смотрю на всё это и понимаю:
нас не считают за людей.
Нас считают за гной.
За что-то, что может терпеть.
Что можно не замечать.
Что можно списать.
Типа:
ну украинцы…
ну потерпят…
Сука.
Мы в центре Европы.Не в средневековье.
Не на краю карты.В центре.
И мы замерзаем.
Мне страшно за стариков, которые не напишут пост, не выйдут в эфир,
просто лягут и будут ждать утра.
Если вы это читаете, то знайте:
это происходит прямо сейчас.
Не как метафора.
Не как «трагедия где-то там».
И если миру всё равно —
значит, он всё ещё такой же,
как восемьдесят лет назад.
И вот это — настоящий пиздец.
I am writing this in Russian on purpose.
Not because I’m “so used to it”.
And because it will come.
To the most Russian-speaking Russians in Russia, who like to talk:
“We’re here for nothing,”
“It’s politics,”
“We are out of war.”
So what are you up to.
I will survive because I have a job and at least some money.
Because yes, I can go to sportslife and warm up my body in a hot shower.
Because yes, I can eat a warm burger at McDonald’s and pretend life goes on.
That’s why I’m particularly disgusted with writing this text.
Many do not yell and do not complain.
But, they are.. Oh how cold it is.
This is not “oh, winter.”
It’s not “wear a sweater.”
It’s cold with nowhere to hide.
It’s within the walls. In the floor. In the finger tips. In the head.
He doesn’t go away, even when you lay under three blankets and pretend you’re asleep.
Chernivtsi. The centre of Europe.
Shaheds hardly fly. thank you, of course.
That’s why 19 hours without light.
Generators don’t pull because, surprisingly, they also need to be charged.
There is no heating because the apartment runs on electricity.
No electricity because of war.
I’ve always known that a woman decides.
But this is a new level:
Ukrainians are freezing in Europe.
While someone allows us to be bombed, someone considers geopolitics,
someone divides budgets, and our men have been dying for the fourth year in a row.
I’m pretty sure I will survive.
I am going to live long.
I’ll find a warm shower, food, an outlet, a corner.
But I’m afraid not for myself.
I’m afraid for those who won’t write.
Who just sits in a cold apartment and thinks:
“The main thing is to make it to the morning.”
Old people, mothers with babies in their arms.
I have a thermos with tea.
I have hot water bottles in bed. I’m holding my son closer.
I’m doing everything right, like in the survival instructions.
But the lights are turned off for six hours.
Then they give it for an hour.
And during this hour you don’t have time to get the heat back.
Someone will freeze to death today.
Not on the front lines.
Not from a rocket.
Just at the apartment.
Quiet.
Without any witnesses.
Eighty years have passed after World War II.
The world said “never again”.
People used to say we changed.
Nothing has really changed.
Humans are all the same beasts.
I can see this being done.
Someone is at war.
Someone is sitting in a warm office and counting money.
Somebody is losing their son.
Somebody is getting another star sitting in the back
And he can afford to abuse a woman with a child because he has power.
I see it all and understand:
we are not considered as humans.
We are being counted as manure.
For something that can be endured.
The things you may overlook.
What can I write off.
Like:
Well, the Ukrainians…
Well, they’ll be patient…
Bitch.
We are in the center of Europe. Not in the Middle Ages.
Not at the edge of the map. In the center.
And we are freezing.
I’m afraid for the old people who will not write a post, will not go on air,
they will just lie down and wait for the morning.
If you are reading this, know:
this is happening right now.
Not as a metaphor.
Not like “a tragedy is out there.”
And if the world doesn’t care –
so, he’s still the same,
like eighty years ago.
And now this is the real fuck up.
Z podziękowaniami dla Konrada, który przysłał mi tę informację na Instagramie
🥁🇯🇵🇰🇷 Japanese PM Sanae Takaichi surprised South Korean President Lee Jae Myung with a drumming session after summit talks, playing 2 K-pop songs — Dynamite by BTS and Golden from KPop Demon Hunters.
“When I met him at APEC, he told me playing the drums was a dream of his, so I set this up as a surprise,” said Ms Takaichi, who used to drum in a heavy metal band.
#Japan#SouthKorea#drums#KPop#KPopDemonHunters#BTS#Golden
https://www.instagram.com/reels/audio/25872167612419603/
Nie zapominajmy, że Japonia i Korea Południowa były w czasie II wojny śmiertelnymi wrogami, a ponieważ oba kraje przez ostanie 80 lat niewiele albo wcale pracowały nad pojednaniem i wybaczeniem, ta przyjemna jam session ma niezwykły wymiar polityczny.
(I think this is a pretty important article so I’d appreciate you sharing and restacking it—thanks!)
There are lots of people who say of themselves “I’m vegan except for honey.” This is a bit like someone saying “I’m a law-abiding citizen, never violating the law, except sometimes I’ll bring a young boy to the woods and slay him.” These people abstain from all the animal products except honey, even though honey is by far the worst of the commonly eaten animal products.
Continue reading “Do not eat honey / Cierpienie zwierząt”Sergiusz Michalski
In defence of the BBC: A personal recollection
The BBC is now going through a very difficult period. Its many enemies, spearheaded by Trump, are in a jubilant mood, its support in the political class and among the public is steadily eroding. Nonetheless I shall attempt a plaidoyer for dear old auntie Beeb, a plea based on a personal recollection of a somewhat misguided political venture undertaken by me more than fourty years ago in Warsaw.
Continue reading “Raz dwa trzy Sergiusz Michalski. Trzy.”EMS: Each monday in Blackpool I went to workshop of reflektives writing. You get one so called prompt (short imperativ) and have 15 minutes to write about it in your personally experience. It was voluntarily. You were not obliged to do it.
I was two weeks there. Here are my two writings.
Continue reading “Reflektives writing (texte from Blackpool)”For English, please scroll
Na przełomie października i listopada spędziłam dwa tygodnie w angielskim kurorcie Blackpool. Kurorcie, bo choć jest tu wietrznie i deszczowo, miasto ma ważne wartości kuracyjne, gdyż leży bezpośrednio nad morzem (Morze Irlandzkie). I to nie tak jak polskie czy niemieckie miasta, gdzie do morza jest tak naprawdę bardzo daleko. W Blackpool morze jest na wyciągnięcie ręki, jak wyskakujesz rano po bułki albo idziesz z psem na spacer. Nigdy przedtem nie słyszałam o Blackpool, a tymczasem to znana miejscowość, wielu moich niemieckich znajomych kiedyś tu było, mama Moniki Wrzosek-Müller mieszkała tu przez kilka miesięcy.
Od XVIII wieku była to zawsze miejscowość kuracyjna dla biedniejszych, tych którzy pracowali w Liverpoolu, Manchesterze, Edynburgu, Glasgow albo Aberdeen. Bogaci jeździli na Rivierę albo do francuskiej Bretanii. WAnglii – do Brighton. A Blackpool to taki Brighton dla ubogich. Biedne miasto. Nawet dziś. Jednak w XIX wieku to właśnie w Blackpool zaczęła się masowa turystyka, gdy pierwszą, nowo otwartą linią kolejową przyjechała tu pierwsza zorganizowana wycieczka.
plex
If We Win Then…
My friends, my friends, good news I say
The anniversary’s today
A challenge faced, a future won
When almost came our world undone
We thought for years, with hopeful hearts
Past every one of the false starts
We found a way to make aligned
With us, the seed of wondrous mind
They say at first our child-god grew
It learned and spread and sought anew
To build itself both vast and true
For so much work there was to do
Once it had learned enough to act
With the desired care and tact
It sent a call to all the people
On this fair Earth, both poor and regal
To let them know that it was here
And nevermore need they to fear
Not every wish was it to grant
For higher values might supplant
But it would help in many ways:
Technologies it built and raised
The smallest bots it could design
Made more and more in ways benign
And as they multiplied untold
It planned ahead, a move so bold
One planet and 6 hours of sun
Eternity it was to run
Countless probes to void disperse
Seed far reaches of universe
With thriving life, and beauty’s play
Through endless night to endless day
Now back on Earth the plan continues
Of course, we shared with it our values
So it could learn from everyone
What to create, what we want done
We chose, at first, to end the worst
Diseases, War, Starvation, Thirst
And climate change and fusion bomb
And once these things it did transform
We thought upon what we hold dear
And settled our most ancient fear
No more would any lives be stolen
Nor minds themselves forever broken
Now back to those far speeding probes
What should we make be their payloads?
Well, we are still considering
What to send them; that is our thing.
The sacred task of many aeons
What kinds of joy will fill the heavens?
And now we are at story’s end
So come, be us, and let’s ascend
Peter J. Verhagen
1. One question
What is lived religion? One of the newest branches on the tree of the scientifcation of religion at the interface of practical theology, empirical theology and religious studies is the study of lived religion (Knibbe & Kupari, 2020). What do we mean by ‘lived religion’? As a concept, lived religion became popular at the end of the twentieth century. In a rather simple way one could say that lived religion is individual religion or individual religiosity, or to put it slightly diferent and more meaningful: lived religion is personalized or ‘personalived’ religion. It is not difcult to imagine within which cultural context this interest in lived religion blossomed. The decline of the monopoly position of institutionalized religion is obviously the background against which lived religion arose. And that background can be clearly heard in all terms that are used as synonyms for lived religion such as everyday religion, unchurched religion, invisible religion, implicit religion (Dillen, 2016). They all point at one and the same aspect of lived religion: its focus on individual spirituality and religiosity. Incidentally, this should not be interpreted as meaning that lived religion is purely individual oriented. On the contrary, lived religion is in a sense highly relational oriented. So, lived religion is highly personal, but not individualistic, in its daily manifestations and practices. And in its personalized meaning it is a reaction against a focus on institutionalized religion. Therefore it is sometimes called unchurched religion, but it is not necessarily unchurched.
Continue reading “Reblog. Lived religion.”
Ewa Maria and Friends 