Tuesday, December 10, 2013

Booklovers' Facts

Monday, December 09, 2013

Sunday, December 01, 2013

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Monday, November 18, 2013

My personality type

Introverted (I) 72.73% Extroverted (E) 27.27%
Sensing (S) 60.61% Intuitive (N) 39.39%
Thinking (T) 64.29% Feeling (F) 35.71%
Perceiving (P) 51.16% Judging (J) 48.84%


ISTP - "Engineer". Values freedom of action and following interests and impulses. Independent, concise in speech, master of tools. 5.4% of total population.
Take Free Jung Personality Test
Personality Test by SimilarMinds.com

Sunday, October 20, 2013

Henry IV, Part I by William Shakespeare

King Henry IV:
So shaken as we are,
so wan with care,
Find we a time
For frighted peace to pant,
And breathe short – winded accents
of new broils
To be commenced
in strands afar remote.

Major Characters
Henry IV: His conscience weighs heavily with guilt of how he came to the throne.
Prince Hal: A rebel prince who goofs off and hangs around with degenerates; a disappointment to his father.
Hotspur: Hot tempered and impulsive, he is the son of the Earl of Northumberland and a foil to prince Hal.

The story:
The play opens with King Henry IV wishing to go on a crusade to the Holy Land but unable to because of unrest and rebellion in his kingdom. Henry is annoyed because his own supporter, Hotspur – son of the Earl of Northumberland, Henry Percy – is refusing to turn over Scottish rebels caught during the recent Battle of Holmedon. Hotspur wishes Henry would pay the ransom for Edmund Mortimer (his brother – in – law), who has been captured by Welshman Owen Glendower. After all, the Percys were instrumental in getting Henry the crown, so he kind of owes them a favour. The king refuses Hotspur’s request, causing the Percys to decide to band with the Welsh and Scottish rebels in their quest to dethrone Henry.

Meanwhile, the king’s son, Prince Hal, has been doing a little rebelling of his own, hanging out with a very unroyal crowd of drunks, thieves and one Sir John Falstaff, who is an old and overweight thief and a liar who nonetheless is witty and lives life to the fullest. Falstaff amuses Prince Hal, but Hal realizes that one day he will need to change his ways, step up to the royal plate, as it were, and start acting more princely. This time comes sooner rather than later with Hal receiving instruction from his father to return to the palace because a civil war is imminent. Given a position of high command, Hal promises the king that he will change and claims he will defeat Hotspur in battle to prove his sincerity. Hal asks Falstaff to assemble his own soldiers (who are also unfit for battle, naturally) and join him in the fight.

The Battle of Shrewsbury ensues – without Northumberland, who has fallen ill. Prince Hal saves his father from the sword of the Earl of Douglas, who then moves in to attack Falstaff, who falls and plays dead. Prince Hal fights and kills Hotspur. Falstaff ‘miraculously’ awakens from his pretend death and sees Hotspur’s lifeless body. He impales Hotspur with his sword and loudly claims credit for killing the young Percy – which Hal does not contest.

Henry IV is victorious. He orders the execution of Thomas Percy – and much of the Percy family – but decides to show mercy on Douglas, releasing him. The battle is over, but the war continues, as there are still many who wish to see the king dethroned, including Glendower and Hotspur’ father, the Earl of Northumberland.

Iconic Line
The better part of valour is discretion – Falstaff

Sunday, September 29, 2013

Words of grievance by Giorgos Ntalaras

Lyrics: Manos Eleutheriou
Music: Giannis Markopoulos
First version: Giorgos Ntalaras

At the desks of need
and in the school of poverty
we got to know society
and that ancient pain.

Words of grievance
[that's what] our songs have,
because we live injustice
[even] in our cradle.

Our walk in the world
was ten meters of ground
as much as it takes for a house
and the wall of a yard

Words of grievance,
[that's what] our songs have,
because we live injustic
[even] in our cradle.



Παραπονεμένα λόγια

Στίχοι: Μάνος Ελευθερίου
Μουσική: Γιάννης Μαρκόπουλος
Πρώτη εκτέλεση: Γιώργος Νταλάρας

Στης ανάγκης τα θρανία
και στης φτώχειας το σχολειό
μάθαμε την κοινωνία
και τον πόνο τον παλιό

Παραπονεμένα λόγια
έχουν τα τραγούδια μας
γιατί τ’ άδικο το ζούμε
μέσα από την κούνια μας

Το σεργιάνι μας στον κόσμο
ήταν δέκα μέτρα γης
όσο πιάνει ένα σπίτι
και ο τοίχος μιας αυλής

Παραπονεμένα λόγια
έχουν τα τραγούδια μας
γιατί τ’ άδικο το ζούμε
μέσα από την κούνια μας

Friday, August 30, 2013

Sunday, July 21, 2013

The new Colossus by Emma Lazarus

Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,
With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.
"Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!" cries she
With silent lips. "Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"

Saturday, July 20, 2013

I have a dream by Martin Luther King


I am happy to join with you today in what will go down in history as the greatest demonstration for freedom in the history of our nation.

Five score years ago, a great American, in whose symbolic shadow we stand today, signed the Emancipation Proclamation. This momentous decree came as a great beacon light of hope to millions of Negro slaves who had been seared in the flames of withering injustice. It came as a joyous daybreak to end the long night of their captivity.

But one hundred years later, the Negro still is not free. One hundred years later, the life of the Negro is still sadly crippled by the manacles of segregation and the chains of discrimination. One hundred years later, the Negro lives on a lonely island of poverty in the midst of a vast ocean of material prosperity. One hundred years later, the Negro is still languished in the corners of American society and finds himself an exile in his own land. And so we've come here today to dramatize a shameful condition.

In a sense we've come to our nation's capital to cash a check. When the architects of our republic wrote the magnificent words of the Constitution and the Declaration of Independence, they were signing a promissory note to which every American was to fall heir. This note was a promise that all men, yes, black men as well as white men, would be guaranteed the "unalienable Rights" of "Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness." It is obvious today that America has defaulted on this promissory note, insofar as her citizens of color are concerned. Instead of honoring this sacred obligation, America has given the Negro people a bad check, a check which has come back marked "insufficient funds."

But we refuse to believe that the bank of justice is bankrupt. We refuse to believe that there are insufficient funds in the great vaults of opportunity of this nation. And so, we've come to cash this check, a check that will give us upon demand the riches of freedom and the security of justice.

We have also come to this hallowed spot to remind America of the fierce urgency of Now. This is no time to engage in the luxury of cooling off or to take the tranquilizing drug of gradualism. Now is the time to make real the promises of democracy. Now is the time to rise from the dark and desolate valley of segregation to the sunlit path of racial justice. Now is the time to lift our nation from the quicksands of racial injustice to the solid rock of brotherhood. Now is the time to make justice a reality for all of God's children.

It would be fatal for the nation to overlook the urgency of the moment. This sweltering summer of the Negro's legitimate discontent will not pass until there is an invigorating autumn of freedom and equality. Nineteen sixty-three is not an end, but a beginning. And those who hope that the Negro needed to blow off steam and will now be content will have a rude awakening if the nation returns to business as usual. And there will be neither rest nor tranquility in America until the Negro is granted his citizenship rights. The whirlwinds of revolt will continue to shake the foundations of our nation until the bright day of justice emerges.

But there is something that I must say to my people, who stand on the warm threshold which leads into the palace of justice: In the process of gaining our rightful place, we must not be guilty of wrongful deeds. Let us not seek to satisfy our thirst for freedom by drinking from the cup of bitterness and hatred. We must forever conduct our struggle on the high plane of dignity and discipline. We must not allow our creative protest to degenerate into physical violence. Again and again, we must rise to the majestic heights of meeting physical force with soul force.

The marvelous new militancy which has engulfed the Negro community must not lead us to a distrust of all white people, for many of our white brothers, as evidenced by their presence here today, have come to realize that their destiny is tied up with our destiny. And they have come to realize that their freedom is inextricably bound to our freedom.

We cannot walk alone.

And as we walk, we must make the pledge that we shall always march ahead.

We cannot turn back.

There are those who are asking the devotees of civil rights, "When will you be satisfied?" We can never be satisfied as long as the Negro is the victim of the unspeakable horrors of police brutality. We can never be satisfied as long as our bodies, heavy with the fatigue of travel, cannot gain lodging in the motels of the highways and the hotels of the cities. We cannot be satisfied as long as the negro's basic mobility is from a smaller ghetto to a larger one. We can never be satisfied as long as our children are stripped of their self-hood and robbed of their dignity by signs stating: "For Whites Only." We cannot be satisfied as long as a Negro in Mississippi cannot vote and a Negro in New York believes he has nothing for which to vote. No, no, we are not satisfied, and we will not be satisfied until "justice rolls down like waters, and righteousness like a mighty stream."

I am not unmindful that some of you have come here out of great trials and tribulations. Some of you have come fresh from narrow jail cells. And some of you have come from areas where your quest -- quest for freedom left you battered by the storms of persecution and staggered by the winds of police brutality. You have been the veterans of creative suffering. Continue to work with the faith that unearned suffering is redemptive. Go back to Mississippi, go back to Alabama, go back to South Carolina, go back to Georgia, go back to Louisiana, go back to the slums and ghettos of our northern cities, knowing that somehow this situation can and will be changed.

Let us not wallow in the valley of despair, I say to you today, my friends.

And so even though we face the difficulties of today and tomorrow, I still have a dream. It is a dream deeply rooted in the American dream.

I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: "We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal."

I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia, the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave owners will be able to sit down together at the table of brotherhood.

I have a dream that one day even the state of Mississippi, a state sweltering with the heat of injustice, sweltering with the heat of oppression, will be transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice.

I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.

I have a dream today!

I have a dream that one day, down in Alabama, with its vicious racists, with its governor having his lips dripping with the words of "interposition" and "nullification" -- one day right there in Alabama little black boys and black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls as sisters and brothers.

I have a dream today!

I have a dream that one day every valley shall be exalted, and every hill and mountain shall be made low, the rough places will be made plain, and the crooked places will be made straight; "and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed and all flesh shall see it together."

This is our hope, and this is the faith that I go back to the South with.

With this faith, we will be able to hew out of the mountain of despair a stone of hope. With this faith, we will be able to transform the jangling discords of our nation into a beautiful symphony of brotherhood. With this faith, we will be able to work together, to pray together, to struggle together, to go to jail together, to stand up for freedom together, knowing that we will be free one day.

And this will be the day -- this will be the day when all of God's children will be able to sing with new meaning:

My country 'tis of thee, sweet land of liberty, of thee I sing.
Land where my fathers died, land of the Pilgrim's pride,
From every mountainside, let freedom ring!

And if America is to be a great nation, this must become true.

And so let freedom ring from the prodigious hilltops of New Hampshire.

Let freedom ring from the mighty mountains of New York.

Let freedom ring from the heightening Alleghenies of Pennsylvania.

Let freedom ring from the snow-capped Rockies of Colorado.

Let freedom ring from the curvaceous slopes of California.

But not only that:

Let freedom ring from Stone Mountain of Georgia.

Let freedom ring from Lookout Mountain of Tennessee.
Let freedom ring from every hill and molehill of Mississippi.
From every mountainside, let freedom ring.

And when this happens, and when we allow freedom ring, when we let it ring from every village and every hamlet, from every state and every city, we will be able to speed up that day when all of God's children, black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics, will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old Negro spiritual:

                Free at last! Free at last!
                Thank God Almighty, we are free at last!

Thursday, June 27, 2013

Spanish 101 - Unit 2

Speaking of gay marriage ...

My swallow

Στίχοι: Λευτέρης Παπαδόπουλος 
Μουσική: Μάνος Λοΐζος 

 

Αχ χελιδόνι μου πώς να πετάξεις 
σ’ αυτόν το μαύρο τον ουρανό 
αίμα σταλάζει το δειλινό 
και πώς να κλάψεις και πώς να κλάψεις 
αχ χελιδόνι μου 

Αχ παλληκάρι μου τα τρένα φύγαν 
δεν έχει δρόμο για μισεμό 
κι όσοι μιλούσαν για λυτρωμό 
πες μου πού πήγαν πες μου που πήγαν 
αχ παλληκάρι μου 

Άχου καρδούλα μου φυλακισμένη 
δε βγαίνει ο ήλιος που καρτεράς 
μόνο ο ντελάλης της αγοράς 
σε ξεκουφαίνει σε ξεκουφαίνει 
άχου καρδούλα μου 

Ach my swallow, how can you fly 
in this blackened sky? 
the sunset is dripping blood 
and how will you cry, how will you cry, 
ach my swallow… 

Ach my palikari, the trains have left, 
there is no road to leave the country, 
and those who spoke of liberation, 
tell me where they went, tell me where they went, 
ach my palikari… 

Ach my dear little heart, imprisonned, 
the sun you are awaiting does not come, 
only the town-crier in the market-place 
deafens you, he deafens you, 
ach my poor little heart… 

Friday, June 14, 2013

Stop the closure of ERT #NoJusticeGr

The Greek government has just brutally pulled the plug on our public radio and TVservices, dealing a terrible blow to our democracy. But if enough of us fight back now, we can force PM Samaras to give us our ERT back.

State media is normally the first target in any coup but now our democratically elected government has decided to shut it down, firing all its 2,700 employees. They say ERT is inefficient and lacks transparency, but rather than reform it to make it better, they’ve decided to kill it. Right now protests are spreading across the country and if we turn the heat on Samaras now, we can still save the TV and radio we all grew up with.

We don’t have much time left. Greece is in crisis and and decisions being made now will last for generations. Only a public, impartial media can help us scrutinise the austerity autocrats and hold our democratically elected politicians to account. Let´s stop the Great Greek Switch-off --click to sign this petition and share it widely until we build an outcry impossible to ignore:

http://www.avaaz.org/en/greece_ert/?bdyjRcb&v=25850

With hope and determination,

Luis, Sam, Marie, Carol and the whole Avaaz team

PS: this campaign was originally created by Sophia K..Start yours now and win on any issue - local, national or global:http://www.avaaz.org/en/petition/start_a_petition/?bgMYedb&v=23917

MORE INFORMATION

ERT closure: Greek unions stage 24-hour protest strike (BBC)
http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-europe-22883236

The loss of ERT, the 'Greek BBC', is a cultural calamity (The Guardian)
http://www.guardian.co.uk/commentisfree/2013/jun/12/ert-greek-state-broadcaster-cultural-calamity

Closure of Greek state-run broadcaster ERT triggers political crisis (The Independent)
http://www.independent.co.uk/news/world/europe/closure-of-greek-staterun-broadcaster-ert-triggers-political-crisis-as-unions-call-24hour-general-strike-8654484.html

Greeks protest in Brussels over ERT shutdown (Euronews)
http://www.euronews.com/2013/06/12/greeks-protest-in-brussels-over-ert-shutdown/

Tuesday, May 21, 2013

I ask forgiveness - Ζητώ συγνώμη

Lyrics: Giannis Miliokas
Music: Giannis Miliokas

I'll sing you a song as the water (flows)
for those who fought and they still withstand
I should had wrote this song a long time ago
therefor I humbly ask your forgiveness

In a small clinic of the neighborhood
I went for some radiographs
people I saw of an older generation
waiting for the doctor's instructions

It was quiet as if I walked into the church
and all of them were of my father's age
My old man has died a long time ago
but he had the time to enjoy three grandchildren

covertly I took a quick glance
such a misery I'd never seen
and all those forgotten old age
they must be "war disabled", I thought

One was with a missing leg..
One other had his hand tied and he was in pain
The third wore a neck collar
and another one was carrying his old lady

My mind flew to my father, again
when he was telling me Stories at night
as it is now I remember him in (inner) pain
speaking for the dead and the wounded (warriors)

And all these for my freedom...
They had experienced years of occupation and tyranny (WW2)
they were girls and beardless boys..
but they were fighting on the mountains of Albania (1941)

They had gave me a free life (freedom)
and what I was (am) I owed it to them
And they were so simple (humble) in their old age
They neither wore medals or fancy clothes (luxury)

Honest People without ego
even if during the war they had lost everything
with a smile and a little respect
all what they had pass through they could had forgot..

I felt suddenly a great shame
I bent down and I lost my words (speech)
Tears came (in my eyes) and I held myself (not to cry)
Thank god I had with me my sunglasses

I'll sing you a song as the water (flows)
for those who fought and they still fighting
I should had wrote this song a long time ago
therefor I humbly ask your forgiveness



Ένα τραγούδι θα σας πω σαν το νερό
γι όσους πολέμησαν κι αντέχουνε ακόμη
θα πρεπε να το είχα γράψει από καιρό
γι αυτό και πρώτα ταπεινά ζητώ συγγνώμη

Σε ένα ιατρείο μικρό της γειτονιάς
πήγα να βγάλω κάτι ακτινογραφίες
κι είδα ανθρώπους μιας παλιότερης γενειάς
που περιμέναν του γιατρού τις οδηγίες

Είχε ησυχία λες και μπήκα σε ιερό
κι είχανε όλοι του πατέρα μου τα χρόνια
ο γέρος μου έχει πια πεθάνει από καιρό
μα είχε προλάβει να χαρεί τρία εγγόνια

Με τρόπο έριξα μια γρήγορη ματιά
τέτοιο κατάντημα δεν είχα δει ποτέ μου
κι όλα αυτά τα ξεχασμένα γηρατειά
θα είναι σκέφτηκα ανάπηροι πολέμου

Ο ένας είχε το ένα πόδι του λειψό
άλλος το χέρι του δεμένο και πονούσε
ο τρίτος φόραγε κολάρο στο λαιμό
κι ένας άλλος την κυρά του κουβαλούσε

Ο νους μου πήγε στον πατέρα μου ξανά
τότε που μου έλεγε τα βράδια ιστορίες
σαν να είναι τώρα τον θυμάμαι να πονά
και να μιλάει για νεκρούς και τραυματίες

Κι όλοι αυτοί για την δική μου λευτεριά
έζησαν χρόνια κατοχής και τυραννίας
ήταν κορίτσια και αμούστακα παιδιά
και πολεμούσαν στα βουνά της Αλβανίας

Μου είχαν χαρίσει μια ελεύθερη ζωή
κι ότι κι αν ήμουν σε εκείνους το χρωστούσα
κι ήτανε μες τα γηρατειά τους τόσο απλοί
ούτε παράσημα φορούσαν ούτε λούσα

Πρόσωπα τίμια χωρίς εγωισμό
κι αν μες το πόλεμο τα πάντα είχαν χάσει
με ένα χαμόγελο και λίγο σεβασμό
όλα όσα τράβηξαν θα τα είχανε ξεχάσει

Ένιωσα ξάφνου μια τεράστια ντροπή
έσκυψα κάτω και είχα χάσει την μιλιά μου
μου ήρθανε δάκρυα και κρατήθηκα πολύ
και ευτυχώς που είχα μαζί μου τα γυαλιά μου

Ένα τραγούδι θα σας πω σαν το νερό
γι όσους πολέμησαν και πολεμούν ακόμη
θα πρεπε να το είχα γράψει από καιρό
γι αυτό και πάλι ταπεινά ζητώ συγγνώμη
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