Wednesday, February 24, 2016

This is Not a Story, But About One - amende honorable to Neil Gaiman!

Sir, I have boycotted you because of the horror I had of that dream of that other woman in "The Problem of Susan".*

As you know, I wrote (or started writing) my own Susan fic in polemics to yours.

Meaning that Susan will NOT rest either in denial nor even doubt.

But, I can no longer consider you a bad writer.

Yesterday I left off Stardust (French Translation) at p.116, and today I took it up again same library, at about 12:00, finishing at about 15:00.

Tolkien, CSL, Lloyd Alexander have found a colleague in my imagination, and you are closer to them, and to me, even than Ursula Kroeber LeGuin.

I have NOT been finding anything comparable since my teens, until I found your book.

Even including a French novelist, who seems a bit inspired by you, but going from you to him would be like going from Rose Period to Guernica. L'Étrange Monde de Là-Bas is a bit like a bête noire to me - I suppose a bit what Voyage to Arcturus was to CSL. But your book is like a volume from a library which was lost and has been put back into the shelf.

My spontaneous impression of the seven brothers was a bit like "sons of Feanor meet Family Addams". And the overall plot was a bit like "Beren and Luthien - subverted". Congratulations.

It was written a year in which I was having some difficulties. 5th of February 1998, I had had to defend myself against a policeman taking me off to see shrinks on order of a doctor who was more fanatical than some shrinks I have seen. He got ten cm long and perhaps one cm deep (or more superficial) on the hip, and I got, first a month in detention, then a trial at which I was acquitted on grounds of "putative defense", a ground I considered and consider inadequate, then a few days on an escape route, then a new detention, some months longer, a new trial and 3 and a half years, including what I had already done in detention - whereof I served two thirds.

So, glad that someone was doing sth good that year and that I came to enjoy it.

I am not sure how you like a now defunct Ziggy Stardust, but if the title was in honour of him**, I think his best aesthetic vein, the one I enjoyed when seeing Labyrinth, has been very amply honoured therein.

I suppose Stormfold is an Elven Kingdom - according to Robert Kirk and Andrew Lang, not according to the Firstborn of Silmarillion.

But it owes sth to Tacitus and to Lemony Snicket, as well.

This is not meant as an introduction for those who haven't read Stardust, I might write sth like that in French for my pop culture blog gmb1lou. It is just to notify you, you are definitely no longer on my boycott list!***

Hans Georg Lundahl
Nanterre UL
Wednesday after
II Lord's Day in Lent
24.II.2016

* According to reports I found so gross I did not actually read your story. ** Not meaning it have no bearing on the story, of course! *** Barring obedience to the Church, should you come to the Index, but I hope that will not be the case.

It seems this post is n° 200 of the published ones on this blog, meaning The Boy Who Made the Stars came as n° 199 - a fine confirmation that Christ indeed came 5199 after Creation!/HGL

Sunday, January 10, 2016

The Boy Who Made Stars

There was a boy, who coud shape a bird of clay and give it life, just by telling it to fly. He made the stars. There was a man who was jealous, and wanted to own the stars. The boy told him he couldn't have them for his own. Yet, the man proceeded to steal the stars and put them in a sack. It was dark. The boy went down from the sky and told him to give the stars back. Instead the man put the boy in the sack too. But the boy went out of the sack and took the stars with him and put them up in the sky again. And as the man was surprised, and a bit thankful because it was light again, the boy told him, he could come and live among the stars, if he did what the boy told him too. Then the boy went up.

If you don't know the name of this boy, ask someone who is celebrating Christmas. Btw, this is just a very short and confused version of what really happened./HGL

Saturday, October 3, 2015

Qué es el Codiz ASCII, y porqué importa?

En cada ordenadora, todo se pasa por ceros y por unos. Todo. Entonces, en el funcionamento interior, un A no es un A, un a no es un a, un 1 no es un 1, un 2 no es un 2, y de la seguida. Todo señal visible sobre la pantalla es una serie de unos y de ceros. Y cada señal visible tiene su propio serie de unos y de ceros, y esta serie puede ser interpretada como un número.

 ABCDE valores numerales
12800000
6411111 A = 64 + 1 = 65
3200000 B = 64 + 2 = 66
1600000 C = 64 + 2 + 1 = 67
800000 D = 64 + 4 = 68
400011 E = 64 + 4 + 1 = 69
201100  y de la seguida, hasta Z = 90
110101


Los minúsculos son series un poco diferentes, claro, ya que son señales un poco diferentes de vista:

 abcde valores numerales
12800000
6411111 a = 65 + 32 = 97
3211111 b = 66 + 32 = 98
1600000 c = 67 + 32 = 99
800000 d = 68 + 32 = 100
400011 e = 69 + 32 = 101
201100  y de la seguida, hasta z = 122
110101


Y los señales por las cifras 0 - 9 (en ese orden en el mundo de ordenadoras) son de valor numeral 48 - 57. Y 32 solo es el espacio, como entre dos palabras de seguida.

Ahora, un poco de ejercicio para verificar una cosa: añadiendo los valores numerales de las letras de BERGOGLIO, y esas de las letras y del espacio de V POUTINE, como en transcripción francesa, que es el valor numeral en total en cada caso?

Eusebio dice que San Ireneo decía sobre Apocalipse 13:18 eso:

[2] Γράφων γέ τοι ὁ Εἰρηναῖος περὶ τῆς ψήφου τῆς κατὰ τὸν ἀντί χριστον προσηγορίας φερομένης ἐν τῇ Ἰωάννου λεγομένῃ Ἀποκαλύψει, αὐταῖς συλλαβαῖς ἐν πέμπτῳ τῶν πρὸς τὰς αἱρέσεις ταῦτα περὶ τοῦ Ἰωάννου φησίν·

[3] « Εἰ δὲ ἔδει ἀναφανδὸν ἐν τῷ νῦν καιρῷ κηρύττεσθαι τοὔνομα αὐτοῦ, δι' ἐκείνου ἂν ἐρρέθη τοῦ καὶ τὴν ἀποκάλυψιν ἑορακότος. Οὐδὲ γὰρ πρὸ πολλοῦ χρόνου ἑωράθη, ἀλλὰ σχεδὸν ἐπὶ τῆς ἡμετέρας γενεᾶς, πρὸς τῷ τέλει τῆς Δομετιανοῦ ἀρχῆς».


En francés:

[2] Irénée, à propos du nombre produit par l'addition des lettres qui forment le nom de l'Antéchrist d'après l'Apocalypse attribuée à Jean, dit en propres termes ceci de Jean, dans le cinquième livre des Hérésies :

[3] « S'il eût fallu proclamer ouvertement à notre époque le nom de l'Antéchrist, celui qui a vu la révélation l'aurait fait. Car il la contempla il n'y a pas longtemps et presque dans notre génération, vers la fin du règne de Domitien. »


Y mi traducción en español de la francesa:

2) Ireneo, al propuesto del número producido por adición de las letras del nombre del Anticristo según la Apocalipsis decha de San Juan dice en propios términos eso de Juan, en el libre cinco de Herejías:

3) "Si hubiese fallido proclamar abiertamente a nuestra epoca el nombre del Anticristo, aquél quién vió la revelación lo hubiese hecho. Ya que contempló eso no hay mucho tiempo, y casi en nuestra generación, en finales del reinado de Domiciano."


Historia Eclesiástica, Libro III, cabildo XVIII, traducción francesa por Émile Grapin en 1911.

Hoy, finales del reinado de Domiciano parece antiguo. Y hemos ahora el codiz ASCII, que da a cada letra LATINA un valor numérico. No solo a M, a D, a C, a L, a X, a V y a I, peró a cada una.

Y aún diferentes por majúsculos y por minúsculos. Hitler, Silvia, COMMUNISM, TRAIANVS, TRAJANUS todos dan 616. Y hovind (con h minúsculo) da también 666. Como BERGOGLIO, como V POUTINE. Y como gustav. Peró el marido de la reina Silvia se llama Carl Gustaf, con F según la vieja ortografía sueca. También HAAKONVII o HAAKON VII (contando o no el espacio, no me recuerdo), primero rey de Noruega después de 1905, después de la independencia moderna de este país, da 666.

Peró hay pocos nombres que dan uno o otro de esos valores numerales. Es por eso que tengo miedo que unos o otros de esos pueden tener un papel nefasto en la última epoca en quién vivimos. Y Hitler, Emperador Traiano, Haakon VII, ya son muertos.

Hé propuesto, por intermediario de su astrónomo Fra Guy Consolmagno, que BERGOGLIO podía cambiar su nombre en BORGOGLIO. La ciudad en Italia de cual ese nombre existe a cambiado ligeramente pronunciación y ortografía. Y BORGOGLIO da 676, un valor numérico inocente, no tan peligroso.

Hans Georg Lundahl
Biblioteca de Versalles
Santa Teresita
3-X-2015

Thursday, July 9, 2015

Macready and Tea


Susan had slept a few hours of well needed sleep. The sun was shining in through the window and warming the room more than the day outside. But what had woken her up was really the smell of a late breakfast or an early lunch. In the States they called that “brunch”. Fried potato and mushrooms harmonised with fried egg and a clear smell of tea getting poured into cups.

”Good morning, dear!”

”Good morning, but I think it must be close to noon …?”

”And yet it is morning to you. It is actually one o’ clock.”

”Oh, I’ve slept for hours. I must be on the run soon.”

”Indeed, but first you need to take a good meal, then to keep calm. If you run like you are hunted they will all see it is you.”

”They might see so anyway ?”

”Yes, but running isn’t getting any escapee very far, since the news run faster. Oh, yes, I’ve read it. If you don’t run, you may still be caught, and if they recognize you and try to , you must run for it and pray God gives you a good refuge. But if you run when nobody is chasing – unless you can pass it off as jogging – you are giving the impression of a person feeling hunted, a very fishy impression. ”

That made sense.

Macready stood up beside the table while Susan sat down, she took both plates out to the kitchen and returned with them filled with as much fried egg, potatoes and mushrooms as you like, plus some salt and pepper, and bread, while Susan was already sipping away at her tea, as invited to.

The jogging plan was dropped, since a jogging outfit would be cold at night and not very natural in most circumstances. ”And that’s no wonder, look at that baggy stuff!” – If this had been twenty years later and less cold in the season it would have been another story, but back in 1950 jogging was done by extreme health freaks (including in fact Susan who liked keeping fit for swimming, riding and archery).

No, normal outfit, but not that of the nurse, would have to do. You have of course realized that if Susan was caught, they would know someone had helped her. Susan pointed it out, Macready said ”Well, that can’t be helped. ”

Before finishing the meal and trying the outfit, Susan asked why Macready didn’t believe she was putting Rose in mortal danger, since that was the story of the papers and the radio.

”Oh that? Mother gave birth to me when she was twelve, going on thirteen, even without a caesarian. We had a hard life at first, but she did not regret it.” (Susan could imagine Macready had had a hard life.)

So, Susan took an outfit of Macready’s, a really dowdy one, unlike the fancy clothes she used to wear and which showed on photos. She even avoided to take lipstick.

”Now, you go to Oxford. Maybe the Inklings might help you. They were friends of old Professor … Kirke …”

And Macready sobbed. She had even missed being there to identify her old employer and nearly lost a chance to be at the funeral as well (though she was by no means late). She dried her eyes. No time for crying if one’s a Macready. She was glad Susan knew Clive Staples Lewis and Paxford.

”Here is for the train ticket to Oxford, and here is some food; you won’t have to buy too soon. Now, finish the meal and I’ll put your hair up in a bun so you’ll be less like the photos. ”

Susan finished the meal, got the hair up in a bun with Macready’s help, showed she could make it a bun again, then got helped again to make it a really good one. Macready told Susan as she left that she would herself be phoning Paxford, whom she knew personally.

Thursday, July 2, 2015

Macready


"MISS PE-VEN-SIE"

Susan looked up from the tea she was sipping. Oh yes, it was Mrs Macready all right. That voice was so itself after all these years.

She stammered: "You are mistaken, you must be thinking of someone else ...?"

"Oh nonsense!

"When you were eleven you hid in a wardrobe from me. Don't you think I didn't see you!

"I have been keeping an eye on you for some time now, an eye or two open.

"The news are out that you are escaped, and as tired as you look, there are slim chances you'll be taken for a nurse!"

"But what about night nurses?" Susan knew it was no ood to pretend, but she wanted some reassurance she wasn't as stupid as Mrs. Macready made it out.

"You were awake at daytime yesterday and all night through. A night nurse sleeps the days before doing night service and in the morning she's no more exhausted than you are a normal evening. Now, don't fuss, come with me. You need some hours' sleep, and thanks to us not being all that close, I am not suspect of helping you."

They went out after no significant delay. Susan had already paid the tea.

As they walked to the bus, Mrs Macready said: "Now, I heard what you did, and I have never heard of archery come to better use in our times.

"I knew you were a spunky girl, when faced with any battle you should fight in. As was the case here."

"How do you know that? Haven't all the news painted me out as a dangerous madwoman?"

"Oh, the news!" Mrs Macready said. "Look here, I don't know what happened in that wardrobe, but I do know you are not mad!

"When you defend the life of the unborn, you are not mad. Someone else is, or it wouldn't need defending. But not you!"

She paused and very quickly put finger on mouth before boarding the bus. Of course they went upstairs (for those who do not know, busses in London have two floors). And very fortunately, the upper floor wasn't empty, it was not yet rushing hours. It could easily have become so if Susan, tired as she was, had been left to herself and had dozed off for some hours.

Half an hour later, they were in another part of London, and they entered Mrs. Macready's rented flat.

"I'm afraid the sofa will have to do."

"Oh, it will be great!"

Despite the one cup of tea, she soon slept as soundly as with Mr and Mrs Beaver (and Lu, Pete, Ed) in that hiding place where they met Father Christmas in the morning. And yes, she thought of it just before going to sleep.

Monday, June 15, 2015

Schliemann’s Dream


Heinrich slept ill that night. He had overeaten and drunk a bit too much. And perhaps he had something on his conscience.

Christ appeared to him – very unusual – and asked : “Why didst thou lie about me? Thou didst not believe I had appeared to Priam, and yet thou saidst I had.”*

“Wait, Lord … you don’t mean you really exist, hrrm, I mean as someone capable of taking offense at such things? As a real person and even really still watching over all we do and all that? Didn’t you forget about earthly matters when being assumed into Heaven? I thought the Gospels and the historic (if such) Jesus in them was just the most developed idea of the Absolute … you really not just exist as a person, you also look down on what happens on earth?”

Christ’s face was firey as the Sun and His garment was white. It was clear even to this German modernist Protestant – at least during this dream – that Christ existed as a real person and was personally aware of what went on on Earth.

“OK, Lord,“ Heinrich said when lowering his gaze “but can’t you see it from my point of view a bit? These Greeks would plunder for the gold, my archaeological science would be ruined, all my expenses would be in vain …”

He stopped, hoping for understanding and “sat sapienti“ and all that.

“Thou thinkst a lot about thy investments, doest thou not? So thy money is more worth to thee than my truth?”

“But, look here, Lord … these Greeks are so superstitious about you …“

Something in the shining figure told him Our Lord was not impressed.

“… so, er … you see, well, in a way … taking advantage of their superstition for the higher purpose of my science, you see …”

“So, between their piety for me and thy nostalgia for Priam and for people worse than he even, thy curiosity is the ‘higher purpose‘, is that it?”

Schliemann saw his habitual excuses would not do with this … dialogue partner.

“If you know everything, you must know any Prussian would agree?”

“If thou knowest the Bible as well as thy Prussian teachers brag, thou must know that I said something against conforming to the world.“

Even Heinrich Scliemann, from a very Protestant and Modern part of Prussia knew Our Lord meant, by “the world”, Prussia, not Austria or even Bavaria.

“So, I am going to Hell for this? Is that what you have decided?”

Our Lord didn’t answer.

“What about the priest who blessed the icon? He should have known better, and yet he went along with me. He did it for the money … like Judas.”

“He knows he acted like Judas, but thou doest not. Look at him!”

And here Schliemann saw the Greek Orthodox priest bowing down before an icon of Our Lord – and Our Lord, as already having appeared in the dream, taking the place of the icon.

It was not – had not been – the icon he had set up and blessed. He did the sign of the cross, from right to left as the Orthodox do. He said “Lord, have mercy on me a sinner. Lord, Jesus Christ, Son of the living God, have mercy on me, a sinner. I have sold you for money, like Judas.”

And he bowed down again.

And he repeated the sign of the cross and he repeated the prayer. And he bowed down again. And it went on and on, until Heinrich said something about “did he feel that bad about it? I thought he was just greedy and superstitious!”

And the priest went on. Heinrich cried out:

”Lord, if you cannot forgive me, forgive that poor priest! I didn’t mean to hurt him that much. Honestly, I didn’t!”

”I know thou didst not mean it. That is why I am showing thee what thou didst for him. Now look at what he did for thee.”

And the priest cried out:

”Lord, I am by Thy grace Orthodox, and most damnable because I stood not up for the truth, when I knew it. But what about Sleemun**, who, being a heretic, knows no better? Will he be damned for this lie? If it be Thy Holy Will, so be it. And yet, he paid for the widow whom the Turk was evicting …”

(Hullo, thought Schliemann! He didn’t keep the money for himself!)

”God, damn me, if Thou wilt, for trapping his soul in sin, but free him from it. Make his lie to be no lie. Have thou appeared to Priam, on the spot where he said so!”

Have thou appeared – imperative of the perfect past: πεφηνε. The priest was asking God to have already done a thing before the asking.

And Heinrich – who knew Greek better than theology and understood the form – had a wild hope if both being saved himself and seeing King Priam in Heaven due to this prayer. He looked up to Our Lord, and instead of seeing Him face to face as when the dream began, he saw King Priam in the invaded Troy kneeling before Him.

“Lord, is that you?” said Priam. “I have looked for you in all the stories about Zeus … and only found you where you saved Deucalion and Pyrrha … it is as if all the rest was some … some lying gods from the Netherworld …”

“Indeed, I saved a couple from a Flood and another couple from infertility. Thou hast called both of them Deucalion and Pyrrha. But Zeus is not my name, and as thou knowest, neither is Teshub.”

“But alas! I broke your holy law : Helen should have been given to Menelaos, even if he had punished her. I am faulty.”

”Not as thy son. He kept her for lust, thou for pity.”

“Are you not angry at my transgression?“

“The pity of not punishing is not always a transgression. Indeed, thou hast pleased me.”

And Priam, white hair, white beard, suddenly looked as a boy, happy to have pleased his father, though he had feared the opposite.

“Thou knowest I will be man later?“

“If you say so, Lord, I know it.“

“And I will also spare an adulteress, and remember thee.“

If you have ever felt a joy so deep it almost slapped you and it pushed tears into your eyes, you know what Priam felt.

”That is too much … no, if You say You will, it is for You to see about it. I am happy beyond expectation.”

“I will also give a king to a country where Trojans are at least reputed to have come after now. He will be victim of adultery as Menelaos. And he will spare the adulteress, like thou didst.”

“Lord, this is beyond all I deserved!“

“Someone shall have prayed for thee.“

“Is there more?“

“Yes, thou recallest thy son Hector?“

“How could I forget him! One man here who sought you, while others went with Alexander Parid to worship the Wolfgod Apollon.”

“The father of that King will give him tot he care of a stepfather – who shall be a Hector.“

“My Lord, are you mad? Why are you wasting this generosity on me? How can I ever thank you, even if I had all eternity?”

“If I did what I did fort he thanks you men give me on earth, I would indeed be mad. Eternity thou shalt have to thank me, after we meet again, when I shall descend to the Netherworld to make you free, you mortals captive as yet by my enemy. One thing more. I will send to the Troad my men, yes, when I shall become man, it is to this coast that my most beloved disciple will send some letters from me. To Ephesus, to Smyrna, to Pergamus, to Thyatira, to Philadelphia and to Sardis. Yes, I know thy love amidst the synagogue of Satan, that is my enemy.”

Schliemann started waking up, the dialogue between Christ and Priam started becoming smudgy, like things seen through rainstained windows on very rainy days.

Priam asked one thing more, His name. Schliemann was not sure if he heard something about Yehoshua, or sth about Jesus (Yaysooss as the Germans pronounce it) or sth about “thou shalt know when we meet again” or perhaps … yes, this was the final version of this part of dialogue before he finally woke up:

“They will call me the Lion of Judah. Το λεονταρι του Ιουδα. Yahuda Aslan. …”

And Heinrich woke up with the words echoing in his head … Yahuda Aslan … Aslan … Aslan … and because these things were beyond his normal thoughts, he said to himself, “whoa, it was just a dream …”

Years later there was a war. A Lieutenant Schliemann went out to the trenches of France, not Heinrich, but a younger relative of his. He was blonde. He loved reciting Homer, among other Greek poetry, in the evenings. Especially Homer.

One evening he was reciting, somewhat louder than usual, the passage where Glaucos – it means blonde – and Diomede met in battle and decided not to kill each other.

Ως φατο, γηθησεν δε βοην αγαθος Διομηδης·
εγχος μεν καλεπηξεν επι χθονι πουλυβοτειρηι
αυταρ ο μειλιχιοισι προσηυδα ποιμενα λαων

And he heard a deep booming voice answer from the English camp:

Η ρα νυ μοι ξεινος πατρωιος εσσι παλαιος· (…)

The next morning in the fog, he surrendered with his men to an English Lieutenant (or Anglo-Irish from Belfast, actually) named Clive Staples Lewis.

* Throughought the dream, “thou” has the stylistic quality of German “du” and French “tu” – of assuming familiarity. Germans and Greeks also use the “thou” when addressing God, but French do not. Schliemann is not doing it here since God is here appearing to him as a real person – the God he had “thoued” was the “God” of progressive Protestant philosophy, a non-person. Polite address is “you” corresponding to German “Sie” and French “vous”. The Greek priest is thouing the Christ of the dream, since when thouing Him otherwise he was considering Him a real person.

** Greek doesn’t really have an SH, nor exactly a pure S, but an S that is between the two.

Friday, March 13, 2015

Un poco de respeto ?

En “legitimista digital” (carlistas de izquierda) vi una caricatura.

Dos imagines, primera, un cristiano esgrima una cruz y golpea con ella un ateo (en cuyo T-shirt se dice ateo); segunda, el ateo tiene la cruz para romperla. Texto, en primera imagen el cristiano dice: “Ciego e idiota, pervertido y blasfemo! Mala influencia inmoral … escoria de la tierra.” Segunda, él mismo dice : “eyyy, por favor un poco de RESPETO!”

Me parece esta historiografía un poco desequilibrada. Si el primero imagen fuese en realdad el segundo, y el segundo el tercero?

Primera imagen no mostrada : el ateo tiene la cruz para romperla y dice al cristiano “fanático e supersticioso, pervertido y blasfemo de todo que es santo! Mala influencia inmoral y supersticiosa … escoria de la tierra, voy acabar con tu religión!” Y el cristiano se ve sin poder de salvar la cruz. Habrá quizás una cuarta imagen también.

Lo que he visto en el internet no es respetuoso de la parte de ateos, no mucho tiempo, mismo que haya excepciones, y lo de qué se quejan son muchas veces viejas historias mal comprendidas./HGL