Crocodile Tears

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thouartadeadthing:

French Soldier, 1910.

(via growhousegrow)

enervat:

softly spoken Americans make me so suspicious

you’re supposed to be loud? what are you hiding?? 

This is totally New York and Texas’ fault. 

(via smokeybissli)

(via varangoi)

By what means were you taken from your village?
“War.”
Which members of your family were taken with you?
“Mother. Father. Sister. Brother.”
How much notice did they give you before you left home?
“None.”
What were you allowed to take with you?
“Clothing in a pillow sack.”
List all personal property you had to leave behind.
“House with everything in it.”
How were the quarters to which you were taken?
“Crowded, cold, damp.”
List to the best of your knowledge anyone who died while you were at the camp and where they were buried.
“My brother died at Juneau, and was buried there. My father at Killisnoo.”
List any other facts about your stay at the camp and your return home and after you got home.
“We were happy to come home, but we came home to nothing.”
What was destroyed or missing?
“My house and everything in it.”
What would you like to have done in your community as a memorial to those who have died since the evacuation?
“Pray for them. Always.”

euphorbic:

The lotus are beautiful at Toji today.

I said to my soul, be still, and let the dark come upon you
Which shall be the darkness of God. As, in a theatre,
The lights are extinguished, for the scene to be changed
With a hollow rumble of wings, with a movement of darkness on darkness,
And we know that the hills and the trees, the distant panorama
And the bold imposing facade are all being rolled away—
Or as, when an underground train, in the tube, stops too long between stations
And the conversation rises and slowly fades into silence
And you see behind every face the mental emptiness deepen
Leaving only the growing terror of nothing to think about;
Or when, under ether, the mind is conscious but conscious of nothing—
I said to my soul, be still, and wait without hope
For hope would be hope for the wrong thing; wait without love,
For love would be love of the wrong thing; there is yet faith
But the faith and the love and the hope are all in the waiting.
Wait without thought, for you are not ready for thought:
So the darkness shall be the light, and the stillness the dancing.
Whisper of running streams, and winter lightning.
The wild thyme unseen and the wild strawberry,
The laughter in the garden, echoed ecstasy
Not lost, but requiring, pointing to the agony
Of death and birth.
T. S. Eliot, “East Coker” (via catherineaddington)

(via catherineaddington)

theamericanconservative:

The conservative realist knows that America will not be anything other than broadly liberal and democratic for a long time to come, and liberal democracy requires a delicately balanced system of international security upheld by an empire or hegemon.

Daniel McCarthy, “Why Liberalism Means Empire”

bag-of-dirt:

15-year-old Léon Merdjian poses for a photograph with his unit of the Axis collaborationist Legion of French Volunteers Against Bolshevism (French: Légion des volontaires français contre le bolchévisme, or, LVF). It was officially known to the Germans as Infantry Regiment (Infanterieregiment) 638. The LVF was founded on 8 July 1941 and was mainly made up of right-wing Frenchmen and French POWs who preferred fighting to forced labor in Germany and volunteered to fight against the Soviets on the Eastern Front. Léon Merdjian was a Georgian émigré who arrived in France from Tblisi with his family prior to the outbreak of war. Near Golovbovo, Pskov Oblast, Russia, Soviet Union. December 1941.

(via smokeybissli)