On 10. 6. 2026. at 15:29, Klara said:

Uvek Mikelanđelo! :D

Znaš da su Mikelanđelu strugali čizmice s nogu špahtlicom kad je radio Sikstinsku? Ne znam što ti ovo govorim tvoj je kornjača iz mutogena iz kanalizacije ti si očigledno prošla nivo gađenja, nego bukvalno prva asocijacija na tu reč. Što malo i nije fer nije prao noge nije prao noge kolege smo

ontopić

Albertus Magnus’ prophetic brazen head being smashed by an infuriated monk, 1874. Šta ja gledam na internetu iz ludnice bi me izbacili, fazon nisu stručni. Al neka.

Edited Saturday at 17:014 days by Hermetico

A printed cotton fabric sample featuring a fiddling and dancing devil motif. Date: 1881. Collection: Zane Collection, The Design Center at Thomas Jefferson University, Philadelphia.

The depiction is from a Thracian ceremonial greave (shin protector) dated ca 350-300 BC, discovered in a lavish royal tomb of a Getae ruler, near the village of Agighiol, Tulcea County, Northern Dobrudja, near the Black Sea in Romania.

14 hours ago, Hermetico said:

Znaš da su Mikelanđelu strugali čizmice s nogu špahtlicom kad je radio Sikstinsku? Ne znam što ti ovo govorim tvoj je kornjača iz mutogena iz kanalizacije ti si očigledno prošla nivo gađenja, nego bukvalno prva asocijacija na tu reč. Što malo i nije fer nije prao noge nije prao noge

One tanke i lagane kožne cipele. :D

Čitala sam, mislim da je Kondivi spomenuo taj podatak. E, sad, njegovi razlozi za spavanje u obući i manjak lične higijene...prvo sam zaključila da je bio primarno fokusiran na rad, ali možda je imao i zdravstvene probleme, hm.

edit:

https://www.ancient-origins.net/weird-facts/michelangelo-0017008

Edited Sunday at 07:463 days by Klara

16 minutes ago, Klara said:

One tanke i lagane kožne cipele. :D

Čitala sam, mislim da je Kondivi spomenuo taj podatak. E, sad, njegovi razlozi za spavanje u obući i manjak lične higijene...prvo sam zaključila da je bio primarno fokusiran na rad, ali možda je imao i zdravstvene probleme, hm.

edit:

https://www.ancient-origins.net/weird-facts/michelangelo-0017008

Pa svako je na nešto fokusiran. Mislim sigurno bio fokusiran na jedno, a za drugo ga je bolelo dupe. Na kakve zdravstvene probleme misliš? Mentalnog zdravlja? Ne sećam se da je nešto drastično pominjano. Mislio je da je mnogo ružan, bio je usamljen... Ali kao neka psihoza, teško.

To je inače pisalo u ovoj knjizi, uz koju sam ja odrastao. U toj ediciji inače, u svakoj knjizi, ima sjajnih podataka. Recimo kako su za Đota lobirali franjevci i, sve dok je Franju naručivala crkva, Franja uopšte nije morao biti lep. Crkvu to ič nije zanimalo. Ali kad su počeli da naručuju bogati građani, isplatilo se nalickati čoveka jer su ljudi više kupovali lepo. Tako da je ta čuvena renesansna lepota imala debeo finansijski motiv i povezana je s kapitalizmom. Što potvrđuje i veliki Michael Baxandall u svojoj knjizi Painting and Experience in Fifteenth-Century Italy, o odnosu klijenta i umetnika u renesansi. Sve vizuelno bilo je određeno novcem i stilom života, kao i uvek. Na kraju krajeva, Galileo je Jupiterove mesece inicijalno nazvao po Kozimu II, pa po Medičijima đuture, no se nije primilo. Ali sjajna stvar je što Baksandala otkriješ kasnije, on kod nas nije ni prevođen pitaj boba zašto, takvo ime, a ove knjige brate lepo dok si mali kod kuće, sve piše. Baš solidna preporuka, ko nema. Ima da se kupi polovno.

Nisam misila na njegovo mentalno zdravlje (mada se negde jeste pisalo o depresiji), pamtim da je imao niz fizičkih tegoba, od oslabljenog vida do osteoartritisa, navodno mu je bilo lakše da se ne izuva...istovremeno, duga fizička bol može psihički da izmori čoveka, obori, pa zanemari brigu o sebi.

Malvina 🩷

https://www.fieldmuseum.org/page/malvina-hoffman

"The Offering"

2 hours ago, Klara said:

Nisam misila na njegovo mentalno zdravlje (mada se negde jeste pisalo o depresiji), pamtim da je imao niz fizičkih tegoba, od oslabljenog vida do osteoartritisa, navodno mu je bilo lakše da se ne izuva...istovremeno, duga fizička bol može psihički da izmori čoveka, obori, pa zanemari brigu o sebi.

Ma imao ti je on asistente, šegrte. Nije se onolika tavanica na njega oslonila. Ali dobro, kažem, kolega je neću da ga blatim. To može i sam hehehe

Najlepša fotka eva

800 Years Old Selcuk Boots, once owned by a Selcuk warrior.

The military origin of high heels - High heels were initially designed only for male cavalry (horseriders). The heel allows the foot to stay securely in the saddle while riding and archery, preventing the foot from sliding forward. High heels appeared in female wardrobe only from the 17th century, when the influence of Eastern fashion came to Europe. Before that, it was manufactured for thousands of years only so that Turkish fighters could stand up and shoot arrows comfortably on horses.

The boots are made of green and dark red (burgundy) leather with a distinctive, smooth texture. In the Middle Ages, painting leather to such a bright green or turquoise color required special craftsmanship; this situation often showed that it belonged to aristocracy, soldiers or nobles. These leathers, especially made of horse or donkey hides during the Seljuk period, were very durable and waterproof.

The curved nose structure is a traditional feature of Oriental footwear and it prevented sticking to grass and horse harnesses.

Contrary to today's perception, the heel was initially just a feature of military equipment unique to men. Turkish cavalry archers and cavalry took advantage of this to keep a firm foot in the ring. This also allowed the rider to stand up balanced and hit the target more accurately while going four rounds.

This kind of tradition of wearing boots with long conch, colorful and decorative boots; which was later continued in the military and aristocratic clothing of the Safevi, Avshar and Kachar periods of Azerbaijan, it laid the ground for the emergence of forms called "Hatai style boots" (Khataiyagi boots) or "bashmak" among the people.

- Prof. Dr. Zaur Aliyev

Among the most distinctive & mysterious remains of the Oxus culture are these “balafre” (man-dragon) statuettes, c 2300-1800 BCE, depicting men covered in scales and holding a pot. They may represent an ancient mythological hero related to the Vedic Indra.

Zapratilo me sedam miliona ovih arheoloških stranica na fejsu (nije zapratilo nego ono proganjaju me da ja njih i ja ih nekad i zapratim). Što je sve ok, stvarno su dobre. Ali meni je za praćenje toga Tumblr, imam svoj red. I sad se kao malo nerviram, jer meni je to vrlo bitno sve što pratim, ali tešim se da bar nije instagram. Ustvari, možda i jeste, tamo im se isto vata jer to gledam samo poruke. Jako je težan instagram, tako pokvaren. Ne mogu da smislim platformu gde ne možeš da okačiš sliku koliku ti oćeš i tekst da se lepo vidi. Ni jedno ni drugo se ne vidi lepo, vidi se samo dizajn instagrama. Užasno invazivna platforma, baš jako mrzim.

Triumph of Death. Psalter. Germany, 1st half of the 16th century. Ovo je moglo i na Slike, jako dobro. Ali ja na Slike za šta sam lično vezan. Ne znam što. Kažem, imam svoj red.

Mykola Bilyk https://en.academyart.org.ua/academicians-eng/bilyk-mykola-illich-eng

To be is to be perceived

As an old roamer of the neighbourhood of Nunez and thereabouts, I could not help noticing that the monumental River Plate Stadium no longer stood in its customary place.

In consternation, I spoke about this to my friend Dr Gervasio Montenegro, the full-fledged member of the Argentine Academy of Letters, and in him I found the motor that put me on the track. At the time, his pen was compiling a sort of Historical Survey of Argentine Journalism, a truly noteworthy work at which his secretary was quite busy, and the routine research had accidentally led Montenegro to sniff out the crux of the matter. Shortly before nodding off, he sent me to a mutual friend, Tulio Savastano, president of the Abasto Juniors Soccer Club, to whose headquarters, situated in the Adamant Building on Corrientes Avenue near Pasteur Street, I hied.

This high-ranking executive still managed to keep fit and active despite the regimen of double dieting prescribed by his physician and neighbour, Dr Narbondo. A bit inflated by the latest victory of his team over the Canary Island All-Stars, Savastano expatiated at length between one mate and another, and he confided to me substantial details with reference to the question on the carpet. In spite of the fact that I kept reminding Savastano that we had, in yesteryear, been boyhood chums from around Aguero and the corner of Humahuaco, the grandeur of his office awed me and, trying to break the ice, I congratulated him on the negotiation of the game’s final goal, which, notwithstanding Zarlenga and Parodi’s pressing attack, centre-half Renovales booted in thanks to the historic pass of Musante’s.

In acknowledgement of my support of the Abasto eleven, the great man gave his mate a posthumous slurp and said philosophically, like someone dreaming aloud, ‘And to think it was me who invented those names.’

‘Aliases?’ I asked, mournful. ‘Musante’s name isn’t Musante? Renovales isn’t Renovales? Limardo isn’t the real name of the idol aclaimed by the fans?’

Savastano’s answer made my limbs go limp. ‘What? You still believe in fans and idols?’ he said. ‘Where have you been living, don Domecq?’

At that moment, a uniformed office boy came in, looking like a fireman, and he whispered to Savastano that Ron Ferrabas wished a word with him.

‘Ron Ferrabas, the mellow-voiced sportscaster?’ I exclaimed. ‘The sparkplug of Profumo Soap’s after-dinner hour? Will these eyes of mine see him in person? Is it true that his name is Ferrabas?’

‘Let him wait,’ ordered Mr Sevastano.

‘Let him wait? Wouldn’t it be better if I sacrificed myself and left?’ I pleaded with heartfelt abnegation.

‘Don’t you dare,’ answered Sevastano. ‘Arturo, tell Ferrabas to come in.’

What an entrance Ferrabas made- so natural! I was going to offer him my armchair, but Arturo, the fireman, dissuaded me with one of those little glances that are like a mass of polar air.

The voice of the president began deliberating. ‘Ferrabas, I’ve spoken to De Filippo and Camargo. In the next match Abasto is beaten by two to one. It’s a tough game but bear in mind- don’t fall back on that pass from musante to Renovales. The fans know it by heart. I want imagination- imagination, understand? You may leave now.’

I screwed up my courage to venture a question. ‘Am I to deduce that the score has been prearranged?’

Savastano literally tumbled me to the dust. ‘There’s no score, no teams, no matches,’ he said. ‘The stadiums have long since been condemned and are falling to pieces. Nowadays everything is staged on the television and radio. The bogus excitement of the sportscaster- hasn’t it ever made you suspect that everything is humbug? The last time a soccer match was played in Buenos Aires was on 24 June 1937. From that exact moment, soccer, along with the whole gamut of sports, belongs to the genre of the drama, performed by a single man in a booth or by actors in jerseys before the TV cameras.’

‘Sir, who invented the thing?’ I made bold to ask.

‘Nobody knows. You may as well ask who first thought of the inauguration of schools or the showy visits of crowned heads. These things don’t exist outside the recording studios and newspaper offices. Rest assured, Domecq, mass publicity is the trademark of modern times.’

‘And what about the conquest of space?’ I groaned.

‘It’s not a local programme, it’s a Yankee-Soviet co-production. A praiseworthy advance, let’s not deny it, of the spectacle of science.’

‘Mr President, you’re scaring me,’ I mumbled, without regard to hierarchy. ‘Do you mean to tell me that out there in the world nothing is happening?’

‘Very little,’ he answered with his English phlegm. ‘What I don’t understand is your fear. Mankind is at home, sitting back with ease, attentive to the screen or the sportscaster, if not the yellow press. What more do you want, Domecq? It’s the great march of time, the rising tide of progress.’

‘And if the bubble bursts?’ I barely managed to utter.

‘It won’t,’ he said, reassuringly.

‘Just in case, I’ll be silent as the tomb,’ I promised. ‘I swear it by my personal loyalty- to the team, to you, to Limardo, to Renovales.’

‘Say whatever you like, nobody would believe you.’

The telephone rang. The president picked up the receiver and, finding his other hand free, he waved it, indicating the door.

Buenos Aires, Argentina

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Edited Tuesday at 06:231 day by Gojko & Stojko