Atle Zeiner
mandag 15. april 2024
lørdag 13. april 2024
mandag 8. april 2024
lørdag 6. april 2024
torsdag 4. april 2024
søndag 31. mars 2024
søndag 24. mars 2024
onsdag 20. mars 2024
Dedicated to Xi Jin Ping, Putin, Kim Jong Un, Donald Trump, other despots, and wannabe despots
”Requiem for året 2024 – dies irae, dies illa”
solvet saeclum in favilla:
teste David cum Sibylla.
quando judex est venturus,
cuncta stricte discussurus!
når dommeren kommer
for strengt å granske alle.
per sepulcra regionum,
coget omnes ante thronum.
cum resurget creatura,
judicanti responsura.
når skapningen gjenoppstiger
for å svare dommeren.
in quo totum continetur,
unde mundus judicetur.
hvor alt er skrevet ned,
hvorfra verden skal dømmes.
quidquid latet apparebit:
nil inultum remanebit.
vil alt som er skjult bli synlig,
intet vil gå ustraffet.
Quem patronum rogaturus,
cum vix justus sit securus?
Hvilken beskytter skal jeg oppsøke
når selv ikke de rettferdige kan være trygge?
qui salvandos salvas gratis,
salva me fons pietatis.
som uten vederlag frelser de som må frelses,
frels meg, nådens kilde.
quod sum causa tuae viae:
ne me perdas illa die.
jeg er årsaken til din ferd,
mist meg ikke på denne dag.
redemisti Crucem passus:
tantus labor non sit cassus.
du forløste meg med korsets pinsler,
la ikke slik en bragd gå til spille.
donum fac remissionis
ante diem rationis.
gi forlatelsens gave
før oppgjørets dag.
culpa rubet vultus meus:
supplicanti parce, Deus.
mitt ansikt rødmer av skyld,
spar den som bønnfaller deg, Gud.
et latronem exaudisti,
mihi quoque spem dedisti.
sed tu bonus fac benigne,
ne perenni cremer igne.
men du, gode herre, vær god,
så jeg ikke brenner opp i evig ild.
et ab haedis me sequestra,
statuens in parte dextra.
og hold meg borte fra bukkene,
la meg stå ved din høyre hånd.
flammis acribus addictis:
voca me cum benedictis.
forvist til etsende flammer,
kall du meg med de salige.
cor contritum quasi cinis:
gere curam mei finis.
hjertet er knust som aske,
hjelp meg i min siste time.
qua resurget ex favilla
judicandus homo reus.
Huic ergo parce, Deus
da fra asken stiger
den skyldige som skal dømmes.
Vis ham nåde, Gud.
dona eis requiem. Amen.
gi dem hvile. Amen.
søndag 17. mars 2024
tirsdag 12. mars 2024
Is Donald Trump mentally deranged?
See https://edition.cnn.com/2024/01/21/opinions/nikki-haley-trump-mental-fitness-obeidallah/index.html?iid=cnn_buildContentRecirc_end_recirc
søndag 25. februar 2024
søndag 18. februar 2024
torsdag 15. februar 2024
mandag 12. februar 2024
fredag 2. februar 2024
torsdag 1. februar 2024
søndag 24. desember 2023
THE LITTLE MATCHGIRL H.C. ANDERSEN 1845
The Little Matchgirl (H.C. Andersen 1845)
It was so terribly cold. Snow was falling, and it was almost dark. Evening came on, the last evening of the year. In the cold and gloom a poor little girl, bareheaded and barefoot, was walking through the streets. Of course when she had left her house she'd had slippers on, but what good had they been? They were very big slippers, way too big for her, for they belonged to her mother. The little girl had lost them running across the road, where two carriages had rattled by terribly fast. One slipper she'd not been able to find again, and a boy had run off with the other, saying he could use it very well as a cradle some day when he had children of his own. And so the little girl walked on her naked feet, which were quite red and blue with the cold. In an old apron she carried several packages of matches, and she held a box of them in her hand. No one had bought any from her all day long, and no one had given her a cent.
Shivering with cold and hunger, she crept along, a picture of misery, poor little girl! The snowflakes fell on her long fair hair, which hung in pretty curls over her neck. In all the windows lights were shining, and there was a wonderful smell of roast goose, for it was New Year's eve. Yes, she thought of that!
In a corner formed by two houses, one of which projected farther out into the street than the other, she sat down and drew up her little feet under her. She was getting colder and colder, but did not dare to go home, for she had sold no matches, nor earned a single cent, and her father would surely beat her. Besides, it was cold at home, for they had nothing over them but a roof through which the wind whistled even though the biggest cracks had been stuffed with straw and rags.
Her hands were almost dead with cold. Oh, how much one little match might warm her! If she could only take one from the box and rub it against the wall and warm her hands. She drew one out. R-r-ratch! How it sputtered and burned! It made a warm, bright flame, like a little candle, as she held her hands over it; but it gave a strange light! It really seemed to the little girl as if she were sitting before a great iron stove with shining brass knobs and a brass cover. How wonderfully the fire burned! How comfortable it was! The youngster stretched out her feet to warm them too; then the little flame went out, the stove vanished, and she had only the remains of the burnt match in her hand.
She struck another match against the wall. It burned brightly, and when the light fell upon the wall it became transparent like a thin veil, and she could see through it into a room. On the table a snow-white cloth was spread, and on it stood a shining dinner service. The roast goose steamed gloriously, stuffed with apples and prunes. And what was still better, the goose jumped down from the dish and waddled along the floor with a knife and fork in its breast, right over to the little girl. Then the match went out, and she could see only the thick, cold wall. She lighted another match. Then she was sitting under the most beautiful Christmas tree. It was much larger and much more beautiful than the one she had seen last Christmas through the glass door at the rich merchant's home. Thousands of candles burned on the green branches, and colored pictures like those in the printshops looked down at her. The little girl reached both her hands toward them. Then the match went out. But the Christmas lights mounted higher. She saw them now as bright stars in the sky. One of them fell down, forming a long line of fire.
"Now someone is dying," thought the little girl, for her old grandmother, the only person who had loved her, and who was now dead, had told her that when a star fell down a soul went up to God.
She rubbed another match against the wall. It became bright again, and in the glow the old grandmother stood clear and shining, kind and lovely.
"Grandmother!" cried the child. "Oh, take me with you! I know you will disappear when the match is burned out. You will vanish like the warm stove, the wonderful roast goose and the beautiful big Christmas tree!"
And she quickly struck the whole bundle of matches, for she wished to keep her grandmother with her. And the matches burned with such a glow that it became brighter than daylight. Grandmother had never been so grand and beautiful. She took the little girl in her arms, and both of them flew in brightness and joy above the earth, very, very high, and up there was neither cold, nor hunger, nor fear-they were with God.
But in the corner, leaning against the wall, sat the little girl with red cheeks and smiling mouth, frozen to death on the last evening of the old year. The New Year's sun rose upon a little pathetic figure. The child sat there, stiff and cold, holding the matches, of which one bundle was almost burned.
"She wanted to warm herself," the people said. No one imagined what beautiful things she had seen, and how happily she had gone with her old grandmother into the bright New Year.
lørdag 23. desember 2023
torsdag 7. desember 2023
tirsdag 28. november 2023
mandag 27. november 2023
lørdag 25. november 2023
fredag 24. november 2023
søndag 22. oktober 2023
Ingenting er mulig/nothing is possible?
Ingenting er mulig/nothing is possible? Er dette et humoristisk utslag av AI/ artificial intelligence/kunstig intelligens eller bare morsomt ordspill over ingenting er umulig/nothing is impossible? Det er nok det siste? Litt kreativt dette her Se https://www.hydro.com/no-NO/media/pa-dagsorden/veikart-for-nullutslippsproduksjon-av-aluminium/
lørdag 30. september 2023
søndag 24. september 2023
24. GONE FOR GOOD?
I like magic! Early next morning I was dreaming. That is, I believed I was dreaming. As on the previous days, some early morning birds were chirping so I am not sure. When I turned around in bed, the small box was there once again. Nothing rattled inside. I opened the box. There were some sheets of paper. I wanted to read chapter 24.
24. GONE FOR GOOD?
It was morning in the end of September. The mist was lingering in the fields.
- Where are we, Jill muttered. – It is freezing cold.
- Do you remember the thunder bolt, and the time traveller who just disappeared, Jack said. If we wait and have patience, maybe he will come back?
- Back from where, and back from when?
The mist gradually disappeared. Not very far away there was a small fire. Somebody enveloped in black clothes huddled nearby.
- Do you see what I see, Jill asked. – It has to be the time traveller. Let us move.
And indeed it was.
- There you are, he said. – I have waited for you. Things are not easy in the real world where the end is always the beginning of something new.
- What do you mean, Jill felt she was compelled to ask.
- When we parted last time, the Earth was pristine and looked like new. We are back there now, far into the future. The creature, which named itself homo sapiens, managed to destroy itself and much of life on the planet. By sheer luck this species had built a colony on another planet nearby and brought most of advanced technologies with them. From distance they observed the destruction of Earth, and knew they would never be able to return for thousands, and probably millions of years.
- Yes, Jack said
- I am the time traveller, and you have travelled with me in past and future times. Do you see the cobweb full of dewdrops glittering in the sun right here?
The time traveller’s eyes looked in direction of his index finger.
- It was made yesterday. Spiders have made artworks like that for millions of years, and will go on almost forever. Spiders hunt their prey, and eat it to survive. Homo sapiens is very different. Our species acts as if survival is not important. There are no limits of what is important, but survival is not the real issue. As I am a time traveller, I will show you the tapestry of time. Watch out now.
From somewhere in space, they saw the Earth moving like a greenish, bluish emerald against a background of black, dotted with stars and galaxies. Sometimes it changed to almost white in parts, then back to other colours. There were ribbons of light in some places during night. Suddenly the Earth was enveloped in black smoke, and nothing was visible. The smoke disappeared, and so did the ribbons of light in nighttime.
- What you see, is what happened long time ago.
- Why, Jill asked.
- Stalin’s dagger never really did disappear, and never will. Sorry to say, that is the legacy of homo sapiens. Enjoy that you are here. Now. Watch the cobweb and the glittering dewdrops. Then I bid you farewell. Forever.
End of chapter 24. Never to be continued.