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About DeltaV

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  1. Sex with feelings #NoRomo

  2. Sex with feelings #NoRomo

    I indeed wanted to hint at a spectrum here, but only in an imprecise way: a spectrum considering the “average stability” we do observe in arrangements where sex happens. Yes, your comfort zone seems so small that you might be, no not a monster (you remember that thread?), but a bit … straining. On the positive side, I don't think that it is totally fixed. I managed to get rid of very, very peculiar preferences (or less euphemistically, strong aversions) by “exposure therapy” in the last months. Now my preferences are only peculiar. But YMMV. I'm basically approaching it like Yalena ‘Dutch’ Yardeen from “Killjoys”, though she once stumbles and, regretting it, says: I usually know better. Shouldn't have slept with someone I care about. Some relationships which people have here sound very nice, but I have no idea how they manage to get them and make them work. Maybe it's less difficult than I believe, but I'm like totally clueless in this regard.
  3. Just for fun, another “love poem” which I literally stumbled when googling for “tensor algebra”. Maybe you like it… I suspend judgment on it. Love and Tensor Algebra from "The Cyberiad" by Stanislaw Lem Come, let us hasten to a higher plane Where dyads tread the fairy fields of Venn, Their indices bedecked from one to n Commingled in an endless Markov chain! Come, every frustrum longs to be a cone And every vector dreams of matrices. Hark to the gentle gradient of the breeze: It whispers of a more ergodic zone. In Riemann, Hilbert or in Banach space Let superscripts and subscripts go their ways. Our asymptotes no longer out of phase, We shall encounter, counting, face to face. I'll grant thee random access to my heart, Thou'lt tell me all the constants of thy love; And so we two shall all love's lemmas prove, And in our bound partition never part. For what did Cauchy know, or Christoffel, Or Fourier, or any Bools or Euler, Wielding their compasses, their pens and rulers, Of thy supernal sinusoidal spell? Cancel me not - for what then shall remain? Abscissas some mantissas, modules, modes, A root or two, a torus and a node: The inverse of my verse, a null domain. Ellipse of bliss, converge, O lips divine! the product o four scalars is defines! Cyberiad draws nigh, and the skew mind Cuts capers like a happy haversine. I see the eigenvalue in thine eye, I hear the tender tensor in thy sigh. Bernoulli would have been content to die, Had he but known such a² cos 2 φ!
  4. you write about it as if it were a common genre… if only! “Hand not in Hand: An Anthology of Anti-Love Poems”
  5. What's your favorite book?

    Since you've broken the rules (which you even dared to put between scare quotes!), I think it's only fair that I post another one and also interpret the rules a bit more in my favor. Invisible Cities by Italo Calvino So, while Camus' The Fall is no doubt a novel, though a very unusual one, this one I'm not so sure about… on my translation on the cover it's designated as such by the publisher, though. Less than 170 pages and incredibly dense, it consists of a long conversation between old Kublai Khan, overwhelmed by the burden of governing his vast, sclerotic empire, and Marco Polo. Aside from theoretical discussions about themes like language and semiotics, most of the book consists of Polo's description of 55 cities of the empire, which we instantly recognize as fictional and soon later as occasionally anachronistic or even surreal. The cities either stand for a type of really existing city, for a “metaphoric city” – as in the case of the dull city of Trude for the network of all airports (“The world is covered by a sole Trude which does not begin and does not end.”), a certain aspect of cities (like Armilla, consisting solely of a water supply network, abandoned by humans and inhabited by Naiads), a social problem, a factor that hold society together or an abstract philosophical issue. I think it's unbelievable what Calvino managed to pack in there, there wasn't a page when I was bored or had to resort on self-discipline to continue (which is extremely rare for me when reading a novel). The descriptions of the cities are basically beautiful, extravagant prose poems, mysterious, strange and always fascinating for me. The theoretical discussions between the Khan and Polo, on the other hand, seem similar to a Platonic dialogue. Overall, the work has a very “Platonic vibe” to it, something like the “Form of the city” is more than hinted at.
  6. Could I make myself more sexual?

    Though I'm one of those people: I would at least agree that, for example, if somebody already knows all your blemishes and the like, it makes it far more relaxing. Okay, there is a lot in between a committed romantic relationship and an ONS. I think that it becomes unusual if one really wants to make it long-term, approach it slowly and wants to trust and know somebody really well, but major parts of the usual romantic relationship are missing.
  7. Thank you for taking the time to rewrite it, it was very interesting. It seems Arabic poetry is extraordinarily difficult to translate. And we run into such problems already with a free verse translation (I assume that the original “Rita and the Rifle” was not written in free verse)! Even if the languages are not so far apart, there's always so much lost… In the original poem XXIV above, for example, the content1 stands in quite a contrast to the traditional versification (as it is usually observed with Baudelaire). In the English translation, the French alexandrines are done away with. Instead McGowan reduces the length of the line for using a iambic pentameter. I guess, one can't realistically demand more. But so much is lost by this... 1 I honestly feel guilty for posting something so creepy and dark, especially in the same thread as the completely kind-hearted poem by Mahmoud Darwish. But I just found it too remarkable to resist. I like it for the sheer audacity of maxing out the obsessive component, which many love poems still have, to the point it becomes more a stalking poem in the format of a love poem. (Okay, I'm done. We already have enough rants about romantic love here.)
  8. @Kickaxe was my post so great that it left you speechless? Whatever you wanted to write, please note that I didn't want to criticize the translator. For this, I would have at least to know Arabic. I think it's undeniable that the quoted lines sounded a bit rough – sorry that I can't join the others in this thread with unreserved admiration. Overall, the beauty of the original still shimmers through in the translation. But even the most skilled translators can't overcome the problem that if they're humble and strive to preserve meaning (which they should), such compromises are nearly unavoidable.
  9. In general, I don't like love poetry that much. Still, it's a genuine expression of emotion and so I usually enjoy it much more than romantic story plots where even if it's well written, you nearly hear the cogs grinding of a lean, mean romance-dispensing machine. Roughly 25% of Les Fleurs du Mal, which is my favorite volume of poetry, are love poems. If it were 100% I would have a different favorite… But some are so “off” that I really like them. For example (yeah, I'm not very original here…) the famous number XXIV, in its English translation (by James McGowan): I love you as I love the night’s high vault O silent one, o sorrow’s lachrymal, And love you more because you flee from me, And temptress of my nights, ironically You seem to hoard the space, to take to you What separates my arms from heaven’s blue. I climb to the assault, attack the source, A choir of wormlets pressing towards a corpse, And cherish your unbending cruelty, This iciness so beautiful to me. okay, that's doesn't fit the traditional conception of love, next example… Number XXXVI, “Le Balcon”: The Balcony Mother of memories, mistress of mistresses, O thou of all my pleasures, all my debts of love! Call to your mind the gentle touch of our caress, The sweetness of the hearth, the charming sky above, Mother of memories, mistress of mistresses! Evenings illumined by the ardour of the coal, And on the balcony, the pink that vapours bring; How sweet your bosom to me, and how kind your soul! We often told ourselves imperishable things, Evenings illumined by the ardour of the coal. How beautiful the sun! How warm the evening beams! How endless is the space! The heart, how strong and good! On bending towards you, o beloved, o my queen, I thought that I could breathe the perfume of your blood. How beautiful the suns! How warm their evening beams! Then we would be enclosed within the thickening night, And in the dark my eyes divined your eyes so deep, And would drink your breath, o poison, o delight! In my fraternal hands, your feet would go to sleep, When we would be enclosed within the thickening night. I have the art of calling forth the happy times, Seeing again my past there curled within your knees, Where should I look for beauty, languorous and sublime, If not in your dear heart, and body at its ease? I have the art of calling forth the happy times! These vows, these sweet perfumes, these kisses infinite, Will they be reborn from a gulf we cannot sound, As suns rejuvenated take celestial flight Having been bathed in oceans, mighty and profound? — O vows! O sweet perfumes! O kisses infinite! I like the political message of it very much. The translation sounds really beautiful sometimes, but also has its rough parts, like: And whoever knows Rita kneels and prays To the divinity in those honey-colored eyes “divinity” may be the optimal choice here, but I guess, whatever is used in the original, it sounds much better (okay, I'm not even a native English speaker...). The 19 Ways of Looking at Wang Wei by Eliot Weinberger is a very nice book that explores the problems of translating Chinese poetry into the “hostile environment of Western languages”. Much recommended. Arabic may be not as problematic as Chinese, yet I fear it comes close. But you're the expert.
  10. Could I make myself more sexual?

    Oh, yes after a short research I found out it exists, it's called “Lingam massage”. Yoni and Lingam are the Sanskrit words for, well you know… There isn't this much of hype around it like with yoni massages, probably because male genitals are regarded as less complicated. That can happen in a thread titled “Could I make myself more sexual?”
  11. What's your favorite book?

    Sorry to be THAT person, but picking one is just too unfair - it would be like a parent picking a favorite child No, you have to pick ONE novel. I've also played by the rules! I even tried to interpret them by spirit not by letter. Otherwise I would have chosen:
  12. What's your favorite book?

    Too late.
  13. What's your favorite book?

    So I guess we're really talking about novels, not books here. I only rarely manage to read a novel... I lack the self-discipline for such an extremely laborious undertaking since I usually don't get much out of it. So, from this very small pool, which includes the three classic novels by Albert Camus, I would chose as my favorite novel: It's a “confession” by a Parisian expatriate going by the name Jean-Baptiste Clamence who starts talking to another guest of a shady Amsterdam bar. He tells of his past life as successful defense lawyer, widely respected and devoting much energy to helping others – when he will be admired for his honorable acts. The violent side of his character and his hypocrisy are revealed by two events, which finally trigger an emotional crisis. So, why is this my favorite novel? It's not long but dense, and it seems like in every sentence there's something to think about; the plot is solely a device to explore philosophical themes like guilt, freedom, non-existence and the absurd. Its format as a series of monologues is rather unique, very immediate, as is its style – Clamence gives rather ornate and complex, sometimes poetic speeches, sprinkled with references to myth and philosophy. There is an additional twist when one suspects that Clamence is an unreliable narrator. In short, it's unlike anything I've read, even better than the other books by Camus.
  14. Physical contact survey

    I didn't mean calling only your parents Sir & Ma'am, but also calling your parents that way (instead of strangers, teachers, customers, business partners, superiors, etc.). It seems pretty cold to me to address somebody so close to you in such a formal way.
  15. It seems nothing gets past you! Google Image Search for “Emerald Arrow” (wanted to know what the tree looks like) yielded also this: “A diamond and emerald arrow brooch” ca. 1925 – auctioned at Christie's for 1,016 £ ! A bit greener perhaps and it would be a good badge of the order. Oh, and it shouldn't be made of true emeralds, to become a bit more affordable.