Sailors Having Fun (FX)
Description
Just sailors having fun. Recorded with 8-Neumann KU100-BLACK matched pair.
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!Variety Corner!
And now, a random page I opened to in a book I had a pdf of (I haven't read it). If you can guess the book I'll eat a dog, freak...
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Meanwhile the practically real world for each one of us, the effec-
tive world of the individual, is the compound world, the physical
facts and emotional values in indistinguishable combination.
Withdraw or pervert either factor of this complex resultant, and
the kind of experience we call pathological ensues.
In Tolstoy’s case the sense that life had any meaning whatever
was for a time wholly withdrawn. The result was a transformation
in the whole expression of reality. When we come to study the
phenomenon of conversion or religious regeneration, we shall see
that a not infrequent consequence of the change operated in the
subject is a transfiguration of the face of nature in his eyes. A new
heaven seems to shine upon a new earth. In melancholiacs there
is usually a similar change, only it is in the reverse direction. The
world now looks remote, strange, sinister, uncanny. Its color is
gone, its breath is cold, there is no speculation in the eyes it glares
with. “It is as if I lived in another century,” says one asylum
patient. — “I see everything through a cloud,” says another, “things
are not as they were, and I am changed.” — “I see,” says a third,
“I touch, but the things do not come near me, a thick veil alters
the hue and look of everything.” — “Persons move like shadows,
and sounds seem to come from a distant world.” — “There is
no longer any past for me; people appear so strange; it is as if I
could not see any reality, as if I were in a theatre; as if people
were actors, and everything were scenery; I can no longer find
myself; I walk, but why? Everything floats before my eyes, but leaves
no impression.” — “I weep false tears, I have unreal hands: the
things I see are not real things.” — Such are expressions that
naturally rise to the lips of melancholy subjects describing their
changed state.1
1 I cull these examples from the work of G. DUMAS: La Tristesse et la Joie, 1900.
122
THE VARIETIES OF RELIGIOUS EXPERIENCE
Now there are some subjects whom all this leaves a prey to the
profoundest astonishment. The strangeness is wrong. The unreality
cannot be. A mystery is concealed, and a metaphysical solution
must exist. If the natural world is so double-faced and unhomelike,
what world, what thing is real? An urgent wondering and question-
ing is set up, a poring theoretic activity, and in the desperate effort
to get into right relations with the matter, the sufferer is often led
to what becomes for him a satisfying religious solution.
At about the age of fifty, Tolstoy relates that he began to have
moments of perplexity, of what he calls arrest, as if he knew not
“how to live,” or what to do. It is obvious that these were moments
in which the excitement and interest which our functions naturally
bring had ceased. Life had been enchanting, it was now flat sober,
more than sober, dead. Things were meaningless whose meaning
had always been self-evident. The questions “Why?” and “What
next?” began to beset him more and more frequently. At first it
seemed as if such questions must be answerable, and as if he could
easily find the answers if he would take the time; but as they ever
became more urgent, he perceived that it was like those first discom-
forts of a sick man, to which he pays but little attention till they
run into one continuous suffering, and then he realizes that what
he took for a passing disorder means the most momentous thing in
the world for him, means his death.
These questions “Why?” “Wherefore?” “What for?” found no
response.
“I felt,” says Tolstoy, “that something had broken within me on which
my life had always rested, that I had nothing left to hold on to, and that
morally my life had stopped. An invincible force impelled me to get rid
of my existence, in one way or another. It cannot be said exactly that
I wished to kill myself, for the force which drew me away from life was
fuller, more powerful, more general than any mere desire. It was a force
like my old aspiration to live, only it impelled me in the opposite direc-
tion. It was an aspiration of my whole being to get out of life.
“Behold me then, a man happy and in good health, hiding the rope in
order not to hang myself to the rafters of the room where every night I
went to sleep alone; behold me no longer going shooting, lest I should
yield to the too easy temptation of putting an end to myself with my gun.
“I did not know what I wanted. I was afraid of life; I was driven to leave
it; and in spite of that I still hoped something from it.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
!Variety Corner!
And now, a random page I opened to in a book I had a pdf of (I haven't read it). If you can guess the book I'll eat a dog, freak...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Meanwhile the practically real world for each one of us, the effec-
tive world of the individual, is the compound world, the physical
facts and emotional values in indistinguishable combination.
Withdraw or pervert either factor of this complex resultant, and
the kind of experience we call pathological ensues.
In Tolstoy’s case the sense that life had any meaning whatever
was for a time wholly withdrawn. The result was a transformation
in the whole expression of reality. When we come to study the
phenomenon of conversion or religious regeneration, we shall see
that a not infrequent consequence of the change operated in the
subject is a transfiguration of the face of nature in his eyes. A new
heaven seems to shine upon a new earth. In melancholiacs there
is usually a similar change, only it is in the reverse direction. The
world now looks remote, strange, sinister, uncanny. Its color is
gone, its breath is cold, there is no speculation in the eyes it glares
with. “It is as if I lived in another century,” says one asylum
patient. — “I see everything through a cloud,” says another, “things
are not as they were, and I am changed.” — “I see,” says a third,
“I touch, but the things do not come near me, a thick veil alters
the hue and look of everything.” — “Persons move like shadows,
and sounds seem to come from a distant world.” — “There is
no longer any past for me; people appear so strange; it is as if I
could not see any reality, as if I were in a theatre; as if people
were actors, and everything were scenery; I can no longer find
myself; I walk, but why? Everything floats before my eyes, but leaves
no impression.” — “I weep false tears, I have unreal hands: the
things I see are not real things.” — Such are expressions that
naturally rise to the lips of melancholy subjects describing their
changed state.1
1 I cull these examples from the work of G. DUMAS: La Tristesse et la Joie, 1900.
122
THE VARIETIES OF RELIGIOUS EXPERIENCE
Now there are some subjects whom all this leaves a prey to the
profoundest astonishment. The strangeness is wrong. The unreality
cannot be. A mystery is concealed, and a metaphysical solution
must exist. If the natural world is so double-faced and unhomelike,
what world, what thing is real? An urgent wondering and question-
ing is set up, a poring theoretic activity, and in the desperate effort
to get into right relations with the matter, the sufferer is often led
to what becomes for him a satisfying religious solution.
At about the age of fifty, Tolstoy relates that he began to have
moments of perplexity, of what he calls arrest, as if he knew not
“how to live,” or what to do. It is obvious that these were moments
in which the excitement and interest which our functions naturally
bring had ceased. Life had been enchanting, it was now flat sober,
more than sober, dead. Things were meaningless whose meaning
had always been self-evident. The questions “Why?” and “What
next?” began to beset him more and more frequently. At first it
seemed as if such questions must be answerable, and as if he could
easily find the answers if he would take the time; but as they ever
became more urgent, he perceived that it was like those first discom-
forts of a sick man, to which he pays but little attention till they
run into one continuous suffering, and then he realizes that what
he took for a passing disorder means the most momentous thing in
the world for him, means his death.
These questions “Why?” “Wherefore?” “What for?” found no
response.
“I felt,” says Tolstoy, “that something had broken within me on which
my life had always rested, that I had nothing left to hold on to, and that
morally my life had stopped. An invincible force impelled me to get rid
of my existence, in one way or another. It cannot be said exactly that
I wished to kill myself, for the force which drew me away from life was
fuller, more powerful, more general than any mere desire. It was a force
like my old aspiration to live, only it impelled me in the opposite direc-
tion. It was an aspiration of my whole being to get out of life.
“Behold me then, a man happy and in good health, hiding the rope in
order not to hang myself to the rafters of the room where every night I
went to sleep alone; behold me no longer going shooting, lest I should
yield to the too easy temptation of putting an end to myself with my gun.
“I did not know what I wanted. I was afraid of life; I was driven to leave
it; and in spite of that I still hoped something from it.
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