Mostrando entradas con la etiqueta karma. Mostrar todas las entradas
Mostrando entradas con la etiqueta karma. Mostrar todas las entradas

miércoles, 4 de enero de 2017

EL INFIERNO DE DANTE - SEGÚN SANDRA DERMARK

Para Dante Alighieri, la Tierra es hueca y es como un juego de matriushkas, muñecas rusas. Infiernos dentro de infiernos dentro de infiernos, cada uno un mundo diferente para castigar unas faltas diferentes, todo concéntrico. Como muñecas rusas encastradas unas dentro de otras. ¿Eso lo entienden, lectores?
Así que he decidido explicaros los infiernos del más superficial al más profundo --el Cócito, imaginado por Dante como una cueva de hielo (Cocytus=think Snow Queen's palace). Cubriré el Cócito al final del comentario.
DE MODO QUE:
DEJAD TODA ESPERANZA SI OS ATREVÍS A SEGUIRME...
1er infierno: lujuria (hetero) - supervisados por los jueces del inframundo (esos tres), los lujuriosos son arrastrados por un ciclón como el del Mago de Oz a una velocidad de vértigo.
2o infierno: gula - Cerbero juega con los pecadores como si fueran pelotas de tenis, están hundidos en un fango muy denso (tipo mud wrestling). Añade que caen del techo bolas de granizo, del tamaño de pelotas de tenis.
3o infierno: codicia/avaricia (pero aquí no están los corruptos; les veremos más al fondo): - tienen que correr llevando un pesado lastre que no pueden quitarse fijo a cada mano. Aquí también, por lo visto, se castiga el síndrome de Diógenes...
4o infierno: ira+pereza (¡dos de un tiro!); la Estigia, una laguna poco profunda: los iracundos más leves (a Jack el Destripador y al Monstruo de Amstetten entre otros les encontraremos en el Flegetonte, un poco más abajo) se lían a porrazos sin cesar como si fuera mud wrestling sin límites y sin reglas; mientras los vagos, atados al fondo de la Estigia, son linchados sin cesar por los iracundos. Aquí está ¿quién si no? Caronte al mando de un barco que es el único modo seguro de cruzar.
5o infierno: ateos: son asados en sepulcros/féretros de piedra rodeados de llamas. No me gustaría acabar como un plato de canelones.
6o infierno: el f-ing Flegetonte y las cosas se ponen muuuy interesantes. Centauros, entre ellos Neso y Quirón, patrullan las orillas de la colada de lava y sangre al rojo vivo, donde los violentos, sádicos, dictadores... están sumergidos sin poder escapar, y torturan a dichos reos. Al otro lado del Flegetonte, chispas de lava surgidas de su corriente caen como nieve ardiente sobre prestamistas, violadores (no importa si se hayan servido de drogas o no) y personas con parafilias extremas (zoofilia, pedofilia, masoquismo... cualquier parafilia que pueda dañarlos a ellos mismos y a otros) que han de correr sin cesar en la tormenta de nieve de fuego. Sin mencionar los árboles carbonizados por el calor del Flegetonte sobre los que anidan y se posan las arpías: estos fueron suicidas en su vida terrenal.
7o infierno: Malasfosas (Malebolge); castigo al engaño en todas sus formas. A continuación os doy un repaso fosa por fosa:
-Fosa i: seductor@s rompecorazones, de los que se aprovechan del amor inocente de otr@s y les dejan como muñec@s usad@s por otr@s. Son obligados a un constante castigo de baquetas a la prusiana.
-Fosa ii: adulador@s. Les han enterrado en compost (basura orgánica, incluyendo orina, heces...) sin poder escapar.
-Fosa iii: religiosos corruptos. Cuelgan del revés en agujeros llenos de fuego, dejando despuntar las piernas y los pies.
-Fosa iv: adivin@s. Les han girado la cabeza 180º como a la niña del Exorcista y no pueden ponérsela del derecho. Por eso caminan a paso de cangrejo.
-Fosa v: políticos corruptos. Sumergidos en un pozo de brea hirviente. Viene a ser como el Flegetonte pero con brea/alquitrán en vez de lava o sangre. Salvo que, en vez de los centauros, tienen por verdugos a unos diablillos que usan su puntiaguda cola como látigo.
-Fosa vi: hipócritas no afiliad@s al Estado ni a la Iglesia, entre ellos las beatas. Llevan capas de brocado de seda e hilo de oro... con el forro de plomo, lleno de plomitos como los del sedal de pescar, y no se los pueden quitar.
-Fosa vii: ladrones. Atrapados en un foso de serpientes, donde pueden hallar el tormento por medio de una anaconda verde hembra de ocho metros de largo, del veneno de cobra o krait... hay muchísimas posibilidades. Según mis especulaciones, el propio borde del foso es una titanoboa que se muerde la cola, a modo de Jordmungandr o uróvoro.
-Fosa viii: consejeros traidores, Yagos, Palpatines y demás. Encerrados en capullos de fuego que les desfiguran la cara y les lamen la piel constantemente. También se asfixian y les cuesta siempre hablar y tragar.
-Fosa ix: sembradores de discordia, revolucionarios extremistas. Son descuartizados constantemente a estocadas y las heridas siempre les duelen. Nada más sellarse las heridas, les vuelven a descuartizar.
-Fosa x: falsificadores. Dependiendo de lo que falsificaron en vida, han contraído una enfermedad incurable u otra: los ladrones de identidad tienen la rabia, los falsificadores de moneda tienen la gota, los que falsificaron arte y otros objetos de valor (excepto moneda) están leprosos y los que dieron falso testimonio sufren de fiebre palúdica o malaria. Los autores de fandom no aparecen aquí, y encima Dante escribió la Comedia como un fic épico de la cultura clásica y los pecados capitales... de modo que allí la gente como servidora no acabará.
8º infierno: el Cócito. El F-ing Cócito. Todo es hielo azul en la oscuridad más profunda, y los traidores son los tropezones de este helado de agua tan duro. El Cócito está vigilado por los Titanes, y no quiero decir Annie, Rainer, Bertolt... sino Efialtes, Ticio, Tifón, los ciembrazos... los Titanes de la generación de Cronos. Aquí los traidores están clasificados según sus víctimas.
-Cócito i: Caína, traidores a la familia. Hundidos en hielo hasta el cuello.
-Cócito ii: Antenora, traidores a la patria y/o al partido político. Hundidos en hielo hasta los ojos. Tienen los ojos fuera.
-Cócito iii: Ptolomea, traidores a los amigos y/o a los invitados. Tienen la nuca fuera y la cara hundida en el hielo, de modo que tienen los ojos helados y las lágrimas se les congelan.
-Cócito iv: Judería/Judecca, traidores a causas superiores a las otras tres antes mencionadas (ideales, religiones...). Están completamente congelados, como arañas de broma de plástico dentro de sus cubitos de hielo. En medio del Cócito se halla Satanás, con tres cabezas, chupando constantemente tres cubitos -uno en cada boca- que contienen a Judas Iscariote y a los cabecillas del asesinato de Julio César.
A los pies de Satán se halla una galería estrecha, como madriguera de conejos, por la que discurre un curso de agua del Cócito deshelada; esta es la fuente del Leteo. Síguela todo recto y te hallarás en la superficie, en una isla en medio del Pacífico con aspecto de tarta nupcial de unos siete u ocho pisos, por los que fluye el Leteo. Esta tierra es el Purgatorio, en cuya cima no hallarás los novios de la tarta; pero sí el Paraíso y una laguna letea donde borrar todos tus recuerdos. Pero no sin antes atravesar las pruebas de los pisos del Purgatorio, sobre los cuales puede que os hable en otra entrada más adelante.






EPÍLOGO - EL VIEJO DE CRETA
En que os explico el origen de la Estigia, del Flegetonte y del Cócito (y, por extensión, del Leteo) según messer Alighieri.
La isla de Creta, en su día cuna de la cultura griega clásica, es hoy en día una región en que tanto la acción del ser humano como la naturaleza han caído lo más bajo que se puede. Debajo de Creta reside un coloso con forma de varón entrado en años, con las espaldas a Oriente y mirando en dirección a Roma (y, por extensión, o a Marsella o als Països Catalans); supuestamente se trata del titán Crono. Su cabeza es de oro puro (24 quilates como mínimo); los brazos hasta la punta del dedo corazón y el pecho hasta el apéndice xifoides, de plata de ley; el vientre hasta las ingles, de un bronce cubierto de pátina verde; la pierna izquierda hasta la punta del pie, que tiene suspendida en el aire, y la derecha hasta el tobillo, de hierro tan oxidado como la superficie de Marte; y el pie derecho, sobre el que se apoya todo el coloso, de terracota. Desde que Crono fue confinado bajo la isla de Creta por su hijo Zeus, no ha dejado de llorar; sus lágrimas, que no le afectan al rostro ni al pecho, le han dañado el vientre y las piernas formando fisuras durante eones antes de caer al suelo y, filtrándose en el subsuelo calizo, dan nacimiento a los cursos del inframundo mencionados en este epílogo.

lunes, 21 de diciembre de 2015

REELING AND WRITHING XXI: "KARMA COMMEDIA"

REELING AND WRITHING
or,
Miss Dermark's 2015 Advent Calendar

DAY TWENTY-ONE

"KARMA COMMEDIA"
or
MISHEARD LYRIC + GUNDAM WING + 30YW + COMMEDIA = GREAT IDEA

Quatre Winner's surname in this historical AU might as well have been Stark. To round up all of the relevant calamities that have happened in his short life:
  • Lost his mother in childbirth, shortly after he was born
  • All of his sisters left home to marry
  • Had to flee his birthplace of France (to be more precise, their ancestral home, an estate on the Atlantic west coast) for being Protestant, persecuted by Richelieu (fortunately, he and his father found a new home thanks to one of the Winner sisters/daughters, who resided in Magdeburg with her spouse)
  • Was homeschooled and more intelligent than any other lad in Magdeburg: had acquaintances galore, but no friends at all
  • The year he, aged 14, finally was to leave for Leipzig University to meet his equals was 1631: the year of the siege and the storming of Magdeburg
  • During the above-mentioned storming, his widowed father, older sister (also ravished), brother-in-law, twin sister (ostensibly), and all of his servants were killed... SPOILER ALERT: Well, actually his sister Iria was left for dead and survived, becoming a reputed healer, and guardian to Quatre's fraternal twin Catherine Winner (another Magdeburg survivor), and the young heir will reunite with both sisters...
  • ...all of these misdeeds being caused by a backstabbing retainer to the household, a steward surnamed Iscariote (so short-lived during the storming that his agenda remains a secret for a long time)
  • ...and the Winner townhouse burned to the ground, depriving Quatre of his home and fortune
  • Furthermore, to be spared an unpleasant fate, he swapped clothes with his twin sister... and, in drag, was ravished by a drunken Croat, then by the rest of the unit (equally inebriated), and finally by Count Pappenheim himself (also intoxicated)
  • Entered Leipzig not as a student, but as an occupying conqueror, against his will
  • Received his baptism of fire at Breitenfeld, as a private pikeman, aged but 14
  • Was made a POW of Sweden at the same battle of Breitenfeld, then appointed as orderly to an insufferable, conceited, and cold officer (Zechs, here a bastard son of Gustavus Adolphus)
  • Lost his innocence due to all of these debacles piling up (and who wouldn't)?

Trowa and Catherine Barton-Bloom, two stateless orphans from a commedia dell'arte troupe, travel with the Swedish Army, as well as playing the tricky valet and the tricky maid on stage. When Quatre learns to know them, hope is rekindled. They've thought of adding a new character, a naive and trusting valet (who is also Trowa's rival on stage), to their plays, and the blond stripling fits all the requirements to play the part on stage.
Now add that, in between one play and another, the Austro-Swedish phase of the 30YW still rages on...

The title is a misheard titular lyric from Culture Club I misheard as a child: "Karma, karma, karma, karma, karma commedia..."
This AU is rather popular and equally painful, with loss of innocence as a central theme (the very Dickensian character arc of Quatre in this 'verse)... how can you play an innocent character on stage when you're bleeding within? And oodles of Othello quotes. And a diverse cast of OCs, historical characters, and Gundam Wing characters alike, coupled with echoes of Westeros...set against the backdrop of an epoch as stormy and riveting as the Thirty Years' War.


domingo, 20 de abril de 2014

ECHO AND NARCISSUS - I

ECHO AND NARCISSUS
Adapted from the retelling by Elsie Finnimore Buckley

Dedicated to María Calzada, my own Waterloo
In English lands this tale you may be reading,
to your name on the line above just heeding,
or thinking of me with your heart and soul,
faintly whispering from afar:
"I'd give you the brightest star
for a nightlight
to grace each evening or midnight sight".

First Story
A light maiden angers a powerful queen:
the punishment is quite a cruel, unjust scene.

In the flowery groves of Helicon Echo was once a fair nymph who, hand in hand with her sisters, sported along the green lawns and by the side of the mountain-streams. Among them all her feet were the lightest and her laugh the merriest, and in the telling of tales not one of them could touch her. So if ever any among them were plotting mischief in their hearts, they would say to her,
"Echo, thou weaver of words, go thou and sit beside Hera in her bower, and beguile her with a tale that she come not forth and find us. See thou make it a long one, Echo, and we will give thee a garland to twine in thy hair."
And Echo would laugh a gay laugh, which rang through the grove.
"What will you do when she tires of my tales?" she asked.
"When that time comes we shall see," said they.
So with another laugh she would trip away and cast herself on the grass at Hera's feet. When Hera looked upon Echo her stern brow would relax, and she would smile upon her and stroke her hair.
"What hast thou come for now, thou sprite?" she would ask.
"I had a great longing to talk with thee, great Hera," she would answer, "and I have a tale—a wondrous new tale—to tell thee."
"Thy tales are as many as the risings of the sun, Echo, and each one of them as long as an old man's beard."
"The day is yet young, mother," she would say, "and the tales I have told thee before are as mud which is trampled underfoot by the side of the one I shall tell thee now."
"Go to, then," said Hera, "and if it pleases me I will listen to the end."
So Echo would sit upon the grass at Hera's feet, and with her eyes fixed upon her face she would tell her tale. She had the gift of words, and, moreover, she had seen and heard many strange things which she alone could tell of. These she would weave into romances, adding to them as best pleased her, or taking from them at will; for the best of tale-tellers are those who can lie, but who mingle in with their lies some grains of truth which they have picked from their own experience. And Hera would forget her watchfulness and her jealousies, and listen entranced, while the magic of Echo's words made each scene live before her eyes. Meanwhile the nymphs would sport to their hearts' content and never fear her anger.
But at last came the black day of reckoning when Hera found out the prank which Echo had played upon her so long, and the fire of her wrath flashed forth like lightning.
"The gift whereby thou hast deceived me shall be thine no more," she cried. "Henceforward thou shalt be dumb till someone else has spoken, and then, even if thou wilt, thou shalt not hold thy tongue, but must needs repeat once more the last words that have been spoken."
"Alas! alas!" cried the nymphs in chorus.
"Alas! alas!" cried Echo after them, and could say no more, though she longed to speak and beg Hera to forgive her. So did it come to pass that she lost her voice, and could only say that which others put in her mouth, whether she wished it or no.

ORPHEUS AND EURYDICE - V

Adapted from the retelling by Elsie Finnimore Buckley

Fifth Story
In which Orpheus returns to the overworld with his beloved, but his impatience proves too strong

"It will be harder than thou thinkest," the king replied. "Nevertheless, I will call Eurydice."
He signed to a messenger to fetch her. In a few moments he returned, and behind him came Eurydice from the Garden of Death. The dank dew hung heavy about her, and she walked with her eyes upon the ground, while her long black hair hid the paleness of her face. Thus did she come into the centre of the hall, and, not speaking or moving, Orpheus gazed upon her till she raised her eyes and saw him. With a cry she sprang towards him.
"Orpheus!" she said.
But, remembering the words of the king, he turned and fled before her through the misty halls and out by the great gate, where Cerberus lay tamed with his heads between his paws. And he tried to shut his ears to her pleading as they sped across the plain, but every word that she said cut his heart like a stab, and more than once he almost turned to answer her, so piteous was her cry.
"Oh, Orpheus, what have I done? Why dost thou flee from me? Oh, give me one word, one look, to say thou lov'st me still."
But he remained firm in his resolve, and sat himself in Charon's boat, and steeled his heart, whilst she sat beside him, but could not touch him. For he was a living soul, and she was a shade, and might not touch him if she would. But still she pleaded with him.
"O Orpheus, my heart is starving for one look, one word. I know thou lovest me, but oh! to see thine eyes tell me so and hear thy lips say it."
He longed to turn and clasp her in his arms, and tell her how he loved her better than life. But still he refrained, and hugged his lyre close to his breast in his agony; and as soon as the boat touched the shore he leapt out and hastened up the steep, dark path, whilst the sweat stood out in drops upon his brow, so hard was the way and so stifling the air. Behind him followed Eurydice, and if the way was hard for him, for her it was ten times harder. She had no strength for words, and only by her sobs did Orpheus know she was following still. So they went on, till at length the air grew pure and fresh, and the daylight shone before them at the mouth of the cave. With eager steps Orpheus pressed forward, longing for the moment when he might clasp his wife in his arms and speak to her once more. But as the way grew easier for him, it grew harder for Eurydice; since no one may pass from death to life without sore travail and pain. So she struggled and stumbled after him, and her heart gave way within her as she felt she could follow no farther.
"Orpheus!" she cried in her despair, "thy hand."
Ere reason could restrain him, his heart had answered her sudden cry, and he turned and held out his arms to help her. All too late he knew his folly. For even as he was about to hold her she slipped away, and as smoke is borne away on the wings of the wind, so was she borne away, helpless and lifeless, to the realms of the dead, and her voice floated back like the echo of a dream,
"Farewell, Orpheus. Alas! Alas! farewell!"
So for the second time did he lose Eurydice; and if his grief was great before, it was ten times greater now. For as the cup of joy had touched his lips it had slipped from his hand and broken, and he knew that the chance the gods had given him once they would give him never again, but that all his life long he must dwell in loneliness without Eurydice his wife. Blindly he went forward with his lyre beneath his arm. The strings hung broken and lifeless, for the rocks and thorns had torn them as he passed on his way up from Hades. But he heeded not nor made any effort to mend them, for the strings of his heart hung broken too, and the music in his soul was dead. In black despair he wandered on, and the sunshine to his eyes was darkness, and the fair forms of earth were sadder than the phantoms of Hades had seemed to him while hope still beat in his breast. As a colt that has wandered far by unknown paths returns at last surely to his homestead, so did his feet carry him back to Pelion and the dear home of his boyhood. Not till he stood in the path which led up to the cave did he know where he had come; but when he saw the mouth of the cave before him his eyes were opened once more, and a faint joy stole into his heart as he went on and sat down on a stone outside. All was silent and deserted, and he sat for awhile alone with his own sad thoughts, till he felt a touch upon his shoulder, and looked up into the face of Chiron standing beside him.