Non Penis Canina Est

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Non Penis Canina Est
The arcana of the Tarot and the art of Erik Johansson
confess that until this morning unaware of the work of Swedish photographer and graphic artist Erik Johansson .
Seeing some of your images immediately came to mind the great similarity with the arcana, major and minor tarot.
decided then, with a few reproductions of his most interesting work of image manipulation, connecting to a personal exercise them to some Tarot cards.
As always tend to stress, other people can identify these pictures with other symbols with other meanings, and it is this diversity of views, experiences, opinions making Tarot a living thing, no dogma, no right or wrong, without a "monopoly on truth."
Raul better straightened the flowers on the coffin. Mechanical gestures, his look that seemed to see through the wood of the coffin and go through the walls of the room where the funeral was the look of a blind man who sees nothing in front, which, at the mercy one's own luck, searching the darkness a single reference to continue.
The room was filling up with neighbors, classmates of her daughter, relatives, fellow work, all whispering the same that he himself had said so many times and now seem incomprehensible.
her breathing was difficult and painful. The smell of melted wax candles, flowers arranged in wreaths and bouquets, the smell of death that place, it will numb the senses, confusing your thinking .
wife, leaning on his shoulder and cried a silent cry, sense, no motion other than tears.
His wife, his girlfriend, his partner, his girlfriend, the mother of his daughter Camilla, now stuck in that wooden box. There was a complicity that touch desperate, as if the pain of one penetrating the other in search of echo, a cavernous and shared loneliness.
The woman he chose as his partner for life, now there, a colorless figure, convulsed, his eyes bloodshot and pain.
This same pain he felt oppressive and that seemed to kick in waves that memory, in the flashes of memories that Camilla brought back in the hospital nursery. The first bath at home. A funny way to articulate the first words. The party's birthday. The picture with Grandma. Christmas presents around the room. The first visit to the school. Singing with the classmates of class. Learning to ride a bike. The presentation in the school of ballet. The tour of the whole class to the waterfall. Receiving a diploma for having completed any course in computing. With cousins, dressed in Egyptian block of carnival. The infectious laugh. The smile ever.
Someone, maybe your boss at work, perhaps the football friend, hugged him and muttered a hopeful and comforting: "It is a better place, is right. You are better than us. Will not go through all that we still have to suffer. Life goes on, you'll see. "He listened as if I heard the sound of an old disc, scratched by repeating a sentence to death, relieving him of any significance. "You are young, have a wonderful son and you need to create a lot of you. Have other children .... " No, he did not want "other" children. Mariana wanted his daughter, the one that was there in the coffin. Other children are other children, never his daughter. The youngest child, oblivious to everything there was her dear son, of course. But it was not Camilla. He wanted both.
Someone came and, placing her hand on his shoulder, said gravely: "It's time." Felt the legs lost their strength of support. the blood seemed to disappear inside you and a dizziness clouded her vision. A bitter taste has settled in his mouth and got more and more difficult to breathe.
For the first time since police and the school principal came to warn them of the "accident fatal "that Mariana had suffered, he heard the woman's voice, a voice, softly mingled wail and the name of the daughter, a single sound and distressed.
He looked back and saw the mother holding the youngest in her arms who was playing, oblivious to everything, drawing the air with his fingers.
For a moment he believed he had already lived time, in another time in another location and tried to look his old mother. She also noted that, through tearful eyes, seemed to recall something, as the time it took to bury the deceased husband. It seemed to make so long! He, child, short pants, scared, the room filled with candles and the smell of dying flowers, seeing relatives embrace your brothers, one by one, and when they came to him repeating: "Now you're the head of household. Must be strong. Need to have courage and help his mother raise his siblings. " The father's coffin being sealed. Uncles carrying it. The candles being erased. The crowns of flowers piled in a corner. My God, how long?
touched the handle of the coffin feeling the cold metal. He breathed deeply as if seeking a courage that seemed have been lost forever. The wife grabbed his arm. It was no longer the girlfriend who was leaning on him with a look of passion and promise, but his counterpart, his partner in that misfortune. There was the fire of affection that personal touch, but a desperate cry for help. He looked forward, as they walked, and life seemed a film by botched a crazy editor: pictures of him a boy, his father, his mother crying, the first kiss on the first girlfriend, the sleepless nights caring for the child with fever, the birth of son, Camila laughing when he fell, trying to teach him to skate, his voice neutral, professional police telling him of stray bullet that had hit his daughter, the desperation of the woman falling in slow motion to the floor, crying in the bedroom of the youngest, a woman widowed mother ... ... the son ... daughter ...
looked at the city, the window of the car that took them back home. The streets, people, trees, the lights of traffic lights, everything looked so similar and so different at the same time. I could not quite understanding what seemed strange. Still felt as if anesthetized, where all sensations are reduced to nothing, less pain. He looked back and saw the dead woman with her son lap. His gaze wandered well as in a blinding white as the hands mechanically caressing the child. They knew that now, at home, had to deal with the absence of the girl. Camila no longer be there, studying at the dining table, dancing in front of the TV, chatting with friends on the phone, coming to kiss them before bedtime.
Weeks turned into months and months, years.
The youngest son had started going to school and drew the first letters. When returning from the factory met his wife telling him of the adventures of the boy and laughed together. Sometimes comparing him some attitude with Camilla. Then reminded of some funny episode and laughed a little, laugh a wistful and resigned. Life seem to have lingered longer be worth living, but the time, his wife and son made the void was being filled with other emotions, other perspectives and hopes.
He looked at his wife while she arranged the dinner table and was reviewing the beautiful girlfriend. Had gone through the pain together. Matured their love through loss experienced in communion. They met more suffering. Cried the pain of others. Took care of their own doctoring the wounds of others. The youngest son was there, present, needing them. It was not a substitute for the dead daughter. It was one of them, with their own life and that held out the same promise to give continuity to the children.
The Suit of Cups represents, psychologically, the feelings and the water element. Your cards, tarot, usually represent, beauty, joy, accomplishment emotional and creative satisfaction. However, like all the Tarot cards, they, when evil aspects (inverted, in "houses" that pose obstacles, problems, difficulties, negatives, etc., the "shadow" side of the symbol) represent the disappointments, sorrows, disappointments, frustrations, indulgences, addictions, frequent mood swings.

What are some funny pig Latin phrases?
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I can remember only these silly “rhymes", which our Latin high school graduates delivered over to the school’s young entrants:
Lingua Latina non est penis canina! (meaning “Latin language is not a dog's penis!”)…
And we were then those young entrants who couldn't understand the gist of the phrase BEFORE the course would have begun…
And the gist was (and still is) as follows:
Dear young students, be it known to you that learning a noble Latin language is really very serious and important mission, and not at all just beer and skittles! Period.
Luckily the Romans had plenty of ways to express obligation. I am only giving the plural forms as the phrase is an open invitation to many, not one person.
venite (ut) discatis; ite (ut) serviatis.
Come so you may learn ; go so you may serve. The ut is optional, as in venite adoremus (o come let us adore him) from the Christmas song Adeste Fideles.
venite ad discendendum; ite ad serviendum.
This clunky looking phrase is fairly faithful to the original. Come for learning, go for serving.
The singular versions of the above are:
veni ad discendendum; i ad serviendum.
Luckily the Romans had plenty of ways to express obligation. I am only giving the plural forms as the phrase is an open invitation to many, not one person.
venite (ut) discatis; ite (ut) serviatis.
Come so you may learn ; go so you may serve. The ut is optional, as in venite adoremus (o come let us adore him) from the Christmas song Adeste Fideles.
venite ad discendendum; ite ad serviendum.
This clunky looking phrase is fairly faithful to the original. Come for learning, go for serving.
The singular versions of the above are:
veni ad discendendum; i ad serviendum.
Hope that helps, and think before you ink!



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