<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5623895</id><updated>2011-04-22T04:26:40.770Z</updated><title type='text'>Hyacinth Girl</title><subtitle type='html'>Diving into matter to find psyche. Not that you've much chance of finding anything else ... The responsibility to anachronise starts here. 

</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://hyacinthgirl.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hyacinthgirl.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Mearcstapa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09282419289670295862</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_MVuvl3VSmdY/Sjn1Xd3RIZI/AAAAAAAAADo/hauYwNKAEck/S220/lantau003.JPG'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>89</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5623895.post-334649463228374240</id><published>2007-10-10T23:14:00.000Z</published><updated>2007-10-10T23:21:45.967Z</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Comment posted to Dolores O'Brien's blog:    I deeply appreciate this blog in its attempt to get to grips with both Giegerich and the interface between Islam and the West. However, I notice some (probably unconscious) Orientalist tendencies in the some of the things you write or quote ("fanatical", "frenzy", "untempered by/beyond the bounds of the rational", "naive", "participation mystique", "</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/334649463228374240'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/334649463228374240'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hyacinthgirl.blogspot.com/2007_10_01_archive.html#334649463228374240' title=''/><author><name>Mearcstapa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09282419289670295862</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_MVuvl3VSmdY/Sjn1Xd3RIZI/AAAAAAAAADo/hauYwNKAEck/S220/lantau003.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5623895.post-8575548165611807400</id><published>2007-10-10T12:54:00.000Z</published><updated>2007-10-10T19:36:23.479Z</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>The Saturn/Kronos image reminds me of Hillman's point about Oedipus; that infanticide, psychologically speaking, is the killing of the second sense; the metaphorical and imagistic richness - a triumph, possibly, of tekne over onta. One of the responses to this shift is the revenge wreaked by Dionysus on Thebes. One might add here that it represents the killing of the second sense in public life, </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/8575548165611807400'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/8575548165611807400'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hyacinthgirl.blogspot.com/2007_10_01_archive.html#8575548165611807400' title=''/><author><name>Mearcstapa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09282419289670295862</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_MVuvl3VSmdY/Sjn1Xd3RIZI/AAAAAAAAADo/hauYwNKAEck/S220/lantau003.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp2.blogger.com/_MVuvl3VSmdY/Rw0pprQlztI/AAAAAAAAAAM/H6IZptJ62g8/s72-c/AtheneFlagsBells.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5623895.post-3838044165911653795</id><published>2007-10-10T08:54:00.000Z</published><updated>2007-10-10T09:05:42.423Z</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Lily Pad wrote: "Being works-in-progress, liberated women create themselves as they go along, negotiating between duty and vision, forging, out of the old, their new selves."My comment: Very eloquent; thank you. Is this something like a shift from PowerOver/PowerUnder duality to Power With? Are con-sciousness (withknowing) and re-cognition (rethinking)some of the hallmarks of Power With?I have </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/3838044165911653795'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/3838044165911653795'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hyacinthgirl.blogspot.com/2007_10_01_archive.html#3838044165911653795' title=''/><author><name>Mearcstapa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09282419289670295862</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_MVuvl3VSmdY/Sjn1Xd3RIZI/AAAAAAAAADo/hauYwNKAEck/S220/lantau003.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5623895.post-1631767025676808559</id><published>2007-02-02T22:23:00.000Z</published><updated>2007-02-02T22:24:01.699Z</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Hooking up with Technorati:Technorati Profile</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/1631767025676808559'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/1631767025676808559'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hyacinthgirl.blogspot.com/2007_02_01_archive.html#1631767025676808559' title=''/><author><name>Mearcstapa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09282419289670295862</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_MVuvl3VSmdY/Sjn1Xd3RIZI/AAAAAAAAADo/hauYwNKAEck/S220/lantau003.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5623895.post-115579971987554997</id><published>2006-08-17T07:16:00.000Z</published><updated>2006-08-17T07:28:39.886Z</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>I watched Jia Zhangke's "Platform" last night. The things that had me writhing in nostalgic appreciation were the songs. Teresa Teng's one about coffee (when coffee was just getting trendy in Taipei), Zhang Mingmin's "My Chinese Heart", the disco lights, the piliwu (breakdancing), Genghis Khan. Other Eighties giveaways: the stonewashed jeans, the long hair, the outrageous jumpers, anti </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/115579971987554997'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/115579971987554997'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hyacinthgirl.blogspot.com/2006_08_01_archive.html#115579971987554997' title=''/><author><name>Mearcstapa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09282419289670295862</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_MVuvl3VSmdY/Sjn1Xd3RIZI/AAAAAAAAADo/hauYwNKAEck/S220/lantau003.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5623895.post-115502694868198906</id><published>2006-08-08T08:46:00.000Z</published><updated>2006-08-08T08:49:08.700Z</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>That the world is perhaps no longer charged with the grandeur of God is the aftermath of a religion which appropriated all possible grandeurs as the property of Yahweh. Stolen treasure doesn't disappear when the arch-magician who has been hoarding it is caught and dispensed with. Even the arch-magician himself isn't gone: he simply dissipates into the board-room to take up residence in another </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/115502694868198906'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/115502694868198906'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hyacinthgirl.blogspot.com/2006_08_01_archive.html#115502694868198906' title=''/><author><name>Mearcstapa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09282419289670295862</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_MVuvl3VSmdY/Sjn1Xd3RIZI/AAAAAAAAADo/hauYwNKAEck/S220/lantau003.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5623895.post-115498758302374916</id><published>2006-08-07T21:52:00.000Z</published><updated>2006-08-07T22:23:25.406Z</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Dream: Aug. 4 '06I am trying to explain to someone what sort of therapist I will be. I have had a moment of insight in which I realise that what I will offer won't be a traditional form of analysis, but something slightly different.Perhaps more workaday and everyday. More dynamic, less cerebral and rarefied."You're just like Giegerich!" replies the person, an IGAP sort of person.I've spent a long</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/115498758302374916'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/115498758302374916'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hyacinthgirl.blogspot.com/2006_08_01_archive.html#115498758302374916' title=''/><author><name>Mearcstapa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09282419289670295862</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_MVuvl3VSmdY/Sjn1Xd3RIZI/AAAAAAAAADo/hauYwNKAEck/S220/lantau003.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5623895.post-114198613001224863</id><published>2006-03-10T10:22:00.000Z</published><updated>2006-03-10T10:23:55.740Z</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>๑۩۞۩๑ GHeTTo ReVoLuTioN ๑۩۞۩๑: Ernest Renan 1823-1892 : Le racisme fait autoritRENAN, Ernest.Correspondance de trois LAS [à Emile Littré].Paris, 1871-1876. 3 pages in-8. "L'empereur du Brésil m'a fait prier de vous transmettre le vif désir qu'il aurait de vous voir et de causer un peu avec vous"... "M. Joaquin Nabuco, jeune brésilien très distingué, désire vivement vous rendre ses devoirs."... "M</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/114198613001224863'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/114198613001224863'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hyacinthgirl.blogspot.com/2006_03_01_archive.html#114198613001224863' title=''/><author><name>Mearcstapa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09282419289670295862</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_MVuvl3VSmdY/Sjn1Xd3RIZI/AAAAAAAAADo/hauYwNKAEck/S220/lantau003.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5623895.post-114114655819010778</id><published>2006-02-28T17:09:00.000Z</published><updated>2006-02-28T17:09:18.226Z</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Radically spoken experience - Google SearchI was looking for a phrase to describe how momentous speech in analysis can be sometimes, and the phrase came to mind: "radically spoken experience". I suppose that means experience that is radically spoken; spoken from the roots, but also from a new and different place, far perhaps from mainstream discourse. And the words, and their speaking, must also </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/114114655819010778'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/114114655819010778'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hyacinthgirl.blogspot.com/2006_02_01_archive.html#114114655819010778' title=''/><author><name>Mearcstapa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09282419289670295862</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_MVuvl3VSmdY/Sjn1Xd3RIZI/AAAAAAAAADo/hauYwNKAEck/S220/lantau003.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5623895.post-114070412207254970</id><published>2006-02-23T13:48:00.000Z</published><updated>2006-02-23T14:15:22.156Z</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>On Giegerich and Pullman's many universes, I think what I take from them both is a sense that "for us, there is no elsewhere". We have to live in the universe we live in, which psychologically means not relying on an Other for our meaning, and make meaning as best we can in the full knowledge that we are only making it for ourselves. Where they diverge is at the point where Pullman shows </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/114070412207254970'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/114070412207254970'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hyacinthgirl.blogspot.com/2006_02_01_archive.html#114070412207254970' title=''/><author><name>Mearcstapa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09282419289670295862</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_MVuvl3VSmdY/Sjn1Xd3RIZI/AAAAAAAAADo/hauYwNKAEck/S220/lantau003.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5623895.post-114070177134923845</id><published>2006-02-23T13:36:00.000Z</published><updated>2006-02-23T13:36:11.436Z</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>The Ecology of Magic--David AbramWhen the animate presences with whom we have evolved over several million years are suddenly construed as having less significance than ourselves, when the generative earth that gave birth to us is defined as a soulless or determinate object devoid of sensitivity and sentience, then that wild otherness with which human life had always been entwined must migrate, </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/114070177134923845'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/114070177134923845'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hyacinthgirl.blogspot.com/2006_02_01_archive.html#114070177134923845' title=''/><author><name>Mearcstapa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09282419289670295862</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_MVuvl3VSmdY/Sjn1Xd3RIZI/AAAAAAAAADo/hauYwNKAEck/S220/lantau003.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5623895.post-114069431012783345</id><published>2006-02-23T11:31:00.001Z</published><updated>2006-02-23T11:31:50.126Z</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Get Drunk! -- Charles Baudelaireask the wind,the wave,the star,the bird,the clock,ask everything that flees,everything that groansor rollsor sings,everything that speaks,ask what time it is;and the wind,the wave,the star,the bird,the clockwill answer you:"Time to get drunk!Don't be martyred slaves of Time,Get drunk!Stay drunk!On wine, virtue, poetry, whatever!" -- Charles Baudelaire</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/114069431012783345'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/114069431012783345'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hyacinthgirl.blogspot.com/2006_02_01_archive.html#114069431012783345' title=''/><author><name>Mearcstapa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09282419289670295862</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_MVuvl3VSmdY/Sjn1Xd3RIZI/AAAAAAAAADo/hauYwNKAEck/S220/lantau003.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5623895.post-114069376290537615</id><published>2006-02-23T11:22:00.000Z</published><updated>2006-02-23T11:22:42.906Z</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>S1a.html "Hello, wind!" I shouted. "Hi wind! Hi!"              "Swooosh!" the wind replied, using a convenient pine in lieu of vocal cords. For emphasis it bounced a bluejay off its perch.              I laughed, always appreciative of a good joke. "How are you?" I yelled.              "M-wahhh," the wind replied, noncommital, and waved the laundry on the line. "Howww ahhh youuu?"</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/114069376290537615'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/114069376290537615'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hyacinthgirl.blogspot.com/2006_02_01_archive.html#114069376290537615' title=''/><author><name>Mearcstapa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09282419289670295862</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_MVuvl3VSmdY/Sjn1Xd3RIZI/AAAAAAAAADo/hauYwNKAEck/S220/lantau003.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5623895.post-114069364649102288</id><published>2006-02-23T11:20:00.000Z</published><updated>2006-02-23T11:20:46.556Z</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Wild Geese: Jim Reid: I Saw the Wild Geese FleeI'm thinking of learning this song properly and singing it at a session. It's not my usual style, but it's growing on me as I  commit it to memory.  The first thing that struck me about it was the form of dialogue in the poem, between the poet and the Norland Wind, reminiscent of Tolkien's Lament for Boromir in which the singers as the winds for news</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/114069364649102288'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/114069364649102288'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hyacinthgirl.blogspot.com/2006_02_01_archive.html#114069364649102288' title=''/><author><name>Mearcstapa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09282419289670295862</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_MVuvl3VSmdY/Sjn1Xd3RIZI/AAAAAAAAADo/hauYwNKAEck/S220/lantau003.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5623895.post-112988905084006507</id><published>2005-10-21T10:04:00.000Z</published><updated>2005-10-21T10:04:10.886Z</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>A Question for Journalists: How Do We Cover Penguins and the Politics of Denial?: "Both scientists and Noah possess knowledge of a potentially impending global catastrophe. They try to spread the word, to warn the world, but are laughed at, ridiculed. You can almost hear some philistine telling old Noah he is nothing but a 'gloom and doom' environmentalist,' spreading his tale of abrupt climate </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/112988905084006507'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/112988905084006507'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hyacinthgirl.blogspot.com/2005_10_01_archive.html#112988905084006507' title=''/><author><name>Mearcstapa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09282419289670295862</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_MVuvl3VSmdY/Sjn1Xd3RIZI/AAAAAAAAADo/hauYwNKAEck/S220/lantau003.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5623895.post-112931640077506069</id><published>2005-10-14T18:39:00.000Z</published><updated>2005-10-14T19:02:36.830Z</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Notes in response to Giegerich's "The End of Meaning and the Birth of Man".Etymology of "meaning": from OE menan/Ger. mainen, Indo-European root: mei-no, which means to tell or moan. There is also the sense of intent.I love the idea of simply substituting "moaning" all the way through! The End of Moaning and the Birth of Man. (Woman Sighs in Relief)."The Dominion of the Dead", by Robert Pogue </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/112931640077506069'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/112931640077506069'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hyacinthgirl.blogspot.com/2005_10_01_archive.html#112931640077506069' title=''/><author><name>Mearcstapa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09282419289670295862</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_MVuvl3VSmdY/Sjn1Xd3RIZI/AAAAAAAAADo/hauYwNKAEck/S220/lantau003.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5623895.post-111350212602950988</id><published>2005-04-14T18:08:00.000Z</published><updated>2005-04-14T18:08:46.030Z</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Rantingprofs: Kanan Makiya on the Elections: "The terrible lesson of Palestinian politics is that a leadership that elevates victimhood into the be-all and end-all of politics brings untold suffering and misery upon its own people. Given political power, this kind of a leadership will in turn victimize. This is an iron law of social and political psychology confirmed by any number of recent </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/111350212602950988'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/111350212602950988'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hyacinthgirl.blogspot.com/2005_04_01_archive.html#111350212602950988' title=''/><author><name>Mearcstapa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09282419289670295862</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_MVuvl3VSmdY/Sjn1Xd3RIZI/AAAAAAAAADo/hauYwNKAEck/S220/lantau003.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5623895.post-111323668153493477</id><published>2005-04-11T16:24:00.000Z</published><updated>2005-04-11T16:24:41.533Z</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Jungian ambivalence in Robertson Davies' The Manticore: "For the final irony is that the ambivalence about the Jungian 'formula' is, as Jung's own words in a letter to J. Allen Gilbert make quite clear, unexceptionably Jungian: Can't you conceive of a physicist that thinks and speaks of atoms, yet is convinced that those are merely his own abstractions? That would be my case. I have not the </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/111323668153493477'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/111323668153493477'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hyacinthgirl.blogspot.com/2005_04_01_archive.html#111323668153493477' title=''/><author><name>Mearcstapa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09282419289670295862</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_MVuvl3VSmdY/Sjn1Xd3RIZI/AAAAAAAAADo/hauYwNKAEck/S220/lantau003.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5623895.post-110841610059313763</id><published>2005-02-14T21:21:00.000Z</published><updated>2005-02-14T21:24:27.380Z</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Valentine's Day Special: Ancient Chinese Recommendations for Frequency of Sexual ActivityExcessive sexual activity ought to be adjusted according to one’s age, an idea which is often totally alien to most people in our society. The book Classic of the Simple Girl (Sui dynasty 581—618) gives an indication of recommended frequency of ejaculation for men according to age and health condition (and </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/110841610059313763'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/110841610059313763'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hyacinthgirl.blogspot.com/2005_02_01_archive.html#110841610059313763' title=''/><author><name>Mearcstapa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09282419289670295862</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_MVuvl3VSmdY/Sjn1Xd3RIZI/AAAAAAAAADo/hauYwNKAEck/S220/lantau003.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5623895.post-110841490586681125</id><published>2005-02-14T21:01:00.000Z</published><updated>2005-02-14T21:29:36.886Z</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>RConversation: Valentine's Day Sonnet Contest: Mearcstapa's entry:EvolutionOh blog me, babe! Don't miss a word of it!Many a blog has brought love to my doorNetted by sparkling poem, or flash of wit -The chatroom kind, of course, and little more.What need of tangled flesh on messy datesThe weight of expectation as it startsIts gentle journey southwards, then abates?The strain of those repeated </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/110841490586681125'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/110841490586681125'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hyacinthgirl.blogspot.com/2005_02_01_archive.html#110841490586681125' title=''/><author><name>Mearcstapa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09282419289670295862</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_MVuvl3VSmdY/Sjn1Xd3RIZI/AAAAAAAAADo/hauYwNKAEck/S220/lantau003.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5623895.post-110717178154861492</id><published>2005-01-31T11:43:00.000Z</published><updated>2005-01-31T11:43:01.546Z</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>The Ecology of Magic--David Abram: "1. The similarity between such a worldview and the emerging perspective of contemporary ecology is not trivial. Atmospheric geochemist James Lovelock, elucidating the Gaia hypothesis, insists that the geologic environment is itself constituted by organic life and by the products of organic metabolism. In his words, we inhabit 'a world that is the breath and </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/110717178154861492'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/110717178154861492'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hyacinthgirl.blogspot.com/2005_01_01_archive.html#110717178154861492' title=''/><author><name>Mearcstapa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09282419289670295862</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_MVuvl3VSmdY/Sjn1Xd3RIZI/AAAAAAAAADo/hauYwNKAEck/S220/lantau003.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5623895.post-110700133655158073</id><published>2005-01-29T12:22:00.000Z</published><updated>2005-01-29T12:22:16.550Z</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Events: "'How wonderful! a garden in the fire. My heart transmutes itself to all forms; A meadow for wild gazelles, a monastery for Christian monks, a temple for Pagan gods, the kabba for Muslim pilgrims Tablets for the Jewish Law, and pages for the Quran. I proclaim the religion of Love, and wherever it carries me, this is my creed and faith'. -by Muhyiddin Ibn Arabi, (Sufi poet: 1165</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/110700133655158073'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/110700133655158073'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hyacinthgirl.blogspot.com/2005_01_01_archive.html#110700133655158073' title=''/><author><name>Mearcstapa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09282419289670295862</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_MVuvl3VSmdY/Sjn1Xd3RIZI/AAAAAAAAADo/hauYwNKAEck/S220/lantau003.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5623895.post-110690412848185923</id><published>2005-01-28T09:22:00.000Z</published><updated>2005-01-28T09:22:08.480Z</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>The Love Potion and the Sword of Eros: "As we oscillate thus between the forward urge to dissolve and the panic to retreat, our anxiety becomes overwhelming. This is the work of Eros, Son of Chaos. Temptations to terminate the tension abound. Among the most common forms are rage, lust, and flight. When I react with rage to the intolerable anxiety our we-ness generates, I hold you responsible </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/110690412848185923'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/110690412848185923'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hyacinthgirl.blogspot.com/2005_01_01_archive.html#110690412848185923' title=''/><author><name>Mearcstapa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09282419289670295862</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_MVuvl3VSmdY/Sjn1Xd3RIZI/AAAAAAAAADo/hauYwNKAEck/S220/lantau003.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5623895.post-110634030184023828</id><published>2005-01-21T20:45:00.000Z</published><updated>2005-01-21T20:45:01.840Z</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Nick Totton: Embodiment: "Every time we start a new involvement or commitment, we are 'embodying' ourselves, identifying with a position of limitation and definition. Every time we step back, opt out, 'see through' or 'look beyond' a specific position, we are 'disembodying' ourselves, identifying as spirit and consciousness. In fact, whenever we wake up in the morning we embody; whenever we go to</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/110634030184023828'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/110634030184023828'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hyacinthgirl.blogspot.com/2005_01_01_archive.html#110634030184023828' title=''/><author><name>Mearcstapa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09282419289670295862</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_MVuvl3VSmdY/Sjn1Xd3RIZI/AAAAAAAAADo/hauYwNKAEck/S220/lantau003.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5623895.post-110622087087387409</id><published>2005-01-20T11:34:00.000Z</published><updated>2005-01-20T11:34:30.873Z</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>MarzipanLast night a dream of crossing an abyss on a crumbling stone bridge, a bit like the Moria scenes in Peter Jackson's Lord of the Rings films. But even though I knew it was falling, I kept going, refusing the fall. And on the other side, an intricate collector's box containing all manner of fruit made from marzipan."And then someone passed me a bit of some sweet stuff and I suddenly </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/110622087087387409'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/110622087087387409'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hyacinthgirl.blogspot.com/2005_01_01_archive.html#110622087087387409' title=''/><author><name>Mearcstapa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09282419289670295862</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_MVuvl3VSmdY/Sjn1Xd3RIZI/AAAAAAAAADo/hauYwNKAEck/S220/lantau003.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5623895.post-110622060233702200</id><published>2005-01-20T11:30:00.000Z</published><updated>2005-01-20T11:30:02.336Z</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Untitled DocumentHow to Write a Musical ClimaxI was dreaming about trees. The trees were all blowing. The wind was blowing, and some were blowing that way and some were blowing this way. And it was a counterpoint of trees, and I was hearing it. There was music too. They were all sort of going different ways. [Here Roger was both talking and "sketching." With great energy, he drew </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/110622060233702200'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/110622060233702200'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hyacinthgirl.blogspot.com/2005_01_01_archive.html#110622060233702200' title=''/><author><name>Mearcstapa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09282419289670295862</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_MVuvl3VSmdY/Sjn1Xd3RIZI/AAAAAAAAADo/hauYwNKAEck/S220/lantau003.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5623895.post-109058108411329221</id><published>2004-07-23T11:11:00.000Z</published><updated>2004-07-23T11:21:27.013Z</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>CG Jung PagePolitical creativity and liminality.The secondary processes at the edges of consensus. -- a few thoughts on John Fraim's article, linked above.For me there are several strands here:1. Location versus dislocation. These liminal founders were forced to becomed located as a response to their dislocation from European metropolitan centres.2. What helped them become located? </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/109058108411329221'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/109058108411329221'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hyacinthgirl.blogspot.com/2004_07_01_archive.html#109058108411329221' title=''/><author><name>Mearcstapa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09282419289670295862</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_MVuvl3VSmdY/Sjn1Xd3RIZI/AAAAAAAAADo/hauYwNKAEck/S220/lantau003.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5623895.post-108992676357966264</id><published>2004-07-15T21:26:00.000Z</published><updated>2004-07-15T21:26:03.580Z</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Practical Chinese Reader: The Next GenerationPast students of Chinese as a second language will of course all know Gubo, Palanka and Ding Yun. For a generation now, nearly all Chinese foreign language textbooks have come from the same place: the Beijing Culture and Language University. The Practical Chinese Reader series is essentially the same textbook in every classroom in the world, </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/108992676357966264'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/108992676357966264'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hyacinthgirl.blogspot.com/2004_07_01_archive.html#108992676357966264' title=''/><author><name>Mearcstapa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09282419289670295862</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_MVuvl3VSmdY/Sjn1Xd3RIZI/AAAAAAAAADo/hauYwNKAEck/S220/lantau003.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5623895.post-108374807748437846</id><published>2004-05-05T09:07:00.000Z</published><updated>2004-05-05T09:11:09.450Z</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>I have long been an admirer and student of Arnold Mindell's Process Work, even though I appear to have planted myself in the deep soil of the post-Jungian garden. I welcome the inclusion of many channels of perception into psychological awareness, including the relationship channel and the world and group channels. How psyche functions in a group is an area left largely unexplored by </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/108374807748437846'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/108374807748437846'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hyacinthgirl.blogspot.com/2004_05_01_archive.html#108374807748437846' title=''/><author><name>Mearcstapa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09282419289670295862</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_MVuvl3VSmdY/Sjn1Xd3RIZI/AAAAAAAAADo/hauYwNKAEck/S220/lantau003.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5623895.post-108160553509089619</id><published>2004-04-10T13:38:00.000Z</published><updated>2004-04-10T14:03:13.903Z</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>The PI genre meets the analytic method: my fictive ramblingsIt was July, in a country where no-one had yet heard of air-conditioning. The chestnut leaves shading the cricket pitch were darkened by the midday sun, glinting off the common. The car creaked and I slammed the door on Grieg, a little skimpily dressed, but too hot to care. The pavement shimmered. Why I was here was already a long </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/108160553509089619'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/108160553509089619'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hyacinthgirl.blogspot.com/2004_04_01_archive.html#108160553509089619' title=''/><author><name>Mearcstapa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09282419289670295862</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_MVuvl3VSmdY/Sjn1Xd3RIZI/AAAAAAAAADo/hauYwNKAEck/S220/lantau003.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5623895.post-10811983406700333</id><published>2004-04-05T20:52:00.000Z</published><updated>2004-04-05T20:55:02.436Z</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>PSYCHOSIS: "Experimental" and Real"All paths to individuation, whether through "psychosis," drug states, psychotherapy, Zen Buddhism, general semantics, philosophy, solitary confinement, Catholicism, Calvinism, thinking and reading on one's own, etc., are effective only if the individual can accept the chaff with the wheat, only if he can look squarely at the horrors of the world as well as its</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/10811983406700333'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/10811983406700333'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hyacinthgirl.blogspot.com/2004_04_01_archive.html#10811983406700333' title=''/><author><name>Mearcstapa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09282419289670295862</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_MVuvl3VSmdY/Sjn1Xd3RIZI/AAAAAAAAADo/hauYwNKAEck/S220/lantau003.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5623895.post-108119801354233522</id><published>2004-04-05T20:46:00.000Z</published><updated>2004-04-05T20:49:35.390Z</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>: "Common forms of behavioural disorders are extreme retreat from normal activities and duties, in some people combined with all signs of depression and in others connected with an extremely high level of activity. Common for both the depressive and the manic form of psychoses is a high arousal of all kinds of feelings, that affect negatively the perception and the thinking of a person. </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/108119801354233522'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/108119801354233522'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hyacinthgirl.blogspot.com/2004_04_01_archive.html#108119801354233522' title=''/><author><name>Mearcstapa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09282419289670295862</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_MVuvl3VSmdY/Sjn1Xd3RIZI/AAAAAAAAADo/hauYwNKAEck/S220/lantau003.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5623895.post-108111445819254210</id><published>2004-04-04T21:03:00.000Z</published><updated>2004-04-04T21:42:03.310Z</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>I keep having a fantasy that one day I'll end up trying to cross the border, perhaps doing another runner, another midstream horse-change, or about to face the great croak, and the guard will let everyone through after checking their credentials. "Next!...next!...next!" But when he gets to me, by some mix-up in the space-time continuum he'll mistake me for Old Her, the reclusive wise woman, and </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/108111445819254210'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/108111445819254210'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hyacinthgirl.blogspot.com/2004_04_01_archive.html#108111445819254210' title=''/><author><name>Mearcstapa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09282419289670295862</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_MVuvl3VSmdY/Sjn1Xd3RIZI/AAAAAAAAADo/hauYwNKAEck/S220/lantau003.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5623895.post-108072797708904999</id><published>2004-03-31T10:08:00.000Z</published><updated>2004-03-31T10:16:24.840Z</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>"Chinese women are disadvantaged from birth, or in many cases even before" - UN report...While China seeks to project an image of itself as a rapidly modernizing society -- which even plans to send a woman into space -- the UN report suggests a reality where women in fact are disadvantaged from cradle to grave. Discrimination against women seems endemic in China, stretching from education to </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/108072797708904999'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/108072797708904999'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hyacinthgirl.blogspot.com/2004_03_01_archive.html#108072797708904999' title=''/><author><name>Mearcstapa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09282419289670295862</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_MVuvl3VSmdY/Sjn1Xd3RIZI/AAAAAAAAADo/hauYwNKAEck/S220/lantau003.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5623895.post-108072722911908232</id><published>2004-03-31T10:00:00.000Z</published><updated>2004-03-31T10:05:06.043Z</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>What's behind the woman tractor-driver iconThe United Nations has reported that in China there is the risk that 40-60 million female children will be either aborted or killed in China over the next 10 years, if preference for males is not rooted out of traditional culture. &gt;&gt;&gt; AsiaNews.it &lt;&lt;&lt; Risk of abortion for 40-60 million female children over ten year period</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/108072722911908232'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/108072722911908232'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hyacinthgirl.blogspot.com/2004_03_01_archive.html#108072722911908232' title=''/><author><name>Mearcstapa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09282419289670295862</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_MVuvl3VSmdY/Sjn1Xd3RIZI/AAAAAAAAADo/hauYwNKAEck/S220/lantau003.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5623895.post-108072691985053495</id><published>2004-03-31T09:55:00.000Z</published><updated>2004-03-31T09:57:56.076Z</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>One yuan note icon, female tractor driver Liang Jun tells her story...When she and the two boys also chosen arrived at the training school after walking 50 kilometers, the head of the training school was surprised to see Liang. Liang clearly remembers their encounter that day and his first words: "What are you doing here? How can you, a girl, learn to drive a tractor?" She answered him: "</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/108072691985053495'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/108072691985053495'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hyacinthgirl.blogspot.com/2004_03_01_archive.html#108072691985053495' title=''/><author><name>Mearcstapa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09282419289670295862</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_MVuvl3VSmdY/Sjn1Xd3RIZI/AAAAAAAAADo/hauYwNKAEck/S220/lantau003.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5623895.post-108021634130220712</id><published>2004-03-25T12:05:00.000Z</published><updated>2004-03-25T12:20:21.860Z</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Psyched out city - Thoughts on Chungking ExpressSpoiler warningWatching Chungking Express now is like time travel. Kai Tak airport, certain bars and restaurants, even corridors and escalators exist only in the memories of those who once used them. Make a movie in Hong Kong, and it's like making it in someone's hometown. Imagine a small town of, say, 35,000 people, with only a handful of public</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/108021634130220712'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/108021634130220712'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hyacinthgirl.blogspot.com/2004_03_01_archive.html#108021634130220712' title=''/><author><name>Mearcstapa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09282419289670295862</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_MVuvl3VSmdY/Sjn1Xd3RIZI/AAAAAAAAADo/hauYwNKAEck/S220/lantau003.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5623895.post-108004081757777798</id><published>2004-03-23T11:20:00.000Z</published><updated>2004-03-23T11:22:46.436Z</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>ATTACKS ON LINKS IN THE WORK OF SAMUEL BECKETT AND WILFRED BION"Creative mental work thus consists of a series of terrible shocks and recoveries, a coming together of two minds in a sort of mutually destabilizing dialectic. Bion goes so far as to describe these events as 'catastrophes'."</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/108004081757777798'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/108004081757777798'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hyacinthgirl.blogspot.com/2004_03_01_archive.html#108004081757777798' title=''/><author><name>Mearcstapa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09282419289670295862</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_MVuvl3VSmdY/Sjn1Xd3RIZI/AAAAAAAAADo/hauYwNKAEck/S220/lantau003.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5623895.post-108004037980764786</id><published>2004-03-23T11:12:00.000Z</published><updated>2004-03-23T11:15:28.733Z</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>On the Couch with Beavis and Butthead: "In this essay, I will apply psychoanalytic theory to the MTV cartoon series Beavis and Butthead. "I haven't read this. I'm not sure I want to. But I quite like knowing that it's there...</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/108004037980764786'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/108004037980764786'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hyacinthgirl.blogspot.com/2004_03_01_archive.html#108004037980764786' title=''/><author><name>Mearcstapa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09282419289670295862</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_MVuvl3VSmdY/Sjn1Xd3RIZI/AAAAAAAAADo/hauYwNKAEck/S220/lantau003.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5623895.post-108004006917856814</id><published>2004-03-23T11:07:00.000Z</published><updated>2004-03-23T11:10:18.153Z</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Sorry, Your Time Is Not Up: "I often think of a cartoon I saw once, in which a bearded Ur-shrink stares at his patient and says something like: 'You can't terminate now. I haven't finished paving my tennis court.'"</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/108004006917856814'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/108004006917856814'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hyacinthgirl.blogspot.com/2004_03_01_archive.html#108004006917856814' title=''/><author><name>Mearcstapa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09282419289670295862</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_MVuvl3VSmdY/Sjn1Xd3RIZI/AAAAAAAAADo/hauYwNKAEck/S220/lantau003.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5623895.post-108003953838412044</id><published>2004-03-23T10:51:00.001Z</published><updated>2004-03-23T11:24:13.640Z</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>What is my project here?In a rebellious and iconoclastic mood, I run a Google search entitled "psychoanalysis sucks". Some of these links you see are a result of that search. </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/108003953838412044'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/108003953838412044'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hyacinthgirl.blogspot.com/2004_03_01_archive.html#108003953838412044' title=''/><author><name>Mearcstapa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09282419289670295862</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_MVuvl3VSmdY/Sjn1Xd3RIZI/AAAAAAAAADo/hauYwNKAEck/S220/lantau003.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5623895.post-108003907745579365</id><published>2004-03-23T10:51:00.000Z</published><updated>2004-03-23T10:53:46.576Z</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Chan and Psychoanalysis - Master Sheng-yen:"A therapist incorporating Buddhist teaching is like a tiger with wings."Zen master Shen-yen "To deal with problems in each instance is to try and remove the parasites one by one. It is messy and sometimes dangerous. While you are picking one off, the rest of them have time to penetrate further. Or you may only have stunned them; or worse, you may </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/108003907745579365'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/108003907745579365'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hyacinthgirl.blogspot.com/2004_03_01_archive.html#108003907745579365' title=''/><author><name>Mearcstapa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09282419289670295862</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_MVuvl3VSmdY/Sjn1Xd3RIZI/AAAAAAAAADo/hauYwNKAEck/S220/lantau003.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5623895.post-108003856388565282</id><published>2004-03-23T10:42:00.000Z</published><updated>2004-03-23T10:45:12.576Z</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Freud, Flytraps, and Fish:The therapeutic session sets up a situation where the patient is particularly vulnerable to mind-fucking. The very good therapist is very sensitive to what is going on in the patients head - Reik's listening with the third ear - and does not impose his/her own interpretations/beliefs/suggestions on the patient. The not so good therapist wittingly or unwittingly engages</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/108003856388565282'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/108003856388565282'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hyacinthgirl.blogspot.com/2004_03_01_archive.html#108003856388565282' title=''/><author><name>Mearcstapa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09282419289670295862</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_MVuvl3VSmdY/Sjn1Xd3RIZI/AAAAAAAAADo/hauYwNKAEck/S220/lantau003.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5623895.post-107904292598258477</id><published>2004-03-11T22:08:00.000Z</published><updated>2004-03-11T22:11:03.420Z</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>"The French president's China Complex"People's Daily online, March 10, 2004It's nice to know I share a complex with De Gaulle, anyway. Jung would be pleased, as the concept of a complex as used here is his. I wonder what Chirac's unusual posture was?French Presidents' China complex</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/107904292598258477'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/107904292598258477'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hyacinthgirl.blogspot.com/2004_03_01_archive.html#107904292598258477' title=''/><author><name>Mearcstapa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09282419289670295862</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_MVuvl3VSmdY/Sjn1Xd3RIZI/AAAAAAAAADo/hauYwNKAEck/S220/lantau003.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5623895.post-107847922911034683</id><published>2004-03-05T09:33:00.001Z</published><updated>2004-03-05T09:35:59.670Z</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>I found this quite moving in a funny sort of way. I think it's both dotty and hugely sensible. Elvish speakers: do they want love or just a nice cuppa? No word for love, huh? Mind you, we mean so many different and easily misunderstood things by it, might be just as well to diffuse it through other areas of language.BBC NEWS | Education | Do you speak Elf?</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/107847922911034683'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/107847922911034683'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hyacinthgirl.blogspot.com/2004_03_01_archive.html#107847922911034683' title=''/><author><name>Mearcstapa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09282419289670295862</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_MVuvl3VSmdY/Sjn1Xd3RIZI/AAAAAAAAADo/hauYwNKAEck/S220/lantau003.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5623895.post-107789428483708159</id><published>2004-02-27T15:04:00.000Z</published><updated>2004-02-27T15:06:48.996Z</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Femspec -- An Interdisciplinary Feminist Journal</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/107789428483708159'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/107789428483708159'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hyacinthgirl.blogspot.com/2004_02_01_archive.html#107789428483708159' title=''/><author><name>Mearcstapa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09282419289670295862</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_MVuvl3VSmdY/Sjn1Xd3RIZI/AAAAAAAAADo/hauYwNKAEck/S220/lantau003.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5623895.post-107641169318976961</id><published>2004-02-10T11:14:00.000Z</published><updated>2004-02-10T11:16:39.983Z</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>LRB | Nicholas Spice : I must be mad: "So we keep sane with an idea of integrated selfhood which we derive from our experience of the dazzling individuation of other people. If we question the integrity of other selves, if we start to think of people as palimpsests of meaning, with no primary surface but only an infinite recession of planes of meaning superimposed on one another, we enter a world</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/107641169318976961'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/107641169318976961'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hyacinthgirl.blogspot.com/2004_02_01_archive.html#107641169318976961' title=''/><author><name>Mearcstapa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09282419289670295862</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_MVuvl3VSmdY/Sjn1Xd3RIZI/AAAAAAAAADo/hauYwNKAEck/S220/lantau003.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5623895.post-107633965135120350</id><published>2004-02-09T15:14:00.000Z</published><updated>2004-02-09T15:15:57.310Z</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>LRB | Adam Phillips : Bored with Sex?: "The task of the modern person, as Freud sees her, is to find new ways of wanting that keep wanting alive, but in the knowledge that wanting is a species of risk. What became known, after Freud, as psychoanalytic theory is an encyclopedia of modern risks. And desire is usually the contemporary word for the risk not taken: the unlived life that seems the only</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/107633965135120350'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/107633965135120350'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hyacinthgirl.blogspot.com/2004_02_01_archive.html#107633965135120350' title=''/><author><name>Mearcstapa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09282419289670295862</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_MVuvl3VSmdY/Sjn1Xd3RIZI/AAAAAAAAADo/hauYwNKAEck/S220/lantau003.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5623895.post-107523977918919890</id><published>2004-01-27T21:42:00.000Z</published><updated>2004-01-27T21:44:32.200Z</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Brian Charles Clark |� Music Writing Narrative Zines</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/107523977918919890'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/107523977918919890'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hyacinthgirl.blogspot.com/2004_01_01_archive.html#107523977918919890' title=''/><author><name>Mearcstapa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09282419289670295862</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_MVuvl3VSmdY/Sjn1Xd3RIZI/AAAAAAAAADo/hauYwNKAEck/S220/lantau003.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5623895.post-107470406064398956</id><published>2004-01-21T16:54:00.000Z</published><updated>2004-01-21T16:55:47.140Z</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>This blog is listed on:BLOGWISE - Blog Directory and Weblog Research</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/107470406064398956'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/107470406064398956'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hyacinthgirl.blogspot.com/2004_01_01_archive.html#107470406064398956' title=''/><author><name>Mearcstapa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09282419289670295862</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_MVuvl3VSmdY/Sjn1Xd3RIZI/AAAAAAAAADo/hauYwNKAEck/S220/lantau003.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5623895.post-107470332044451184</id><published>2004-01-21T16:38:00.000Z</published><updated>2004-01-21T16:43:27.110Z</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Edward Said warns us that "in our wish to make ourselves heard, we tend very often to forget that the world is a crowded place".  This approach has been taken by some to argue that an appreciation of orientalism requires making space for other voices, the excluded colonial other. This however assumes that we possess a discourse which can engage with the excluded. It underestimates the extent to </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/107470332044451184'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/107470332044451184'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hyacinthgirl.blogspot.com/2004_01_01_archive.html#107470332044451184' title=''/><author><name>Mearcstapa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09282419289670295862</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_MVuvl3VSmdY/Sjn1Xd3RIZI/AAAAAAAAADo/hauYwNKAEck/S220/lantau003.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5623895.post-107470294461506995</id><published>2004-01-21T16:26:00.000Z</published><updated>2004-01-21T16:37:11.360Z</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Thoughts on the beginning of analysis, 2004:The turning to psyche, the savage and beautiful country which is supposedly within us, can also be a desperate attempt at fixing something. Fixing in more than the usual sense of mending a broken thing, although that's part of it. But fixing in an alchemical sense, a photographic sense. With the inward turn, out there becomes in here, often without </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/107470294461506995'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/107470294461506995'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hyacinthgirl.blogspot.com/2004_01_01_archive.html#107470294461506995' title=''/><author><name>Mearcstapa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09282419289670295862</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_MVuvl3VSmdY/Sjn1Xd3RIZI/AAAAAAAAADo/hauYwNKAEck/S220/lantau003.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5623895.post-107416196037079411</id><published>2004-01-15T10:19:00.000Z</published><updated>2004-01-15T10:20:41.686Z</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>The Observer | Special reports | Fighting Islam's Ku Klux Klan</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/107416196037079411'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/107416196037079411'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hyacinthgirl.blogspot.com/2004_01_01_archive.html#107416196037079411' title=''/><author><name>Mearcstapa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09282419289670295862</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_MVuvl3VSmdY/Sjn1Xd3RIZI/AAAAAAAAADo/hauYwNKAEck/S220/lantau003.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5623895.post-107416032274994199</id><published>2004-01-15T09:52:00.000Z</published><updated>2004-01-15T10:00:00.560Z</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>frontline: faith and doubt at ground zero: interviews: kanan makiya | PBSA PBS interview with that same Samir al-Khalil upon the back of whose scholarship and psychological insight I have been riding in many of these posts. It focuses on the question of evil in the human soul with reference to Sept. 11. Highly recommended.</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/107416032274994199'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/107416032274994199'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hyacinthgirl.blogspot.com/2004_01_01_archive.html#107416032274994199' title=''/><author><name>Mearcstapa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09282419289670295862</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_MVuvl3VSmdY/Sjn1Xd3RIZI/AAAAAAAAADo/hauYwNKAEck/S220/lantau003.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5623895.post-107415944228318587</id><published>2004-01-15T09:37:00.000Z</published><updated>2004-01-15T09:40:14.623Z</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>PSYCHOMEDIA - SCIENCE AND THOUGHT: The interface of psychoanalysis and neurobiologyby Arnold H. ModellBoston Colloquium for Philosophy of Science - December 18, 1996"</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/107415944228318587'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/107415944228318587'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hyacinthgirl.blogspot.com/2004_01_01_archive.html#107415944228318587' title=''/><author><name>Mearcstapa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09282419289670295862</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_MVuvl3VSmdY/Sjn1Xd3RIZI/AAAAAAAAADo/hauYwNKAEck/S220/lantau003.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5623895.post-107415917467496901</id><published>2004-01-15T09:32:00.000Z</published><updated>2004-01-15T09:34:15.233Z</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Baghdad Monuments</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/107415917467496901'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/107415917467496901'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hyacinthgirl.blogspot.com/2004_01_01_archive.html#107415917467496901' title=''/><author><name>Mearcstapa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09282419289670295862</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_MVuvl3VSmdY/Sjn1Xd3RIZI/AAAAAAAAADo/hauYwNKAEck/S220/lantau003.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5623895.post-107415941340269702</id><published>2004-01-15T09:28:00.000Z</published><updated>2004-01-15T09:38:13.920Z</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>"Metaphor has been defined as the mapping of one conceptual domain onto a dissimilar conceptual domain. For example consider the metaphor: sex is the poor man’s opera. The pleasure we obtain from this metaphor rests upon the play of similarity and difference. Such metaphors are open and generative. There is another class of metaphor in which the meaning is relatively fixed or foreclosed. Such </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/107415941340269702'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/107415941340269702'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hyacinthgirl.blogspot.com/2004_01_01_archive.html#107415941340269702' title=''/><author><name>Mearcstapa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09282419289670295862</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_MVuvl3VSmdY/Sjn1Xd3RIZI/AAAAAAAAADo/hauYwNKAEck/S220/lantau003.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5623895.post-107408213457890734</id><published>2004-01-14T12:07:00.000Z</published><updated>2004-01-14T12:12:37.513Z</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>"For Socrates a tyranny arises when the desiring part of the soul in a highly erotic (spirited) ruler runs amok. A tyranny is this rampant surge of an infinity of wants which the tyrant is driven by his eros to obtain with violence. Hence: a citizenry ruled by fear, uncertainty, wars and expansionism.A modern culture deformed by a cult of violence and the effects of a great war, has what one </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/107408213457890734'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/107408213457890734'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hyacinthgirl.blogspot.com/2004_01_01_archive.html#107408213457890734' title=''/><author><name>Mearcstapa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09282419289670295862</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_MVuvl3VSmdY/Sjn1Xd3RIZI/AAAAAAAAADo/hauYwNKAEck/S220/lantau003.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5623895.post-107408121505203451</id><published>2004-01-14T11:52:00.000Z</published><updated>2004-01-14T11:54:54.483Z</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>I had a recent dream with Saddam Hussein in it, which led me back to this quotation:Throughout history, the human being has always looked beyond what could be seen. However, sometimes we find that this trait makes him deal with the visible as though it existed outside his will and outside the objective presence of his senses. He turns the stone idol which he makes with his own hands into a god,</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/107408121505203451'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/107408121505203451'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hyacinthgirl.blogspot.com/2004_01_01_archive.html#107408121505203451' title=''/><author><name>Mearcstapa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09282419289670295862</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_MVuvl3VSmdY/Sjn1Xd3RIZI/AAAAAAAAADo/hauYwNKAEck/S220/lantau003.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5623895.post-107308145070747073</id><published>2004-01-02T22:07:00.000Z</published><updated>2004-01-02T22:11:59.216Z</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>"Monuments are the expression of man's highest cultural needs. They have to satisfy the eternal demand of the people for translation of their collective force into symbols. The most vital monuments are those which express the feeling and thinking of this collective force -- the people...Monuments are, therefore, only possible in periods in which a unifying consciousness and unifying culture </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/107308145070747073'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/107308145070747073'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hyacinthgirl.blogspot.com/2004_01_01_archive.html#107308145070747073' title=''/><author><name>Mearcstapa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09282419289670295862</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_MVuvl3VSmdY/Sjn1Xd3RIZI/AAAAAAAAADo/hauYwNKAEck/S220/lantau003.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5623895.post-107308095709709585</id><published>2004-01-02T21:52:00.000Z</published><updated>2004-01-14T11:53:13.640Z</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>In the next few days, I will be posting a series of quotations which I gathered on the themes of nationalism, monuments, fascism and totalitarian states and ideologies, in response to a number of dreams last year. </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/107308095709709585'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/107308095709709585'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hyacinthgirl.blogspot.com/2004_01_01_archive.html#107308095709709585' title=''/><author><name>Mearcstapa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09282419289670295862</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_MVuvl3VSmdY/Sjn1Xd3RIZI/AAAAAAAAADo/hauYwNKAEck/S220/lantau003.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5623895.post-106746546563872640</id><published>2003-10-29T22:11:00.000Z</published><updated>2003-10-29T22:12:44.003Z</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>WASHINGTON DC (2003): From a personal e-mail to the writer of a review of Alan Garner's latest novel, Thursbitch.The reviewer wrote:Yet I wonder if Thursbitch, for all its uncompromising oddness, can hope to affect an adult reader as deeply as The Weirdstone of Brisingamen or Elidor can affect a child. It is a book to be admired, but I doubt that it will change anyone's life the way Garner's </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/106746546563872640'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/106746546563872640'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hyacinthgirl.blogspot.com/2003_10_01_archive.html#106746546563872640' title=''/><author><name>Mearcstapa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09282419289670295862</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_MVuvl3VSmdY/Sjn1Xd3RIZI/AAAAAAAAADo/hauYwNKAEck/S220/lantau003.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5623895.post-106631558640833638</id><published>2003-10-16T14:38:00.000Z</published><updated>2003-10-16T14:50:26.463Z</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>NO ELSEWHERE (2003): I have worked out after *way* too long why I was so drawn to China. China is the Borg. It's a fantasy of interconnectivity, an archetypal survival system, which began in early childhood and was transferred to the outside world. You plug in, you switch on, you're connected -- usually via the language. The only problem is DIS-connecting, or power supply decoupling. ("I got a </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/106631558640833638'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/106631558640833638'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hyacinthgirl.blogspot.com/2003_10_01_archive.html#106631558640833638' title=''/><author><name>Mearcstapa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09282419289670295862</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_MVuvl3VSmdY/Sjn1Xd3RIZI/AAAAAAAAADo/hauYwNKAEck/S220/lantau003.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5623895.post-106555573112096506</id><published>2003-10-07T19:26:00.000Z</published><updated>2003-10-07T19:42:10.646Z</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>UNSPECIFIED NEWSDESK, INTERNAL MESSAGEWIRE (sometime in the 1990s): HKG 011509 banker   prohkecon extaipei gtfl kill taipei story "taiwan new central banker aims to be more liberal" which is not yet ready to send to uu. eye pushed the wrong bottom. will send it again later. sori for inconvenience. tks and bests. xxx taiHAN 072121 sweden   Pro jlw ex hkworld. Yr finely-crafted opus abt to </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/106555573112096506'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/106555573112096506'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hyacinthgirl.blogspot.com/2003_10_01_archive.html#106555573112096506' title=''/><author><name>Mearcstapa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09282419289670295862</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_MVuvl3VSmdY/Sjn1Xd3RIZI/AAAAAAAAADo/hauYwNKAEck/S220/lantau003.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5623895.post-106355443279959796</id><published>2003-09-14T15:39:00.000Z</published><updated>2003-09-15T09:35:03.196Z</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>THE DREAMING (Sept. 2003): Prompted by a recent dream, I have been led to examine the difference between suzerainty and hegemony. Here are some dictionary definitions.su·ze·rain    ( P )  Pronunciation Key  (szr-n, -z-rn)n. 1.	A nation that controls another nation in international affairs but allows it domestic sovereignty.2.	A feudal lord to whom fealty was due.--------------------------</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/106355443279959796'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/106355443279959796'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hyacinthgirl.blogspot.com/2003_09_01_archive.html#106355443279959796' title=''/><author><name>Mearcstapa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09282419289670295862</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_MVuvl3VSmdY/Sjn1Xd3RIZI/AAAAAAAAADo/hauYwNKAEck/S220/lantau003.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5623895.post-106130630029384258</id><published>2003-08-19T15:18:00.000Z</published><updated>2003-08-19T15:19:30.340Z</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>NO ELSEWHERE (2003): Heated exchange in cyberspace.INTERLOCUTOR: Replacing one of the most subtle and nuanced works of the English language (Milton's Paradise Lost) with, frankly, adolescent theology is not something I can approve of.  After people said Pullman was so clever I got confused by how blindingly obvious and predictable he was. ME: Herein lies the nexus of a great many rubs! </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/106130630029384258'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/106130630029384258'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hyacinthgirl.blogspot.com/2003_08_01_archive.html#106130630029384258' title=''/><author><name>Mearcstapa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09282419289670295862</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_MVuvl3VSmdY/Sjn1Xd3RIZI/AAAAAAAAADo/hauYwNKAEck/S220/lantau003.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5623895.post-106094120856233373</id><published>2003-08-15T09:53:00.000Z</published><updated>2003-08-15T09:57:52.300Z</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Site portail de la ville de lourdes et des sanctuaires</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/106094120856233373'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/106094120856233373'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hyacinthgirl.blogspot.com/2003_08_01_archive.html#106094120856233373' title=''/><author><name>Mearcstapa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09282419289670295862</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_MVuvl3VSmdY/Sjn1Xd3RIZI/AAAAAAAAADo/hauYwNKAEck/S220/lantau003.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5623895.post-106094111825717672</id><published>2003-08-15T09:51:00.000Z</published><updated>2003-08-15T09:56:22.020Z</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Index Librorum Prohibitorum, 1949</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/106094111825717672'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/106094111825717672'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hyacinthgirl.blogspot.com/2003_08_01_archive.html#106094111825717672' title=''/><author><name>Mearcstapa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09282419289670295862</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_MVuvl3VSmdY/Sjn1Xd3RIZI/AAAAAAAAADo/hauYwNKAEck/S220/lantau003.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5623895.post-106094052452513913</id><published>2003-08-15T09:42:00.000Z</published><updated>2003-08-15T09:50:13.066Z</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>VATICAN (1880): The Catholic Church adds Zeffirino Falcioni's book, Coup d'oeil sur le christianisme to its Index Librorum Prohibitorum, or list of books banned to Catholics because they may damage their faith.I was interested to discover that the Apparitions of the Virgin Mary at Lourdes were claimed as a miracle by the Catholic Church in the mid-19th century, just around the time that the </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/106094052452513913'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/106094052452513913'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hyacinthgirl.blogspot.com/2003_08_01_archive.html#106094052452513913' title=''/><author><name>Mearcstapa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09282419289670295862</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_MVuvl3VSmdY/Sjn1Xd3RIZI/AAAAAAAAADo/hauYwNKAEck/S220/lantau003.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5623895.post-106019721550298261</id><published>2003-08-06T19:13:00.000Z</published><updated>2003-08-06T19:15:02.546Z</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>HITCHIN (2003): Two exchanges in a paddling pool.Me: Look, when the ball gets caught under the water and spins, it's a system. It's quite a stable system. Takes a lot to knock it away again.Daughter (aged 6): So when you work with me, that's a system?*               *               *                  *                   *Daughter: Why do lions and tigers kill people, and eat them?Me: </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/106019721550298261'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/106019721550298261'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hyacinthgirl.blogspot.com/2003_08_01_archive.html#106019721550298261' title=''/><author><name>Mearcstapa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09282419289670295862</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_MVuvl3VSmdY/Sjn1Xd3RIZI/AAAAAAAAADo/hauYwNKAEck/S220/lantau003.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5623895.post-106009985534485656</id><published>2003-08-05T16:10:00.000Z</published><updated>2003-08-06T19:28:34.766Z</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>NO ELSEWHERE (2003): A couple of years ago, Philip Pullman burst onto the literary scene with a new work of the imagination, the "His Dark Materials" trilogy. The books' success with both children and adults soon spawned a radio dramatisation which aired on Radio 4 late last year. It tells the story of the struggle of human beings to be self-determining, to live their lives informed by an erotic </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/106009985534485656'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/106009985534485656'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hyacinthgirl.blogspot.com/2003_08_01_archive.html#106009985534485656' title=''/><author><name>Mearcstapa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09282419289670295862</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_MVuvl3VSmdY/Sjn1Xd3RIZI/AAAAAAAAADo/hauYwNKAEck/S220/lantau003.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5623895.post-106009683677822665</id><published>2003-08-05T15:20:00.000Z</published><updated>2003-08-05T15:21:06.380Z</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>BEIJING (1999): A vision of hundreds of megacities in the new millennium is forcing China's leadership to grope for new planning policies as the urban population skyrockets. More than 6,000 architects converged on the Chinese capital for the 20th World Congress of the international Union of Architects in 1999, concentrating minds on the mass movement of people into cities -- especially in the </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/106009683677822665'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/106009683677822665'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hyacinthgirl.blogspot.com/2003_08_01_archive.html#106009683677822665' title=''/><author><name>Mearcstapa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09282419289670295862</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_MVuvl3VSmdY/Sjn1Xd3RIZI/AAAAAAAAADo/hauYwNKAEck/S220/lantau003.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5623895.post-105993743424063587</id><published>2003-08-03T19:03:00.000Z</published><updated>2003-08-03T19:03:54.293Z</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>CONVERSATIONS OVERHEARD IN THE KIRK AND RAVEN (2003):     "So Ted Hughes, who couldn't keep his pants on -"     "It's open to the common -"     "I went up to the pilot afterwards -"         "It's just getting hotter and hotter -"     "She just kept ringing up and slagging me off to him -"     "-was full of the life force, is that it?"     "- I mean, in China, the fan is one the </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/105993743424063587'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/105993743424063587'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hyacinthgirl.blogspot.com/2003_08_01_archive.html#105993743424063587' title=''/><author><name>Mearcstapa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09282419289670295862</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_MVuvl3VSmdY/Sjn1Xd3RIZI/AAAAAAAAADo/hauYwNKAEck/S220/lantau003.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5623895.post-105976482724482065</id><published>2003-08-01T19:07:00.000Z</published><updated>2003-08-01T19:08:02.450Z</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>LONDON (1885): Il y a 4 jours que j'ai reve que je venais au Convent avec ma chere morte, vous l'avez recue dans la chambre ou j'ai dine. Elle vous souriait ayant l'air content. J'ai reve de ma mere qui etait au convent ayant bebe sur ses genoux. Elle etait avec moi, vous et les enfants. Elle etait tres pensive, les yeux fixes par terre. Tout a coup elle quitte le bebe et nous dit a moi et a vous</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/105976482724482065'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/105976482724482065'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hyacinthgirl.blogspot.com/2003_08_01_archive.html#105976482724482065' title=''/><author><name>Mearcstapa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09282419289670295862</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_MVuvl3VSmdY/Sjn1Xd3RIZI/AAAAAAAAADo/hauYwNKAEck/S220/lantau003.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5623895.post-105965255806187188</id><published>2003-07-31T11:55:00.000Z</published><updated>2003-08-06T21:36:51.820Z</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>LONDON (1884): AN APPEAL.To the editor of The TabletSIR,--You will do a great act of charity if you allow in your paper a few lines of appeal in behalf of three innocent little children (the eldest about ten) whose future will be utter ruin and infidelity, if something is not done for them without delay. They belong to repectable parents, and up to their mother's death had every comfort that </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/105965255806187188'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/105965255806187188'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hyacinthgirl.blogspot.com/2003_07_01_archive.html#105965255806187188' title=''/><author><name>Mearcstapa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09282419289670295862</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_MVuvl3VSmdY/Sjn1Xd3RIZI/AAAAAAAAADo/hauYwNKAEck/S220/lantau003.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5623895.post-105964543646534664</id><published>2003-07-31T09:57:00.000Z</published><updated>2003-07-31T09:58:54.036Z</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>NON-CONSENSUS REALITY (2003): What would a Waywalker do? Firstly, I thought, they'd be divided into two kinds, or perhaps in the West, they would. Timekeepers and Anachronisers. The former would be temperamentally inclined to keeping the rhythms of time. This could take the form of circular rhythms, like the seasons, and the various cultural activities associated with cyclical time. Or of </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/105964543646534664'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/105964543646534664'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hyacinthgirl.blogspot.com/2003_07_01_archive.html#105964543646534664' title=''/><author><name>Mearcstapa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09282419289670295862</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_MVuvl3VSmdY/Sjn1Xd3RIZI/AAAAAAAAADo/hauYwNKAEck/S220/lantau003.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5623895.post-105960005303617695</id><published>2003-07-30T21:20:00.000Z</published><updated>2003-07-31T15:55:19.336Z</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>NO ELSEWHERE (2003): I've just realised that LYRA G. HITCHIN is an anagram of Hyacinth Girl. Hitchin is my home town, and Lyra is my favourite heroine. I wonder what the G stands for?So are:AH! LYRIC THING and INCH THY GRAIL</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/105960005303617695'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/105960005303617695'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hyacinthgirl.blogspot.com/2003_07_01_archive.html#105960005303617695' title=''/><author><name>Mearcstapa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09282419289670295862</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_MVuvl3VSmdY/Sjn1Xd3RIZI/AAAAAAAAADo/hauYwNKAEck/S220/lantau003.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5623895.post-105957995884978712</id><published>2003-07-30T15:45:00.000Z</published><updated>2003-07-30T16:23:51.916Z</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>HITCHIN (2003): Salsify roots look muddy, rigid, unappetising from the outside. They must be washed and peeled, a delicate operation with vegetables of such slender length, and laid in a dish of cold water to protect that almost indecent white tenderness from the air. Then simmered in not-too-much boiling water, with a pinch of salt, until they are soft, but with still enough tension to preserve </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/105957995884978712'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/105957995884978712'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hyacinthgirl.blogspot.com/2003_07_01_archive.html#105957995884978712' title=''/><author><name>Mearcstapa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09282419289670295862</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_MVuvl3VSmdY/Sjn1Xd3RIZI/AAAAAAAAADo/hauYwNKAEck/S220/lantau003.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5623895.post-105951939467107864</id><published>2003-07-29T22:56:00.000Z</published><updated>2003-07-30T21:35:48.906Z</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>HITCHIN (2003): There is always something frozen about a snapshot. The image halted in time, container of reliable meaning. Chinese characters fulfill the same function in setting boundaries around cultural discourse. They are snapshots of approved meaning, sanctioned by centuries of authority and tradition. They are to be learned by rote, not used as devices for meditation, except possibly in </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/105951939467107864'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/105951939467107864'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hyacinthgirl.blogspot.com/2003_07_01_archive.html#105951939467107864' title=''/><author><name>Mearcstapa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09282419289670295862</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_MVuvl3VSmdY/Sjn1Xd3RIZI/AAAAAAAAADo/hauYwNKAEck/S220/lantau003.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5623895.post-105950290939665806</id><published>2003-07-29T18:21:00.000Z</published><updated>2003-07-29T18:21:49.436Z</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>PSYCHE (2000): A set of characters for a futuristic novel I never wrote.Leanda Mac -- A system-assisted worker based in Hong Kong who lives an almost virtual life and is sent to Europe on a training seminar run by one of the major systems multinationalsXen Weeto -- Activist/computer hacker based on the Pacific coast of the United StatesYang Chun -- Strategist for multinational corporation -</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/105950290939665806'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/105950290939665806'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hyacinthgirl.blogspot.com/2003_07_01_archive.html#105950290939665806' title=''/><author><name>Mearcstapa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09282419289670295862</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_MVuvl3VSmdY/Sjn1Xd3RIZI/AAAAAAAAADo/hauYwNKAEck/S220/lantau003.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5623895.post-105950228975867791</id><published>2003-07-29T18:11:00.000Z</published><updated>2003-07-30T16:20:35.510Z</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>ZURICH (1930s): It has forever been the aspiration of mankind to fly like a bird, to become a wind, a breath; and it can be done, but it is paid for by the loss of the body, or the loss of humanity, which is the same thing.  -- C. G. Jung, from the Zarathustra Seminars</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/105950228975867791'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/105950228975867791'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hyacinthgirl.blogspot.com/2003_07_01_archive.html#105950228975867791' title=''/><author><name>Mearcstapa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09282419289670295862</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_MVuvl3VSmdY/Sjn1Xd3RIZI/AAAAAAAAADo/hauYwNKAEck/S220/lantau003.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5623895.post-105948403990360405</id><published>2003-07-29T13:07:00.000Z</published><updated>2003-07-29T13:07:19.943Z</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Jung Society of Atlanta - Donald Kalsched, Ph.D.</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/105948403990360405'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/105948403990360405'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hyacinthgirl.blogspot.com/2003_07_01_archive.html#105948403990360405' title=''/><author><name>Mearcstapa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09282419289670295862</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_MVuvl3VSmdY/Sjn1Xd3RIZI/AAAAAAAAADo/hauYwNKAEck/S220/lantau003.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5623895.post-105948395470633093</id><published>2003-07-29T13:05:00.000Z</published><updated>2003-07-29T13:05:54.713Z</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>NO ELSEWHERE (2003): If anyone ever reads this, they'll soon get the idea that Philip Pullman is flavour of the universe over at Hyacinth Girl. So I was warmly surprised and gratified while on the trail of Donald Kalsched, reading up on what he had to say about his book on the defensive splitting of the Self in response to early trauma, to come across an audio clip of a lecture given by him to </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/105948395470633093'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/105948395470633093'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hyacinthgirl.blogspot.com/2003_07_01_archive.html#105948395470633093' title=''/><author><name>Mearcstapa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09282419289670295862</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_MVuvl3VSmdY/Sjn1Xd3RIZI/AAAAAAAAADo/hauYwNKAEck/S220/lantau003.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5623895.post-105947614128783603</id><published>2003-07-29T10:55:00.000Z</published><updated>2003-07-30T16:21:25.393Z</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>ST. ALBANS (2003): In the coffee shop this morning there was a long queue, and I was watching the guy -- Italian, I think -- keep several orders going through, while watching the temperature gauge, wiping and blasting the milk off the steamer nozzle, tipping espressos into bigger cups for lattes, and so on. These places are usually quite bland -- they're a franchise chain similar to Starbucks but</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/105947614128783603'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/105947614128783603'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hyacinthgirl.blogspot.com/2003_07_01_archive.html#105947614128783603' title=''/><author><name>Mearcstapa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09282419289670295862</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_MVuvl3VSmdY/Sjn1Xd3RIZI/AAAAAAAAADo/hauYwNKAEck/S220/lantau003.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5623895.post-105942721334754475</id><published>2003-07-28T21:20:00.000Z</published><updated>2003-07-29T11:59:14.800Z</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>NEUILLY SUR SEINE (1880): Great grandfather gets a book published. Well done Zeffirino. Associate of Ernest Renan, and former pupil of Liszt. As yet unread by great granddaughter in 2003. A glance at Christianity?Freemasonry and antimasonry : sources from theFonds Valentin Brifaut, Université catholique deLouvain, BelgiumFalcioni, Zeffirino.Coup-d'oeil sur le christianisme /Zeffirino </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/105942721334754475'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/105942721334754475'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hyacinthgirl.blogspot.com/2003_07_01_archive.html#105942721334754475' title=''/><author><name>Mearcstapa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09282419289670295862</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_MVuvl3VSmdY/Sjn1Xd3RIZI/AAAAAAAAADo/hauYwNKAEck/S220/lantau003.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5623895.post-105942653742707044</id><published>2003-07-28T21:08:00.000Z</published><updated>2003-07-29T11:52:03.970Z</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>HONG KONG (2000): Private investigation agency Fact Finders says 60% of the intellectual property cases it handles are in China, compared with just 10% ten years ago. And intellectual property infringers are becoming more and more creative in their use of resources. One of the company’s most interesting cases was a raid on a factory which was turning out fake brand name leather goods…from inside </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/105942653742707044'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/105942653742707044'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hyacinthgirl.blogspot.com/2003_07_01_archive.html#105942653742707044' title=''/><author><name>Mearcstapa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09282419289670295862</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_MVuvl3VSmdY/Sjn1Xd3RIZI/AAAAAAAAADo/hauYwNKAEck/S220/lantau003.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5623895.post-105942629080254867</id><published>2003-07-28T21:04:00.000Z</published><updated>2003-07-28T21:04:50.833Z</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>GUIZHOU (1920s): Deep in the mountains of Guizhou in March, there's a light rain that falls all the time, like the tears of a young peasant bride before she leaves home on her wedding day. After these spring rains, the paths and roads become a morass of mud, while a light mist envelops the nearby trees and distant hills alike. There are plenty of potholes where you can fall and hurt yourself, and</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/105942629080254867'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/105942629080254867'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hyacinthgirl.blogspot.com/2003_07_01_archive.html#105942629080254867' title=''/><author><name>Mearcstapa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09282419289670295862</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_MVuvl3VSmdY/Sjn1Xd3RIZI/AAAAAAAAADo/hauYwNKAEck/S220/lantau003.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5623895.post-105942582594930656</id><published>2003-07-28T20:57:00.000Z</published><updated>2003-07-28T20:57:05.980Z</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>HONG KONG (1995) -- A barren rock before the British took possession in 1841, Hong Kong has produced an economic miracle through the efforts of its hard-working people who have never been very interested in politics -- so runs the British colonial view of Hong Kong history. But as the colony approaches its return to Chinese sovereignty on July 1, 1997, a battle is heating up over who will be </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/105942582594930656'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/105942582594930656'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hyacinthgirl.blogspot.com/2003_07_01_archive.html#105942582594930656' title=''/><author><name>Mearcstapa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09282419289670295862</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_MVuvl3VSmdY/Sjn1Xd3RIZI/AAAAAAAAADo/hauYwNKAEck/S220/lantau003.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5623895.post-105942524881380572</id><published>2003-07-28T20:47:00.000Z</published><updated>2003-07-28T21:01:08.533Z</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>CHINA (2003): Political and social reform in the countryside will be inevitable if the government is to achieve its aim of turning rural residents into full participants in the post-WTO economy. Even in modern China, there is a tendency to treat the rural population as a resource to be exploited, rather than as fully individual citizens. While the land itself was decollectivised for economic </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/105942524881380572'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5623895/posts/default/105942524881380572'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hyacinthgirl.blogspot.com/2003_07_01_archive.html#105942524881380572' title=''/><author><name>Mearcstapa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09282419289670295862</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_MVuvl3VSmdY/Sjn1Xd3RIZI/AAAAAAAAADo/hauYwNKAEck/S220/lantau003.JPG'/></author></entry></feed>
