The armistice was signed this morning.
Italy Delectation delicatessen been too long the great second-hand market. We want to get rid of the innumerable museums which cover it with innumerable cemeteries. To admire an old picture is to pour our sensibility into a funeral urn instead of casting it forward with violent spurts of creation and action.
Do you want to waste the best part of your strength in a useless admiration of the past, from which you will emerge exhausted, diminished, trampled on?
It is no longer an immense archive of Delectation delicatessen and superior achievement that presses down on an unworthy present. We no longer need to unburden ourselves of the knowledge that nothing we will ever do will ever compare to anything in the countless multitudes of past perfections.
Historians no longer have a monopoly on our history, they cannot continue to tell us where we come from, who we were and therefore what we are.
They are not the guardians of a one and only unitary truth, or of sterile debates about fine distinctions in polite disagreements. They have lost their gatekeeper status, they were caught unawares, asleep on the job, their chickens have flown the coop.
Their libraries and primary sources and secondary sources and boxes of Delectation delicatessen, and opinions and finely framed debates have escaped, they have dispersed on the wind for any of us to catch.
The old wise men are just old men now that anyone can share what they had always before kept locked up for themselves. Like the shrivelled and tiny Wizard of Oz behind his screen and the magician without his secrets, they are revealed to be the terrified little humans that they are once stripped of their magical hoard.
History is not in Museums any more either. The carefully crafted didactic order, the geographic hierarchies, the chronological sequencing, the derisory narrative summaries, it is all over. It has all run into the streets.
It has all escaped into the ether, onto the internet, for our delectation, for our use, for our own ideas and madcap creations, it has run away from the convent and is discovering the joys of the world. History is a lithe, liberated, vivacious young woman who is free to mingle with whomever she so wishes, is free to sleep with whoever tickles her fancy.
She is lush and fertile and whimsical and serious and silly and capricious and profound and in turns she pirouettes between wanting to go to the Opera House, the Gallery and the Library, and other times the fetish club, the protest and the beach.
History belongs to us. We can cut it up and put it back together in whatever manner we choose. It is our gift, it is our head start, it is what makes us uniquely twenty first century human, it means we do not need to begin each time from scratch, it means we have material with which to build our future.
History is our quarry. History is an ancient monument on our doorstep that is ripe for plunder. It is our Colosseum from which we get bricks and blocks and metal to put together our own churches. Every stone we remove sows the seed for three more in its place.
Our acts of creation with the stuff of the past transforms the whole of history. We keep it alive. We keep it growing. We save it from the Historians and the Museums. It is us who make sure that the most obscure medieval painter is as much a part of our lives as the latest dancing puppy video.
The past is out. The bible has been translated, published and distributed and we can all interpret it however we like.
The priests be damned. The past is now, and it is ours. Each successive generation hosts its own debate with its own set of positions expounded throughout the period in texts, works, academic positions and public commissions. There are always the progressives and the reactionaries.
Or as some would rather say there are the philistines and the civilised. Or perhaps it is always just a divide between those who are eager for dramatic change and those who favour continuity.
A consensus of sorts is normally achieved, a status quo, an equilibrium of mutual disagreements in which either party agrees to look the other way so long as any territory they have staked out is not infringed upon, clients are not stolen, sectors not entered into.
Things can however sometimes get a bit vicious. Occasionally civility and decorum break down, descending into petty recriminations, and a truce needs to be enforced. It was more a playground turf war dressed up as academic debate, a mud-slinging affair in which both sides repeatedly accused each other of being the perfect embodiments of everything they considered wrong with society at large.
The whole drama was perhaps quite so nasty because the camps happened to be much closer to each other than had any previously arguing oppositional pair.
The proximity made them mad.A shop where delicatessen is sold. Notes: Although this word started out as a German plural noun, it has become an English singular noun; the plural is ashio-midori.com once was a word, still usable, I presume, delicatesse, an alternative for delicacy, but it has its own plural, delicatesses, as though unrelated to delicatessen.
Delectation Delicatessen Topics: Linear programming formulation, product-mix. Difficulty: Low Delectation Delicatessen is the best take-out sandwich shop in the neighborhood, and business is booming. скачать degenerate degenerative degradation degrade degrading degree dehumanize dehydrate deify deism deity deja vu dejected Delaware delay delayed-action.
Browse the English words and expressions that start with letter D. Page 4. Total Number of words Starting with D and ending in N found = Below are Total words Starting with D (Prefix) and ending with N (Suffix) found after searching through all the words in english.
Delectation Delicatessen Topics: Linear programming formulation, product-mix.
Difficulty: Low Delectation Delicatessen is the best take-out sandwich shop in the neighborhood, and business is booming.