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Dragons of Thuban To Ban The Falseness


    Salome

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    Allisiam

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    Salome

    Post  Allisiam on Tue Dec 14, 2010 3:36 am




    Dijkstra writes of the obsession with the figure of Salome as a bloodthirsty virgin. “In the turn-of-the-century imagination, the figure of Salome epitomized the inherent perversity of women: their eternal circularity and their ability to destroy the male’s soul even while they remained nominally chaste in body” (Dijkstra 384). He then eloquently explicates the fin de siècle rhetoric of virginity as related to the femme fatale.
    virginity is the worst form of feminine whoredom, because in her virginity woman maintains her self-sufficiency, and hence her power to Ôdecapitate’ the male by making him wait in impotent longing for her compliance to his wishes. Then, when he loses patience, she, in effect, perversely Ôforces’ him to rape her, to Ôslay’ her in order to regain his masculinity (Dijkstra 385).
    In the same vein, the French poet and critic Stephane Mallarme spent his entire lifetime writing the poem entitled “Herodiade” in which he explores the theme of Salome as a virgin whore. In Salome’s voice, Mallarme writes (in Dijkstra 385),




    I love the horror of virginity,
    The dread my tresses give me when I lie
    Retired at night, reptilian on my couch,
    My useless flesh inviolate to the touch,
    Feeling cold sparks from your lucidity,
    You who die, you who burn with chastity,
    White night of icicles and cruel snow!
    And your solitary sister, 0 mine forever now,
    My dream shall rise toward you: already such,
    Rare clarity of a heart desiring it so much,
    I am alone in my monotonous country,
    While all those around me live in the idolatry
    Of a mirror reflecting in its depths serene
    Herodiade, whose gaze is diamond keen ...
    O final enchantment! yes, I sense it, I am alone.

    The Herodiade:
    http://faculty.ncf.edu/hassold/FinDeSiecle/mallarme_herodiade.htm



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    Allisiam

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    Dance of the 7 Veils

    Post  Allisiam on Tue Dec 14, 2010 3:39 am

    Dance Of The Seven Veils






    Salome Dancing For Herod

    If I was in the great hall
    Of the palace
    Watching Salome dancing
    For Herod
    I too would marvel
    At movements
    So erotic and executed
    With animal precision


    Her heaving breasts
    Swaying pelvis
    The white waves of her skin
    Moving in soft undulations
    Across her abdomen
    And I smile knowing
    That the king and I
    Are both drunk with dance

    And the beat of the music
    The rhythmic flashing
    Of bare thighs
    Naked belly
    Awaken the pagan in me
    Who knows that lust is to love
    What poetry is to prose
    A sensual awakening of sight and smell
    And sound and taste

    And I would swear too
    At that moment that the bounce
    In each breast
    Was worth the heads
    Of a hundred prophets
    And is more moving to me
    Than the words
    Of all the holy men in Judea
    http://www.artvilla.com/p1five.htm
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    Allisiam

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    Salome ( U2 )

    Post  Allisiam on Tue Dec 14, 2010 3:45 am

    Salome




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    Allisiam

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    Herodiade by Stephane Mallarme

    Post  Allisiam on Tue Dec 14, 2010 3:53 am



    I. ANCIENT OVERTURE OF HERODIADE


    THE NURSE


    (Incantation)

    Abolished, and her frightful wing in the tears
    Of the basin, abolished, that mirrors forth our fears,
    The naked golds lashing the crimson space,
    An Aurora�heraldic plumage�has chosen to embrace
    Our cinerary tower of sacrifice,
    Heavy tomb that a songbird has fled, lone caprice
    Of a dawn vainly decked out in ebony plumes...
    Ah, mansion this sad, fallen country assumes!
    No splashing! the gloomy water, standing still,
    No longer visited by snowy quill
    Or fabled swan, reflects the bereaving
    Of autumn extinguished by its own unleaving,
    Of the swan when amidst the cold white tomb
    Of its feathers, it buried its head, undone
    By the pure diamond of a star, but one
    Of long ago, which never even shone.

    Crime! torture! ancient dawn! bright pyre! Empurpled sky, complicit in the mire, And stained-glass windows opening red on carnage.

    The strange chamber, framed in all the baggage Of a warlike age, its goldwork dull and faint, Has yesteryear's snows instead of its ancient tint;

    And its pearl-gray tapestry, useless creases
    With the buried eyes of prophetesses
    Offering Magi withered fingers. One,
    With floral past enwoven on my gown
    Bleached in an ivory chest and with a sky
    Bestrewn with birds amidst the embroidery
    Of tarnished silver, seems a phantom risen,
    An aroma, roses, rising from the hidden
    Couch, now void, the snuffed-out candle shrouds,
    An aroma, over the sachet, of frozen golds,
    A drift of flowers unfaithful to the moon
    (Though the taper's quenched, petals still fall from one),
    Flowers whose long regrets and stems appear
    Drenched in a lonely vase to languish there...
    An Aurora dragged her wings in the basin's tears!

    Magical shadow with symbolic powers!
    A voice from the distant past, an evocation,
    Is it not mine prepared for incantation?
    In the yellow folds of thought, still unexhumed,
    Lingering, and like an antique cloth perfumed,
    Spread on a pile of monstrances grown cold,
    Through ancient hollows and through stiffened folds
    Pierced in the rhythm of the pure lace shroud
    Through which the old veiled brightness is allowed
    To mount, in desperation, shall arise
    (But oh, the distance hidden in those cries!)
    The old veiled brightness of a strange gilt-silver,
    Of the languishing voice, estranged and unfamiliar:
    Will it scatter its gold in an ultimate splendor,
    And, in the hour of its agony, render
    Itself as the anthem for psalms of petition?
    For all are alike in being brought to perdition
    By the power of old silence and deepening gloom,
    Fated, monotonous, vanquished, undone,
    Like the sluggish waters of an ancient pond.



    Sometimes she sang an incoherent song. Lamentable sign!

    *
    the bed of vellum sheets,

    Useless and closed�not linen!�vainly waits,
    Bereft now of the cherished grammary
    That spelled the figured folds of reverie
    The silken tent that harbored memory,
    The fragrance of sleeping hair. Were these its treasure?
    Cold child, she held within her subtle pleasure,
    Shivering with flowers in her walks at dawn,
    Or when the pomegranate's flesh is torn
    By wicked night! Alone, the crescent moon
    On the iron clockface is a pendulum
    Suspending Lucifer: the clepsydra pours
    Dark drops in grief upon the stricken hours
    As, wounded, each one wanders a dim shade
    On undeciphered paths without a guide!
    All this the king knows not, whose salary
    Has fed so long this aged breast now dry.
    Her father knows it no more than the cruel
    Glacier mirroring his arms of steel,
    When sprawled on a pile of corpses without coffins
    Smelling obscurely of resin, he deafens
    With dark silver trumpets the ancient pines!
    Will he ever come back from the Cisalpines?
    Soon enough! for all is bad dream and foreboding!
    On the fingernail raised in the stained glass, according
    To the memory of the trumpets, the old sky burns,
    And to an envious candle it turns
    A finger. And soon, when the sad sun sinks,
    It shall pierce through the body of wax till it shrinks!
    No sunset, but the red awakening
    Of the last day concluding everything
    Struggles so sadly that time disappears,
    The redness of apocalypse, whose tears
    Fall on the child, exiled to her own proud
    Heart, as the swan makes its plumage a shroud



    For its eyes, the old swan, and is carried away
    From the plumage of grief to the eternal highway
    Of its hopes, where it looks on the diamonds divine
    Of a moribund star, which never more shall shine!



    NURSE



    Are you a living princess or her shadow?
    Let me kiss your fingers and their rings, and bid you
    Walk no longer in an unknown age...
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    Allisiam

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    Herodiade ( Cont..)

    Post  Allisiam on Tue Dec 14, 2010 4:04 am


    HERODIADE


    Forbear.

    The blond torrent of immaculate hair
    Bathing my lonely body, freezes it
    With horror, and my tresses laced with light
    Are deathless. A kiss would kill me, woman,
    If beauty were not death...






    By what attraction

    Am I drawn, what morn forgotten by the prophets
    That pours on the dying distance its sad rites?
    How should I know? You've seen me, nurse of winter,
    In a massive stone and iron prison enter
    Where the savage era of my lions clings:
    In the desert perfume of those ancient kings,
    I pondered doom, my hands inviolate:
    But have you seen the things that caused my fright?
    Dreaming of banishment, I stop and peel,
    As if beside a fountain's welcoming pool,
    Petals within myself of lilies pale:
    The fascinated lions watch the pile
    Of fragments floating through my reverie,
    And gaze on feet that would have calmed the sea
    When they have swept aside my indolent dress.
    Then calm the shuddering of your senile flesh,
    And come, because my tresses now resemble
    The manes of savage beasts that make you tremble:

    Help me to comb these plaits you dare not see, Languid before a mirror listlessly.





    NURSE


    If not gay myrrh the phial's glass encloses, Then ravished essences of withered roses:
    Will you not sample their funereal charm?

    HERODIADE

    Away with those perfumes that do me harm!
    I hate them, nurse, and would you have me feel
    Their drunken vapors make my senses reel?
    I want my tresses, since they are not flowers
    Pouring oblivion on human sorrows,
    But gold, forever pure of aromatics
    In their dull pallor or their cruel prismatics,
    To keep the cold sterility of metal,
    Reflecting the jewels of my walls ancestral,
    The armored halls of childhood's sad domain.



    NURSE


    Age had erased your prohibition, queen, From my dull brain, as from a faded book. Pardon...

    HERODIADE

    Hush! Hold this glass that I may look.
    Mirror, cold water frozen in your frame
    Through ennui, how many times I came,
    Desolate from dreams and seeking memories
    Like leaves beneath your chill profundities,
    A far-off shadow to appear in you:
    But, oh! Some evenings in your austere pool,

    Nurse, am I fair?


    NURSE N.
    Mais, horreur! des soirs, dans ta savare fontaine, J'ai de mon rave epars connu la nudite!


    A star, in truthfulness; But this tress falls .






    HERODIADE

    Cease and desist from your crime
    Which chills my blood unto its source, and tame
    That infamous gesture, impious and lewd:
    What demon instills you with this sinister mood?
    These kisses and offerings of perfume and
    �Shall I say it, 0 heart?�this still profaned hand,
    For you wanted to touch me�are signs of an hour
    That shall not conclude without suffering on the tower...
    O hour that Herodiade looks on with dread!


    NURSE

    Heaven defend you! These are strange times, indeed.
    A solitary shade or new fury, you wander,
    Gazing at yourself, precocious in terror,
    But always as adorable as any immortal,
    So beautiful, my child, in your beauty so dreadful
    That...



    HERODIADE

    Were you not going to touch me?

    NURSE

    ....I'd wilingly serve

    The one for whom fate has chosen to reserve Your secrets.

    HERODIADE

    Be silent!


    NURSE

    Will he come?

    HERODIADE

    O, you pure
    Stars, do not listen!

    NURSE

    How, save through obscure



    Terrors, imagine more implacable still
    And as a suppliant the god who some day will
    Receive the gift of your grace! and for whom,
    Devoured by anguish, do you keep the unknown
    Splendor and mystery of your being?

    HERODIADE

    For none
    But myself.

    NURSE

    Sad flower that grows all alone And, seeing its shadow reflected in a pool,
    feels nothing but anomie.

    HERODIADE

    Go, spare me your pity as well as your irony.

    NURSE

    Still, tell me ... ah! no, some day it will wane, Child that you are, this triumphant disdain.

    HERODIADE

    But who would dare touch one the lions left alone?
    I want nothing human; and if, some day, a stone
    Statue you find me, my eyes lost in bliss,
    It's when I remember the milk of your breasts.


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    Didymos

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    Re: Salome

    Post  Didymos on Thu Dec 16, 2010 9:26 am

    Salome of the Peace of the Shalom

    Herodias is married to Philip (Herod Philip I), halfbrother of Antipas (and Herod Archelaus, brother of Herod Antipas) and leaves Philip for Antipas with her daughter Salome, also often said to have been the 'lover' of Philip, as say her stepfather.

    Salome later married another halfbrother in Philip the Tetrarch (Herod Philip II) from the multitudinous offspring of 'Herod the Great' (married to five wives: Doris; Mariamne I; Mariamne II, mother of Philip I; Malthace, mother of Archelaus and Antipas and Cleopatra of Jerusalem, mother of Philip II).

    John the Baptizer openly critisizes and publically 'shames' Herodias in her new alliance to Antipas and so causes Herodias to search for a way to silence him.

    Salome the Younger is enticed by Herodias to seduce Antipas in a similar manner as implied in Salome's relationship to Philip to take revenge on John the Baptizer.

    Salome the Elder is the wife of Zebedee and so Mother to the 'Sons of Thunder' the 'Twins of the Boarnerges' in James and John, halfbrothers to Jesus of Nazareth and because Salome the Elder is the sister of Mary, wife of Joseph of Jacob/Heli.

    Salome the Elder becomes a 'disciple' of the Logos with Mary Magdalene and the female circle of 12 mirroring the 12 apostles.

    A later incarnation then will create harmony in the Peace of the SHALOM of SALOME in revisiting the Herodias-Mother Salome the Younger and Salome the Elder relationships via the 'Thunderbirds of the Nativity'.

    The Exchanger will become the two Salomes in One with Herodias incarnate as the Exchanger's Mother.
    A historical playground will thus become engaged to become harmonized and exchanged in a repeat scenario to process the older carried 'karma' and unfulfilled premises.

    Tonyblue
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    Didymos

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    Re: Salome

    Post  Didymos on Sat Aug 20, 2011 9:02 am



    THE13THBRIDGE and Tonyblue on August 19th/20th, 2011:





    [12:10:19 PM] THE13THBRIDGE: this is neat http://primaxstudio.com/stuff/scale_of_universe/

    [1:03:04 PM] THE13THBRIDGE: this guy is a good speaker http://media.voe.org/2240895

    [5:12:26 PM] Tonyblue: [5:12:26 PM] Tonyblue: yes this first link is ok susan

    [5:13:46 PM] Tonyblue: But take Perry Stone with care

    [5:14:01 PM] Tonyblue: its biblebashing and NOT good gnosis

    [5:15:43 PM] Tonyblue: he does NOT understand Revelation nor Daniel in their deeper essences; although in their overall emphasis I agree with his conclusions



     



    Nevertheless, I agree he speaks well and he has put he 'scriptural references' well together indeed. All he says is actually rather pertinent to the Logos timeline and relevant to the Thuban Data - if translated and decoded in an appropriate cosmogony as an ontology of the cosmological logistics, contingencies and overall reason and purpose.



    And the forum readers might be very capable to 'discern' what this 'Hidden Church' and the 'Undesirable Nation' are; Perry Stone and the 'evangelists' in general refer to as 'their own particular brand' of 'God's Chosen Witnesses, peoples and family'.



     





     



     



    http://media.voe.org/2240895



     



    This typical evangelistic proselytizing uses valid encoded scriptural references in 'bible bashing' mode and is here given as an example of how the 'validity' of the encodings in the 'old scrolls' has become a 'put-off' for the majority of the skeptical observers. This 'miscommunication' between 'believers' and 'atheists' and skeptics so allows the required polarisation between 'opinions' and dogmatic translations of the same archetypology and symbology to attain its maximum potential for actual 'change' to become possible.



    Tonyblue



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    SERAFiNA

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    Re: Salome

    Post  SERAFiNA on Sat Aug 20, 2011 3:03 pm

    thanks Tony,
    serafina / susan - The eXchanger

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