This image by Stefan Źechowski conveys some of the horror of Rodya’s nightmare. You can find more of his artwork here.
Monthly Archives: February 2018
Changes (303/415)
Please note the changes I’ve made to the syllabus.
Khafegi
This looks great:
Hangover Square
Llorando
WR
Who Among Us (303)
“Well, come, come now, who among us in Holy Rus doesn’t consider himself a Napoleon these days?” Porfiry suddenly asked with alarming familiarity. This time there was even something unusually distinctive in his intonation.
“Wasn’t it just some sort of future Napoleon who did in our Alyona Ivanovna with an axe last week?” Zametov blurted out from his corner.
Raskonikov was silent and stared fixedly and decisively at Porfiry. Razumikhin frowned sullenly. Even before this moment he’d begun to be aware of something unusual. He looked around in anger. There was a minute of gloomy silence. Raskolnikov turned to leave.
Not Unexpected
This is appalling but not unexpected. The Democratic party establishment, arrogant and out of touch, has learned nothing and has no intention of examining its flaws or mistakes.
https://www.theguardian.com/us-news/2018/apr/20/trump-russia-wikileaks-sued-democrats-lawsuit
Metro (303)
Think It Through (485)
Consider the premise of Dark City. A species of “Strangers” who inhabit the bodies of dead humans have created a massive laboratory somewhere in outer space to perform experiments in search of that x factor the human soul. The lab itself resembles a weird amalgam of different periods and styles, though it is most notably an extreme version of Noir. Every midnight– a meaningless distinction because there is no sun and thus the city-laboratory inhabits a permanent midnight– the Strangers busily produce a plethora of objects– personal effects, papers, keepsakes, etc.– intended to support the new memories implanted in experimental subjects such as John Murdoch. They revise the city by “Tuning”– essentially harmonizing their psychic power, which is then amplified by some unspecified machinery. As if in a fairy tale, each night spirits fiddle with the world while mortals sleep, unaware.