Dress Study from  Vang in Valdres and Slidre

Johannes Flintoe 1822

left to right:

Married women in everyday dress from Vang

Newest fashion for young girls in Sildre

Girls from Vang dressed up and everyday wear

SILDR E SILVER

Elolvasott könyvek - 2023

megjegyzések a végén

Regény/próza: 

Fejes Endre: Szerelemről bolond éjszakán

Brian W. Aldiss: Szürkeszakáll  

Ghyczy Csongor: Egy könyv lapjai

Jacek Dukaj: Zuzanna és a világmindenség 

Robert M. Pirsig: A zen meg a motorkerékpár ápolás művészete

Kemény Zsigmond: A rajongók

Cserna-Szabó András: Zerkó - Attila törpéje 

Aradi Péter: A csend, amire vágytál

Visky András: Kitelepítés

Mati Unt: Őszi kavargás

Tudományos/szakkönyv:

Frantisek Drtikol: Eyes wide open 

Tóth Klára: Elem Klimov

Philip Matyszak: Antik Róma napi öt denariusból

Képregény:

Hill/Rodriguez: Locke&Key 1-3

Inio Asano: Goodnight Punpun 1-2-3

Sinonimo/Pásztor/Várai: 1241 - Farkasnak foga között 

Mervorius-Brazil: Hosszú az út hazáig 

Ghyczy Csongor: Salem Budapest - eredet 

Joonas Sildre: Két hang között 

Q5 - KépregényÚjság

Hudra-Oravecz: Mi a film? 

Lamm Lenke: Itt hagytad nekem a zajt 

Hollerbach Emil: Amit a falakról tudni kell 1-2 

Érsek Laura: Hogyan lőtte le a dédim a hajóskapitány szeretőjét, és más történetek 

Graphic Narratives From Lebanon’s 2019 Popular Uprisings (edited by: Lina Ghaibeh)  

Marjai Petra Lilla: No One Can Be Here With You 

Kati Akraio: Kitchen Towel Comics 

Poór Dorottya: Bébi (igaz történetek 1# by Hurrikán Press) 

Mihály Gréta: Kín (igaz történetek 2# by Hurrikán Press)

Ophélie Paris: Snail Tale (igaz történetek 3# by Hurrikán Press)  

Janek Koza: Erotic Confessions

Thomas Wellman: Pimo&Rex 

Vaughan/Chiang: Újságoslányok 1-4

Leopold Maurer, Regina Hofer: Rovarok

Yoshiharu Tsuge: The Man Without Talent

Zerocalcare: Az óriástatu jóslata 

Koska Zoltán: Lyolyabi és Rizmiráng 1-2

Matz/Jacamon: Killer 1. kötet (1-2.rész)

Ghyczy Csongor: Salem Budapest - Terrárium

G.L.O.M.A.: Feine - Hagyjatok aludni 1-2 

Anamarija Kvas: We Drift Apart Where We Get The Closest

Benczédi Anna: Broken Days

Benczédi Anna:What’s That on Your Arm?

Szép Eszter: Weekdays

Rumi Zsófi: I could kill for a pimple

Zinek: 

Zina 7#

Marjai Petra Lilla: A Political Picturebook

Untold Stories No.2. 

Helena Klakocar: Revolt 

Lamm Lenke: I’m not ideal

Az idei év nem pont úgy alakult olvasás szempontjából, ahogy terveztem. Az év első pár hónapjában hagytam magam megvezetni egy nagyon hosszú darabbal, ami végül annyira feldühített, hogy a felénél a sarokba dobtam. Ugyanakkor azt hiszem elég idős lettem már ahhoz, hogy ne vesztegessem feleslegesen az időmet az engem nem érdeklő művekre. Nagyon sok könyv hagyta el idén a könyvtáramat mivel egyáltalán nem voltak érdekesek. (Sajnos vagy nem sajnos közel ugyanannyi könyv lépett be, így nem csökkent az állomány, bármennyire is törekedtem rá. 😅)

Voltak azonban könyvek, amik bár nem voltak hosszúak, mégis alaposan megizzasztottak. Szerencsére ezek mind egytől egyig megérték a belefektetett energiát. Pirsig, Kemény és Visky írásai nem csupán élményt nyújtottak, de változtattak a világlátásomon is.

A képregények között nagyon sok a rövid mű és szerencsére egyre több a magyar. Ráadásul ezek mind fontos társadalmi/pszichológiai témákkal foglalkoznak, ami fontos előrelépés a képregényes közegben.

Szakkönyvből/tudományos munkából jóval többet kezdtem el, de ezeket rendszerint félbehagyom, mivel nem mozgatják meg az agyamat. Ezt a párat, amivel végeztem, viszont érdemesnek találtam kiemelni, hogy ne vesszenek el a többi között.

A jövőben a listában a zinek is végre a helyükre kerülnek.

Végül pedig egy kis vallomás: idén azért sem haladtam olyan jól az olvasással, mert sok év után idén újra elkezdtem játszani. Először butaságnak tartottam, de rá kellett jönnöm, hogy olyan reflexeket és kognitív dolgokat mozgat meg bennem, amelyeket nem nagyon használtam már egy ideje. Úgy hogy a számítógépes játékok is maradnak, és mivel másból már nem tudnak, így az olvasásból fognak időt elvenni. De ezt egyáltalán nem bánom. 🙂

Grishaverse reference

Hi Grishaverse moots, idk if someone has already done this before and if they have, sorry, guess we've got two cakes now.

I recently finished reading lb's written version of Lives of the Saints and I have many thoughts. The following are my guesses on nation of origin and grisha power for the saints mentioned in the book, based on the stories provided. There isn't a ton of information, but these are my best guesses, feel free to put these interpretations in your fics!

Also lb's grasp on Russian is tenuous at best, so keep in mind that this list is written letter for letter the way the chapters were titled, not the way these names would be properly spelled.

Sankta Margaretha - Kerch, likely Durast

Sanka Anastasia - Ravkan, likely Healer or Alkemi

Sankt Kho - Shu, Durast

Sankta Neyar - Shu, Durast

Sankt Juris of the Sword - presumably Ravkan but he dates back to before Ravka was a country, his story references one of his miracles not his actual story of sainthood so his Grisha designation is unknown, we do know that he's a two-souled Grisha bonded with the Dragon

Sankta Vasilka - probably Ravkan due to her being described as the first firebird, likely a two-souled Grisha with a firebird, maybe a Durast or Squaller 

Sankt Nikolai - unclear nationality due to his being on a ship from an unknown port, potentially Ravkan, Squaller, maybe an Alkemi too 

Sankta Lizabeth of the Roses - Ravkan, maybe a Durast, maybe a two-souled Grisha with bees, maybe an Alkemi with plants

Sankta Maradi - Zemeni, Tidemaker or Squaller

Sankt Demyan of the Rime - Fjerdan, Durast

Sankta Marya of the Rock - Suli, Durast

Sankt Emerens - Kerch, maybe Alkemi or Heartrender

Sankt Vladimir the Foolish - Ravkan, Tidemaker

Sankt Grigori of the Wood - Ravkan, Healer, potential Durast, two-souled Grisha with a bear 

Sankt Valentin - unknown nationality, potential Squaller or Heartrender, potential two-souled Grisha with a snake 

Sankt Petyr - Ravkan, potential Inferni or Heartrender

Sankta Yeryin of the Mill - Shu, likely Durast or Alkemi 

Sankt Feliks Among the Boughs - Ravkan, likely Alkemi, the Thornwood grew where he died, two-souled Grisha with a hawk 

Sankt Lukin the Logical - unknown, potential merzost-using Healer or Heartrender

Sankta Magda - Ravkan, Healer or Alkemi, maybe secondary Squaller gift, saved Grisha children from pyres

Sankt Egmond - Fjerdan, Durast, forced to create the Ice Court 

Sankt Ilya in Chains - Ravkan, merzost-using Durast, potential Healer/Heartrender too

Sankta Ursula of the Waves - from an area in Fjerda where she is called a princess but we known her mother is Baghra and her father a sildroher, making her half-sildroher half Ravkan, Tidemaker

Sankt Mattheus - unknown nationality, Alkemi or Heartrender, turned wolves into dogs, possible merzost using Heartrender or two-souled Grisha with a wolf

Sankt Dimitri - unknown nationality, likely a merzost-using Healer or Heartrender (or a Squaller playing a joke due to his? skeleton being found in a room still praying and also talking)

Sankt Gerashim the Misunderstood - likely Ravkan, potential Durast, his vow of silence makes me think it's more likely that he was attacked and made mute because it says he stopped talking at 15 and didn’t say a word in his defense before he died

Sankta Alina of the Fold - Ravkan, Sun Summoner, obviously 

The Starless Saint - Ravkan, Shadow Summoner, obviously 

Extra thoughts I had reading the book:

“Half of novokribirsk was lost” - this is how the Darkling moving the Fold was described so I guess we have a better grasp on where the Fold moved to and how many people died

The story with Alina isn't about her own sainthood but about people praying to her, specifically Grisha children who are being sold to Kerch slaver, what a surprise that Alina didn't fix everything governing Ravka (I am bitter as hell and this is sarcastic)

Ulla being described as a princess is odd because what is she the princess of?

We know that dragons and sildrohers exist in the grishaverse but nebulous "demons" are also mentioned as taking over people's bodies. It's unclear how real these might be or whether they were trauma responses or mental health issues.

A ton of these people are hermits, likely because it helped hide their powers.

Lots of saints being accused of conspiring with the “demons,” lots of the saints are described as “witches.”

The prose feels like I’m reading propaganda written by the Apparat. ex: All the saints are described as pious and this is what their actions are attributed to despite clearly being the result of Grisha powers.

It's interesting to me personally lb even included Aleksander or allowed a story to exist that showed how his expansion of the Fold benefitted a Ravkan citizen.

Most Saints are described as weak and sickly, wonder why that is (wasting sickness from hiding their powers). 

The Tula valley was desolate before the Fold because Feliks died there and many crops rotted after his death.  

A lot of these stories have townspeople and noblemen turning on the saints, also lots of stories of people fighting for royalty then being betrayed by the same royalty (what a sucky trend for Grisha).

Many saints are said to be monks and scholars, this might be Apparat propaganda but it also might be an extension of them being in hiding about their powers.

Lot of saints are Durasts and Alkemi, likely because Materialki powers are the easiest to hide. Possible Etherealki Saints probably didn't survive long enough to be remembered.

A surprising amount of saints were Squallers. This may be because wind is harder to predict than other natural forces and is more likely to be dismissed as nature rather than Grisha power.

Only one saint is a potential Inferni. Probably because it's arguably the most difficult power to hide.

Some of these legends definitely seem older than others because they reference each other and lb does not make it clear where in the historical timeline they fall in relation to each other.

Some of the saints are only described with their miracles not their stories of sainthood, this is a curious choice and I wonder why it was made.

Some of the saints' deaths are written as fade to black while others are described in excruciating detail. Another weird choice.

1st: Vang, Valdres, 1819 or 1822

2nd: Vang, Valdres & Sildre, 1819 of 1822

3rd: Heddal, Hedemark 1821

4th: Øvre Telemark, 1821 or 1832

5th: Oppdal & Gauldalen, 1825

dragons + brythonic deities + french and german forenames + natural sattelites and stars + theological demons + medieval weapons + quenya names

Abehakala Acquest Actrace Aevilin Agoturine Alalka Alaminna Alanusse Alaum Aldhambard Alhelkur Alianuko Alimedyl Alkin Alkolda Alluce Almaicar Altros Aléath Amain Amirrínal Ammando Ammar Ammed Ammeldanwë Amyantored Ancer Andena Andilian Anduin Angknis Ansed Apelchang Arbassil Archibatyx Ardemee Arindlexa Arion Aroisl Artaith Artarix Arume Asairie Assaba Astoloïc Atypetia Aulsunding Aurinwë Auruli Avindaym Azibal Bachance Baldë Banimo Batandia Bathienya Beclaquan Beleatch Benthard Berie Beriendar Berrónë Bette Bezbersto Bhann Biringspit Biser Biurari Blaimeron Borithib Bortrië Brean Briel Brielion Brinebhūta Buttab Béatan Calandil Calindes Calnanparn Calow Caper Cariame Carmaito Carstab Carta Cassarum Cassë Castonds Catrunen Ceftean Cendorver Chabaegore Chalkon Chelpe Chlebor Cilië Cirkla Clamba Clancir Clech Cliverk Cloïc Colled Comúron Conelloïc Cordlencë Coritchesl Culuc Cupidi Cyotur Dalinwë Deldame Dilislandi Dillexid Diningalië Diseucali Ditirmë Diéniome Domalin Drenimelp Eavira Eccura Ekalphil Elcassë Elderanin Elducando Elecildë Elesdell Ellam Elmaquenk Emold Eostedros Erial Etestansta Evieu Eärelf Eärron Faitandon Falbeimil Falgakros Falsa Fatrilórë Findar Finym Finyë Flastion Forchrië Forisa Foron Foryath Frabrocing Frefta Fressë Fried Frincimo Fringo Fririsight Fruhir Frégivene Furnia Fusēn Gaétim Gerne Ginwë Giresder Glorien Gloïc Goristh Grago Gredres Grich Gruilmor Gréging Guendmut Guncirès Habhond Hadle Hador Haldemalis Hamen Hanna Hapows Harulucar Heducil Hegar Heierba Hermia Hernaldol Hersteus Hilman Hipettla Holando Horinch Houth Hrimeduind Hrineht Huell Hugus Hurnse Hyaltan Ifrië Iftanditya Inard Inater Inyaf Ipolaranth Irfalë Iters Javing Jeandur Jearved Jeasata Jenderië Jessa Jewantarid Joars Jornaitë Joton Kabrierne Kartritz Kashyarin Khacar Kindórë Korossion Ladeushein Lamar Lamimon Lannue Larcirsed Lauto Lepalacil Leyri Lichidedar Liederindë Liena Lighius Limendech Lindo Linótë Lischae Liveta Livist Loftsch Loregor Lorigie Lundild Lámos Lémimë Lémingrey Lórëa Maddo Malin Malka Manistay Mannai Manta Manwandë Manáris Maran Marangwe Maranya Mardang Maricessir Marimon Maritonich Marnerossë Meler Mests Metterax Miaevinca Miefta Migil Mimilfic Minur Miring Miris Mnace Monzon Moros Morthel Morwend Murégir Mussya Mámantia Mámar Neldahanit Nementë Nemor Nissarp Nolloren Nomúrin Norogmussë Nusard Nárin Návansedel Nísipo Nísisself Oaconel Ocambeche Ohaberns Olaulowen Oldemer Olluriabra Ondolairnë Oraxe Oryannalt Pauro Peard Phair Phanni Phillwë Pholaurman Picama Pieleda Piothilde Plasto Plundia Polline Poondertar Pronar Pulkatuc Pusalë Pyoley Queld Quelpenke Queree Quetwar Rachabrite Rafersted Raincir Ralendie Raminranka Rarbash Ristla Roammut Rollo Ronithie Ropaldo Royalt Rufann Rumata Régoldo Rémedron Rímatjamta Rívidencar Salighoin Samicord Selvine Semnoe Sheid Shlendold Sianwë Sicar Sildre Siryargum Sirzavept Sither Siveger Skatarther Skoria Slaraston Smulinging Smutar Solles Sonds Soyotes Spitë Stedil Stiatar Stisto Stobarar Sufina Sulil Swaricen Tafnië Tanyaroch Tarrómic Tatlas Teavy Tellux Terta Thalle Therta Thius Tiasta Tilda Tingaoe Tirylalike Tornambsul Tumárearë Turekketin Turey Turuffine Turzima Twizagni Túrier Uinyona Ulord Umegi Umenta Umúrike Undeinwë Vaina Valabran Valauff Valim Valië Vamard Vancë Vanpalauli Veastanya Vichembi Viorinnitz Viuse Vornich Wentarand Wesess Westeron Whoonne Whous Wilis Wincale Witaite Woroavest Yarux Yeavamene Yesse Yverboold Yárie Yáropyon Yénitar Zamadike Zandë Zarldoht Zarrívë Zetorn Zwemoss Éliele Éling Émeisallra Érèse Ëandessë Íriata

oh no i also made one oh no i’ve only been a filthy furry for like 20 freakin years

Sildre spent the Tournament of Ages with her new companion and regiment mate, Ameniel Shadowlily. A lovely courtship is blooming there and Sildre is eager to see where it goes.

(( @she-wants-the-d20 ))

BURN PYGMALION!!!

@humannomore​ : “ have you got a clue how long i’ve been pining for you? “ | ft. sildred

silence. for a moment, the druidess says nothing, dark eyes simply surveying the prince standing before her, dark brows knit together in a firm line-- silence, if only because the woman truthfully does not know what to say. what could she say? surely, the prince was a cavalier man, and although there were no true shame in that, she knew the king had been attempting for many years to see the prince rein in his behavior-- however, for as long as she’d known prince sildred, served him and his father--

          she could never say she’d heard him say he pined after someone.

     the prince was charming, charismatic, and well-liked amongst the local populace-- he was rather popular amongst the ladyfolk in particular, which seemed to be something he resolutely enjoyed, if his defiance of his father’s orders were any indication. and... to be certain, she was at the very least aware of the times he would flirt with her, of which she had, she thought, rightfully assumed to be more of his playful nature. it was a teasing, of which he meant nothing more-- how many times had he made jest of her 'emotionless’ nature or serious disposition? too many to count, really.

                    but... pining. pining?

          “...if you wish to continue to mock me, my prince, i could turn you into a frog as you have asked me to before.”

Moonsong [Wandering Stars Pt 1]

Lady Anarah Lummeth brought the panflute to her lips as she walked barefoot through the large entertaining garden of her family's estate. The moon rose in full, visible through the slowly flowering trees that marked the central alcove. The estate was not as large as some; though incredibly old, the Lummeth’s line was not as prosperous as other families. They bartered in wine, magic, and secrets - commodities equally powerful and rare. Yet most of that wealth and power vanished when her dear father turned Felborne and Elisandre fell from grace. Now she fought tooth and nail to regain even a small amount of what had been.

The notes from her panflute turned sour and she took it from her lips. She fought, and fought and fought, because she'd been left the responsibility of the house, by the one person she was sworn to protect. She felt no ill will to her sister for her choice, but Anarah did not feel joy either at her name.

She stepped under the Moon Gate, hand touching the ancient stone in greeting. A long lost relic of their Highborne roots, layers and layers of runic wards had protected the sanctum within for millennia. Her touch flared magic through the stone and allowed her passage. The gate shimmered as her hand slipped from the stone.

Anarah shared almost all of her features with her elder sister, save the runes scarred into Sildre's dark skin, and Anarah's white feline eyes. They were so close in age, they were treated as twins. A paultry five years separated their births. She was the Heir's Protector, her Nightprowler (though -that- title was saved for their lost sister Lyewen) and she would do anything for her sister.

Even becoming the head of the family.

She stepped out from under the small ivy covered path into the sactumn proper. Moonlight lit the small space with an ethereal glow. The sactumn was about thirty feet across and round, barriered by hedges of starlit roses. A fine carpet of moss stretched from side to side, broken only by the white stone statue at the North end of the space. Standing several feet taller than Anarah was a perfect replica of her mother.

In front of the statue was a small altar and plaque. The plaque read

'Blessed be is our Mother Moon,

She who lights the way in the dark.’

Anarah crouched by the altar, lighting a candle at the East and West sides of the altar. The flames flickered and steadied, two beacons of light against the dark. The common story of her mother's death was that of withering. That her father cast her mother out of the fold for not taking the Fel and left her to die. That was the story Sildre had been told.

That was, however, not the whole truth.

She settled between the candles in front of an offering plate. The druidess bit her thumb, drawing blood. She drew a rune on the plate in broad strokes of red. The stone hummed as she finished the sigil of the Lummeth House.

“Blood to blood I call to thee,

Mother Moon, show thyself to me.

Blood to blood I summon thee,

Mother Moon, shine thy light upon me.”

Anarah thrust a dagger into the middle of the sigil, finding home in a hidden slot in the stone. The sigil flared to life, shining bright with moonlight. She stepped back, the moonlight beginning to coalesce in front of the statue. Panflute to her lips, she began to play a soft tune. Magic hung on the notes and the air felt heavy with it. Gathering this much energy in one place was always a risk, but Anarah was not who she was by chance.

The music steadied the magic, brought order to it, and the light solidified into a woman the mirror image of the statue. She was one solid color, except for the dark runes covering her white skin. Like Sildre, she too bore the weight of her magic upon her skin, and like very true Mother Moon before her.

Their mother did not die as the stories suggested. She and every other Matriarch before her became one with the Leylines upon their death. Though, she had not died. Not truly.

“My Crescent Moon…” said her mother, voice echoing and full of power. Anarah bowed deeply.

“Mother Moon, I thank you for gracing me with your presence this eve. I bring---” Power touched her chin, guiding her up until she looked at her mother's glowing face. It unnerved her, the sheer force of power humming against her skin. Her mother had always been a power magistrix, but this was… unheard of. Had she really gained so much power in the few short years she'd been gone? How had Anarah not noticed the other times she'd called upon her mother for guidance?

Her mother had never touched her before, she realized. Never felt the touch and power seeping into her veins and mind.

“My dear Crescent Moon, you need not be so formal. Now… tell me what has happened,” said her mother with a smile that did not quite reach her eyes. Anarah took a small step back, if only to disable the connection between them. Her mind cleared; she hadn't even noticed it was clouded.

“Our Wandering Star has gone dark, my Lady. Moreover the whole of Quel'thalas has gone dark. I cannot scry in, nor find the leylines connecting it to the rest of the world. It is though… it's vanished.

Yet we know that forces moved towards the home of the Sin'dorei, and more still move north via the sea. I fear she and the company she is keeping is in danger.”

Her mother was silent as she spoke, the only indication she was even real being subtle changes in her brow and lips. Once, Anarah could read her mother like a book; now it seemed the Leylines had changed beyond even that.

“... Yes,” said the Mother Moon after a moment, refocusing on Anarah. “I too have lost connection with our Wandering Star. I believe it is time we remind her of her place in the cosmos, Crescent Moon. You are to find her and bring her back into the fold. You have done a commendable job, but you are not the Heir.”

If she'd expected the words to sting, she was mildly surprised. They rolled off of her like water, and Anarah felt a weight lift from her shoulders. Her mother understood that much, at least.

“It is time our Black Moon reclaimed her birthright.”

Power thrummed in the air and Anarah shivered.

“Find her, and if she does not come willingly, make her. By any means necessary,” commanded her mother. A hand of power pressed against her face. Magic poured into her, setting her nerves on fire. It filled her up, up up until she felt like she would burst. She cried out in pain, and her mother let go.

“... I forget how fragile we are as flesh…” said the Mother Moon. She floated back and smiled again, not reaching her eyes. Anarah fell forward, body still humming with power. Stars it felt like she was burning.

“May the Moon guide and protect you, my Crescent Moon.”

Light flashed and Anarah found herself alone in the sanctum. The moon drifted behind the trees and left her in darkness before she could rise off the mossy ground. Her body ached with one purpose.

Find her sister.

Remind her of her duty.

Bring her home.

Harry Potter Og De Vises Stein - Kapittel Seksten

Nye og interessante ord og uttrykk jeg har lært fra dette kapittelet.

~*~

brennsikker (adj) - absolutely certain

å engste seg (v1) - to fret

hørevidde (nm/f) - hearing range

å iaktta (v) - to observe

å karre seg (v1) - to scramble (movement)

knasende (adj) - crunching

å sildre (v1) - to trickle

å sjangle (v1) - to stagger

skrekkslagen (adj) - terrified, horrified

å stålsette seg (v) - to steel oneself

~*~

Hvis jeg har gjort noen feil, vær så snill å fortelle meg!

Griffany by SilDre by Valsalia

A tale of mutton curry & Indian wedding

Latest news – an idiot family from Odisha and their equally idiotic 27-years old son have called off a wedding because there was no mutton served during the wedding. When I read this news, I was thinking – must have been a very poor bridegroom family who can’t afford to buy mutton on their own money and decided to capitalize on the bride family’s expenses of free mutton. Ithuku naalu therule pitchai eduku vendithanne? Should have begged in streets for this. Funnily, the bridegroom quickly got married to another woman before he returned home. I wonder what the other woman offered? Pork curry perhaps?

Unfortunately, this showed us how shallow marriage has been reduced to among Indians that simple mutton curry can become a reason to halt a wedding. I wonder where the so called elders are at this time? Why they never open their filthy mouth and tell the bridegroom off? Why they never preach on the sanctity of marriage, especially arranged marriage that was fixed by so called wise elders? Didn’t the jathagam matched indicate that problem will occur due to mutton curry missing and an asshole mappilai? Nope – because everyone agrees mutton curry missing is a good point to stop a wedding.

Next, does this news sound extremely stupid to you all or not? You don’t see Indian men talking about this because it’s okay for bridegroom to stop the wedding for any dumb reasons. If a bride stops the wedding for a good reason like – I love another man – then it’s a sin. How can you hurt a guy’s feelings over another guy? But it’s okay to hurt a girl’s heart over mutton curry…because as Indians say – namakku soru than mukkiyam (only rice is important).

Well, to girls out there, to marry such guys especially theeni pandaram type – you are better off on your own. To all elders out there, eppadi ungge arranged marriage? Kodi katti parakuthu pole? Oru mutton piece kadaikila’nu marriage vendam sonna sildre pakki family ah irukum pole…

#RAVEN

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Lakes Festival Focus 2019: Comic Artist Joonas Sildre

Lakes Festival Focus 2019: Comic Artist Joonas Sildre

Every year, in the countdown to the Lakes International Comic Art Festival in October, we bring you a series of interviews with guests at the event. This “Festival Focus” for 2019 is with Estonian artist Joonas Sildre. Currently living in Tallinn with his wife and four kids, he studied graphic design at the Estonian Academy of Arts (graduated 2004). Since then, he has been working as a freelance…

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Jeg mistet meg selv litt i prosessen, tankene er ikke like fri. Men jeg tror det kan være et godt tegn. At ikke alt må være regnbue. Jeg er glad, jeg er det, ikke alltid, ikke nå, men stort sett. Husker jeg skrev daglig, uansett følelsesregister. Men jeg har mistet det, for nå hvertfall, ting kan forbedres. Savner ikke den tiden, men savner å skrive følelser ned og kjenne dårlige følelser sildre ut gjennom fingrene mine og ned på tastaturet. Utenom musikk var det vel det som hjalp meg gjennom det kapittelet av et langt liv. Jeg klarte å få ut aggresjon, depresjon, glede og meg selv.. Jeg er ikke sånn nå, men mulig jeg fortjener det litt. Jeg mener, jeg har hatt en lang stund nå med gode dager. Før var det sjeldent, det var aldri. Joda, men det kom delvis, nå er det de tunge periodene som kommer delvis. Ikke en fast styggen på ryggen, men en stein i skoen. Jeg tråkker på den, og merker den hvert 4-5 skritt. Men den ødelegger meg ikke, ikke i korte perioder. Og til slutt blir det vel en vanesak. Ikke at det er det jeg vil, men jeg vet ikke hva jeg vil så da kan det fort bli vanskeligere enn å bare ta av seg skoen.