Graduans become Graduates Graduans become Graduates Graduans become Graduates Graduans become Graduates

It is not a journalist’s job to protect us from the ugly facts. Neither is it his job to protect the sensitive from the painful truth or anyone, really, from anything.

In fact, speaking more broadly, it is not a journalist’s job to make the world a better place, to ensure our right thinking, or to defend the virtuous politicians that sophisticates like himself voted for while excoriating the evildoers elected by those country rubes on the other side. It is not his job to do good or be kind or be wise. The idea that any of this is a journalist’s job is a fallacy that seems to have infected the trade in the 1970s, when idealistic highbrows began to replace the Janes and Joes who knew a good story when they heard one.

Because that’s the journalist’s job: the story. His only job: to tell the whole story straight.

In the greater scheme of things, Williams’ suicide is a small story, but it is part of a bigger story: the story of our country and our world. That story unfolds only slowly, and no one knows what wisdom it will ultimately reveal. The best we can do is tell each chapter whole and true, without piety or fear or favor.

Andrew Klavan, “Report the truth — the whole truth — on Robin Williams’ death” (via wesleyhill)

I would just like to take this moment to say that that is the biggest bunch of self-serving, self-aggrandizing, falsely noble bullshit I have read in a long time. “The story of our country and our world” my eye.

The details of Robin Williams’s suicide are no more relevant to “our country and our world” than the details of anyone else’s suicide. If journalists have some moral obligation to “tell each chapter whole and true,” they’re leaving a great many chapters wholly untold, and indeed unacknowledged.

But that’s the nature of the beast, isn’t it? All the stories can’t be told, so all of us who are in the business of writing have to choose. And when journalists like Klavan choose to write about exactly how Robin Williams took his own life, are we really supposed to believe that he does so out of some high-minded devotion to “the story of our country and our world”? People have a perverse and often malicious interest in the sufferings of celebrities and will pay to read about them. They won’t pay to read about a worn-out junkie who deliberately overdoses in a cheap apartment in the San Fernando Valley. Let’s at least be honest about that.

If Klavan wants to write “without piety,” then he should start by ceasing to be so piously sanctimonious about his own motives.

(via ayjay)

(via ayjay)

“She will hang the night with stars so that I may walk abroad in the darkness without stumbling, and send the wind over my footprints so that none may track me to my hurt: she will cleanse me in great waters, and with bitter herbs make me whole.”

Oscar Wilde, from De Profundis 

(thanks, chaosinordnung)

(via theantidote)

“Yes, there is good reason to think that many of these unjustifiable homicides by police across the country are racially motivated. But there is a lot more than that going on here. Our country is simply not paying enough attention to the terrible lack of accountability of police departments and the way it affects all of us—regardless of race or ethnicity. Because if a blond-haired, blue-eyed boy — that was my son, Michael — can be shot in the head under a street light with his hands cuffed behind his back, in front of five eyewitnesses (including his mother and sister), and his father was a retired Air Force lieutenant colonel who flew in three wars for his country — that’s me — and I still couldn’t get anything done about it, then Joe the plumber and Javier the roofer aren’t going to be able to do anything about it either.”

Your moment of Zen, Jim Richardson nevver:

Your moment of Zen, Jim Richardson nevver:

Your moment of Zen, Jim Richardson nevver:

Your moment of Zen, Jim Richardson

Untitled– Robin Williams (July 21, 1951 -August 11, 2014) R.I.P.

Beautifu Sentiment from K A Brace over at The Mirror Obscura

Mytwosentences 27


Two sentences! Now that’s a blog to aspire to – thoughts from Edward Roads

Originally posted on Mytwosentences:

Understanding the subtle aspects of our day to day lives can most assuredly be difficult.
It is often necessary to find coffee time with real friends to open closed eyes.

Written by Edward Roads

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The Lost Treasure

We all treasure different things…. from people to possessions, to memories and experiences.

About three summers ago whilst camping at Bolberry House Farm in South Devon with friends, my youngest daughter made friends with Georgia and Anna two tents along and one afternoon after a hot day on the beach we created an art gallery and all the young people there that day (with the help of Grace –…

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Hans Christian Andersen’s painful fairy-tale life 

By Dinah Birch

Hans Christian Andersen has introduced generations of children to the pleasures of an unhappy ending. The loyalty of the steadfast tin soldier doesn’t save him from the fire; the little mermaid will never be married to the prince; Karen’s taste for fancy footwear in “The Red Shoes” is her undoing. Few literary moments can have generated more infant tears than the death of the little match girl. Children now rarely come across the unrelieved darkness of Andersen’s imagination. Disney, who finally staged a wedding for the little mermaid in a 1989 film, have recently produced Frozen, a hugely popular adaptation of “The Snow Queen”. Its calculated brightness is a long way from Andersen’s story of Gerda’s arduous redemption of Kay. Andersen’s religiosity has also been edited out of the picture. Firmly convinced of the immortality of the soul, he swept many of his oppressed characters into heaven in the final paragraphs of his tales. Modern sensibilities prefer more earthly forms of salvation.

It may not be necessary to shelter younger readers from Andersen’s intensely personal vision. They often relish his febrile emotionalism, and find his championship of the misunderstood outsider appealing. Many lonely children have been comforted by “The Ugly Duckling”, where patient endurance is, exceptionally, rewarded by happiness. As far as Andersen was concerned, it hardly mattered whether his work was good for the young or not, for after the publication of his earliest tales he did not see himself as writing primarily for children. Paul Binding shares Andersen’s view. His study offers detailed commentaries on his subject’s novels, travel writings and autobiographies alongside the more familiar stories, in a sustained attempt to reclaim Andersen’s work for grown-ups. Binding argues that Andersen is best understood in the context of European Romanticism, and the political turmoil that followed the Napoleonic wars. Despite his isolation and oddity, Andersen was, as Binding sees him, a figure of major intellectual substance.

Binding’s book, like much of Andersen’s work, is not easy to categorise. This is an unconventional piece of Life-writing. Much is omitted, including any description of Andersen’s final years. Readers who indulge in the habit of beginning a biography with the deathbed, and working backwards, will be nonplussed. The sympathetic accounts of Jens Andersen (translated into English in 2005) or Jackie Wullschlager (2000) remain the best options for those looking for a more straightforward approach. For Binding, the point of the biographical material is to demonstrate the intimate connection between Andersen’s writing and his remarkable life. He describes the circumstances that led to Andersen’s unlikely transformation from the clumsy son of an alcoholic washerwoman into one of the most widely celebrated authors of Europe, but this narrative takes second place to his analyses of Andersen’s texts, and their representations of the distress that accompanies processes of magical change. Andersen called one of his autobiographies My Fairy-Tale Life, but it was as painful a fairy tale as any that he invented. An early story, “The Tallow-Candle” (discovered in 2012), suggests what was to come. Like much of Andersen’s mature work, it endows an inanimate object with a human consciousness. The candle knows that its great purpose is to give light, which will only be possible when flame has passed through its body. But it is stained by the handling of dirty fingers, and thrown aside as useless. A redemptive tinder-box eventually provides the necessary spark, and the candle’s hidden virtue at last shines as it should.


(via myimaginarybrooklyn:)


Literary birthday - beloved children’s book author Ruth Krauss  (July 25, 1901–July 10, 1993)

Celebrate with Open House for Butterflies, her final and loveliest collaboration with Maurice Sendak.

(via explore-blog:)


This Sunday, join us at the LCBA studio to learn how to prepare artwork and to print your own foilblock printed cards, invitations and book covers.

Introduction to Foilblocking
Sunday 27 July, 1 – 3pm


There was a guy on TV news this morning talking about social media, its effect on public life, and how employers especially are now quick to do background checks on you in Facebook, Instagram, Twitter when looking at your resume.
“Unfortunately we all,” he said, “have to think of ourselves as…

“Imagination is not only the uniquely human capacity to envision that which is not, and therefore the fount of all invention and innovation. In its arguably most transformative and revelatory capacity, it is the power that enables us to empathize with humans whose experiences we have never shared.

Unlike any other creature on this planet, humans can learn and understand, without having experienced. They can think themselves into other people’s places.

We do not need magic to change the world, we carry all the power we need inside ourselves already: we have the power to imagine better.”

From her 2008 Harvard Commencement Address, entitled “The Fringe Benefits of Failure, and the Importance of Imagination.”


The view down Denman St from @TwitterUK (at Piccadilly Theatre)