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To była godzina 19 na Bittersweet. Czasami lepiej oszacować czy warto aż tak dokręcać liczbę biletów. Jest po prostu tragedia, godzinowe kolejki, nie da się przechodzić, 30 minut w kolejce do WC. Nie da się przechodzić między scenami. Festiwal stania w kolejce. https://t.co/41Y38xhNyx #festiwal #kolejki #Bittersweet

Αν ήθελα να δώσω έναν τίτλο στην #Οδύσσεια του Νόλαν θα ήταν "Η Άλωση της Ιθάκης"... Φανταστείτε έναν αρχαίο, εύφορο και ιερό κήπο. Για χιλιάδες χρόνια, οι άνθρωποι τον φρόντιζαν, έπιναν από το καθαρό νερό των πηγών του και έτρεφαν το πνεύμα τους με τους καρπούς του. Αυτός ο κήπος είναι η Οδύσσεια του Ομήρου. Ένας τόπος γεμάτος μέτρο, βαθιά φιλοσοφία, νόστο και την αυθεντική ψυχή του ελληνικού πολιτισμού. Ξαφνικά, στα σύνορα του κήπου εμφανίζεται ένας ξένος, πανίσχυρος κατακτητής. Έρχεται από μια μακρινή, λαμπερή αλλά πνευματικά στείρα αυτοκρατορία: το Χόλιγουντ. Αρχηγός του είναι ένας ικανός αλλά αλαζόνας στρατηγός, ο Κρίστοφερ Νόλαν. Ο ξένος αυτός πολιτισμός δεν ενδιαφέρεται να καταλάβει τη σοφία του κήπου. Θέλει απλώς να τον καταστήσει αποικία του και να τον φέρει στα δικά του, σύγχρονα μέτρα.Ο στρατηγός μπαίνει μέσα και αρχίζει το "έργο" του, παραμορφώνοντας τις πιο εμβληματικές μορφές του τόπου για να εξυπηρετήσει τη δική του ατζέντα. Παίρνει τη θεά Αθηνά, το σύμβολο της θεϊκής σοφίας, της στρατηγικής και του μέτρου, και τη μετατρέπει σε αερικό πίσω από μια ποπ φιγούρα της δυτικής κουλτούρας. Παίρνει την Ωραία Ελένη, την απόλυτη, μυθική προσωποποίηση της ομορφιάς που κίνησε χίλια καράβια, και την αποκόπτει εντελώς από τις ιστορικές και πολιτισμικές της ρίζες. Και σαν να μην έφτανε αυτό, εισάγει στον μύθο τον ρόλο του Σίμωνα, αυτού του μικροσκοπικού νανοπλάσματος που μοιάζει εντελώς ξένο με το ομηρικό σύμπαν, τοποθετημένο εκεί μόνο για να προκαλέσει εντύπωση και να γεμίσει τα πλάνα... Αυτός ο ξένος πολιτισμός αφαιρεί την ψυχή και την ταυτότητα του μύθου, κρατώντας μόνο τα ονόματα ως ένα γυαλιστερό περιτύλιγμα για να εντυπωσιάσει τις μάζες. Η ταινία του Νόλαν παρουσιάζεται σήμερα στο κοινό σαν ένα μεγαλοπρεπές "δώρο", μια εντυπωσιακή, τεχνολογικά άρτια υπερπαραγωγή σε οθόνες IMAX που υπόσχεται να τιμήσει το αρχαίο έπος. Όμως, όπως ακριβώς οι Τρώες άνοιξαν τις πύλες τους για να δεχτούν το ξύλινο άλογο, έτσι και οι θεατές υποδέχονται την ταινία με ενθουσιασμό. Στην πραγματικότητα, η "Οδύσσεια" του Νόλαν είναι ένας σύγχρονος Δούρειος Ίππος: μια κατασκευή που κρύβει μέσα της την ολική παραμόρφωση και την άλωση του ελληνικού πολιτισμού. Όταν τα φώτα της δημοσιότητας σβήσουν, το μόνο που απομένει είναι η λεηλασία της αυθεντικής ομηρικής ταυτότητας, αντικατεστημένης από τη δυτική, εμπορική κουλτούρα... -------------------------- If I had to give a title to Christopher Nolan’s #Odyssey, it would be "The Sacking of Ithaca"... Imagine an ancient, fertile, and sacred garden. For thousands of years, people tended to it, drank from its pure springs, and nourished their minds with its fruits. This garden is Homer’s Odyssey, a place defined by balance, deep philosophy, the bittersweet ache of nostos (the longing for home), and the authentic soul of Greek culture. Suddenly, a powerful foreign conqueror appears at the gates of this garden. He arrives from a distant, glittering, yet spiritually hollow empire: Hollywood. At the helm is a highly skilled yet arrogant general, Christopher Nolan. This foreign civilization has no interest in understanding the wisdom of the garden. They simply want to colonize it and reshape it according to their own modern standards. The general marches in and begins his "work," distorting the land's most iconic figures to serve his own agenda. He takes Athena, the very symbol of divine wisdom, strategy, and restraint, and turns her into an ethereal being behind a pop-culture figure of Western media. He takes Helen of Troy, the ultimate, mythical personification of a beauty that launched a thousand ships, and completely detaches her from her historical and cultural roots. And as if that were not enough, he forces the character of Simon into the myth, that tiny nano-creature who feels completely alien to the Homeric universe, placed there merely to shock the audience and fill the frame. This foreign civilization strips away the soul and identity of the myth, keeping nothing but the names as a glossy wrapping paper to impress the masses. Today, Nolan’s film presents itself to the audience as a grand "gift", a visually spectacular, technologically flawless blockbuster in IMAX theaters that promises to honor the ancient epic. Yet, just as the Trojans threw open their gates to welcome the wooden horse, audiences today welcome this film with excitement. In reality, Nolan’s Odyssey is a modern-day Trojan Horse: a construct that hides within it the total distortion and conquest of Greek culture. Once the spotlight fades, all that remains is the pillage of the authentic Homeric identity, replaced by a commercialized Western culture! #Οδύσσεια #Νόλαν #ΕλληνικόςΠολιτισμός

The article reflects on the profound and bittersweet exploration of humanity in Saadat Hasan Manto's literature, portraying his unrequited love for mankind amidst the backdrop of societal decay, showcasing his ability to capture the complexities of human emotions through over 250 stories, plays, and character sketches that critique moral boundaries and highlight the shared humanity often overlooked in marginalized individuals. #Literature #UnrequitedLove #Humanity #IN #PK

Chantelle, the widow of former footballer Joe Thompson, is pregnant with a baby boy after undergoing IVF, which she described as "bittersweet but beautiful news," and reflects on their shared dreams of a larger family amid her grief following Joe's death from cancer last year. #CancerAwareness #IVFJourney #FamilyLegacy #GB

Chantelle, the widow of former footballer Joe Thompson, who passed away from cancer, is now pregnant with his child following a successful IVF round, which she describes as "bittersweet but beautiful news," as they had planned for a larger family before his death. #CancerAwareness #FamilyLegacy #IVFJourney #GB #US

Three years after the Titan submarine disaster, the unresolved grief of the loved ones of those who perished continues to haunt them, underscored by the painful reality of the recovery process, which yielded only vague remains after an arduous search nearly four thousand meters deep, and a mother's bittersweet reflection on her last-minute decision to let her son accompany his father on the doomed voyage. #TitanTragedy #DeepSeaExploration #LossAndRecovery #CA #GB

Parting Ways (The Day The Music Died) The last note still ringing in his ears, the night’s events still swirling around in his head, he walks out of the door into the warm evening air.  The entire atmosphere is one of joyous sadness.  Emotions course through the air, giving it some sort of charge.  The next morning shall be the last exchange of the drink of the fruit of passion, and yet the solemn first for him.  Later tomorrow he knows, they all know, that they must part ways.  They must all leave their oasis of comfort and security to dive again into the vast sea of reality, of conformity.  Yet still they cherish it, hold on to it.  Even in the last moments of such a magical night, they open their minds, their hearts, open their souls to each other and learn to love that which is there in what others have exposed.  The chants of “…MORE, MORE, MORE, MORE” truly resound in not only everyone’s thoughts but in their utmost desires.   Late that night, lying in that same old bed for the last time, gazing up at the concrete ceiling.  Finally, his thoughts allowed to sit and slowly filter out.  Shock, insubordinate yet knowingly unjust anger.  A few muttered words from the other side of the room, a brief agreement of opinions. Then silence.  The hazy recollection of events over the past three weeks, the bittersweet insanity which so marked each and every day.  The mistakes made, the friendships formed, the battles lost and won.  And as all of this starts to settle down into a gentle murmur, he drifts off into sleep. The next morning, torn from the warm embrace of his frail sheets, down to the circle, sips from the glass, toasts to a fallen comrade.  Soon enough the group all progressed to go through their daily routines one final time.  They returned to what they knew was the inevitable. They were there, it was time to be rounded up and brought back to their respective lives.  Tears were shed, last goodbyes, every single one of them joined as one united being, as one entity separate from their single selves.  Each and every one of them will never leave the spot they were when they knew it was time they had to leave.  Those who knew they could never return let fall the rains of their misery.  Their true love for something so intangible yet so true and so real ripped apart their true selves and lovingly joined their true selves back together in an instant. But, as inevitabilities go, by midday it was empty and silent.  Once could almost feel on the air all that had occurred there so few hours ago.  That evening, He finally lay in bed before sleep.  All were dispersed from that place they cherished so dear, back in the true world but thinking of naught but what they had left behind. And all at once, without warning, from places near and far came the sound of 300 voices:  “This will be the day that I die…”

Parting Ways (The Day The Music Died) The last note still ringing in his ears, the night’s events still swirling around in his head, he walks out of the door into the warm evening air.  The entire atmosphere is one of joyous sadness.  Emotions course through the air, giving it some sort of charge.  The next morning shall be the last exchange of the drink of the fruit of passion, and yet the solemn first for him.  Later tomorrow he knows, they all know, that they must part ways.  They must all leave their oasis of comfort and security to dive again into the vast sea of reality, of conformity.  Yet still they cherish it, hold on to it.  Even in the last moments of such a magical night, they open their minds, their hearts, open their souls to each other and learn to love that which is there in what others have exposed.  The chants of “…MORE, MORE, MORE, MORE” truly resound in not only everyone’s thoughts but in their utmost desires.   Late that night, lying in that same old bed for the last time, gazing up at the concrete ceiling.  Finally, his thoughts allowed to sit and slowly filter out.  Shock, insubordinate yet knowingly unjust anger.  A few muttered words from the other side of the room, a brief agreement of opinions. Then silence.  The hazy recollection of events over the past three weeks, the bittersweet insanity which so marked each and every day.  The mistakes made, the friendships formed, the battles lost and won.  And as all of this starts to settle down into a gentle murmur, he drifts off into sleep. The next morning, torn from the warm embrace of his frail sheets, down to the circle, sips from the glass, toasts to a fallen comrade.  Soon enough the group all progressed to go through their daily routines one final time.  They returned to what they knew was the inevitable. They were there, it was time to be rounded up and brought back to their respective lives.  Tears were shed, last goodbyes, every single one of them joined as one united being, as one entity separate from their single selves.  Each and every one of them will never leave the spot they were when they knew it was time they had to leave.  Those who knew they could never return let fall the rains of their misery.  Their true love for something so intangible yet so true and so real ripped apart their true selves and lovingly joined their true selves back together in an instant. But, as inevitabilities go, by midday it was empty and silent.  Once could almost feel on the air all that had occurred there so few hours ago.  That evening, He finally lay in bed before sleep.  All were dispersed from that place they cherished so dear, back in the true world but thinking of naught but what they had left behind. And all at once, without warning, from places near and far came the sound of 300 voices:  “This will be the day that I die…”

Parting Ways (The Day The Music Died) The last note still ringing in his ears, the night’s events still swirling around in his head, he walks out of the door into the warm evening air.  The entire atmosphere is one of joyous sadness.  Emotions course through the air, giving it some sort of charge.  The next morning shall be the last exchange of the drink of the fruit of passion, and yet the solemn first for him.  Later tomorrow he knows, they all know, that they must part ways.  They must all leave their oasis of comfort and security to dive again into the vast sea of reality, of conformity.  Yet still they cherish it, hold on to it.  Even in the last moments of such a magical night, they open their minds, their hearts, open their souls to each other and learn to love that which is there in what others have exposed.  The chants of “…MORE, MORE, MORE, MORE” truly resound in not only everyone’s thoughts but in their utmost desires.   Late that night, lying in that same old bed for the last time, gazing up at the concrete ceiling.  Finally, his thoughts allowed to sit and slowly filter out.  Shock, insubordinate yet knowingly unjust anger.  A few muttered words from the other side of the room, a brief agreement of opinions. Then silence.  The hazy recollection of events over the past three weeks, the bittersweet insanity which so marked each and every day.  The mistakes made, the friendships formed, the battles lost and won.  And as all of this starts to settle down into a gentle murmur, he drifts off into sleep. The next morning, torn from the warm embrace of his frail sheets, down to the circle, sips from the glass, toasts to a fallen comrade.  Soon enough the group all progressed to go through their daily routines one final time.  They returned to what they knew was the inevitable. They were there, it was time to be rounded up and brought back to their respective lives.  Tears were shed, last goodbyes, every single one of them joined as one united being, as one entity separate from their single selves.  Each and every one of them will never leave the spot they were when they knew it was time they had to leave.  Those who knew they could never return let fall the rains of their misery.  Their true love for something so intangible yet so true and so real ripped apart their true selves and lovingly joined their true selves back together in an instant. But, as inevitabilities go, by midday it was empty and silent.  Once could almost feel on the air all that had occurred there so few hours ago.  That evening, He finally lay in bed before sleep.  All were dispersed from that place they cherished so dear, back in the true world but thinking of naught but what they had left behind. And all at once, without warning, from places near and far came the sound of 300 voices:  “This will be the day that I die…”

Parting Ways (The Day The Music Died) The last note still ringing in his ears, the night’s events still swirling around in his head, he walks out of the door into the warm evening air.  The entire atmosphere is one of joyous sadness.  Emotions course through the air, giving it some sort of charge.  The next morning shall be the last exchange of the drink of the fruit of passion, and yet the solemn first for him.  Later tomorrow he knows, they all know, that they must part ways.  They must all leave their oasis of comfort and security to dive again into the vast sea of reality, of conformity.  Yet still they cherish it, hold on to it.  Even in the last moments of such a magical night, they open their minds, their hearts, open their souls to each other and learn to love that which is there in what others have exposed.  The chants of “…MORE, MORE, MORE, MORE” truly resound in not only everyone’s thoughts but in their utmost desires.   Late that night, lying in that same old bed for the last time, gazing up at the concrete ceiling.  Finally, his thoughts allowed to sit and slowly filter out.  Shock, insubordinate yet knowingly unjust anger.  A few muttered words from the other side of the room, a brief agreement of opinions. Then silence.  The hazy recollection of events over the past three weeks, the bittersweet insanity which so marked each and every day.  The mistakes made, the friendships formed, the battles lost and won.  And as all of this starts to settle down into a gentle murmur, he drifts off into sleep. The next morning, torn from the warm embrace of his frail sheets, down to the circle, sips from the glass, toasts to a fallen comrade.  Soon enough the group all progressed to go through their daily routines one final time.  They returned to what they knew was the inevitable. They were there, it was time to be rounded up and brought back to their respective lives.  Tears were shed, last goodbyes, every single one of them joined as one united being, as one entity separate from their single selves.  Each and every one of them will never leave the spot they were when they knew it was time they had to leave.  Those who knew they could never return let fall the rains of their misery.  Their true love for something so intangible yet so true and so real ripped apart their true selves and lovingly joined their true selves back together in an instant. But, as inevitabilities go, by midday it was empty and silent.  Once could almost feel on the air all that had occurred there so few hours ago.  That evening, He finally lay in bed before sleep.  All were dispersed from that place they cherished so dear, back in the true world but thinking of naught but what they had left behind. And all at once, without warning, from places near and far came the sound of 300 voices:  “This will be the day that I die…”

Parting Ways (The Day The Music Died) The last note still ringing in his ears, the night’s events still swirling around in his head, he walks out of the door into the warm evening air.  The entire atmosphere is one of joyous sadness.  Emotions course through the air, giving it some sort of charge.  The next morning shall be the last exchange of the drink of the fruit of passion, and yet the solemn first for him.  Later tomorrow he knows, they all know, that they must part ways.  They must all leave their oasis of comfort and security to dive again into the vast sea of reality, of conformity.  Yet still they cherish it, hold on to it.  Even in the last moments of such a magical night, they open their minds, their hearts, open their souls to each other and learn to love that which is there in what others have exposed.  The chants of “…MORE, MORE, MORE, MORE” truly resound in not only everyone’s thoughts but in their utmost desires.   Late that night, lying in that same old bed for the last time, gazing up at the concrete ceiling.  Finally, his thoughts allowed to sit and slowly filter out.  Shock, insubordinate yet knowingly unjust anger.  A few muttered words from the other side of the room, a brief agreement of opinions. Then silence.  The hazy recollection of events over the past three weeks, the bittersweet insanity which so marked each and every day.  The mistakes made, the friendships formed, the battles lost and won.  And as all of this starts to settle down into a gentle murmur, he drifts off into sleep. The next morning, torn from the warm embrace of his frail sheets, down to the circle, sips from the glass, toasts to a fallen comrade.  Soon enough the group all progressed to go through their daily routines one final time.  They returned to what they knew was the inevitable. They were there, it was time to be rounded up and brought back to their respective lives.  Tears were shed, last goodbyes, every single one of them joined as one united being, as one entity separate from their single selves.  Each and every one of them will never leave the spot they were when they knew it was time they had to leave.  Those who knew they could never return let fall the rains of their misery.  Their true love for something so intangible yet so true and so real ripped apart their true selves and lovingly joined their true selves back together in an instant. But, as inevitabilities go, by midday it was empty and silent.  Once could almost feel on the air all that had occurred there so few hours ago.  That evening, He finally lay in bed before sleep.  All were dispersed from that place they cherished so dear, back in the true world but thinking of naught but what they had left behind. And all at once, without warning, from places near and far came the sound of 300 voices:  “This will be the day that I die…”

Parting Ways (The Day The Music Died) The last note still ringing in his ears, the night’s events still swirling around in his head, he walks out of the door into the warm evening air.  The entire atmosphere is one of joyous sadness.  Emotions course through the air, giving it some sort of charge.  The next morning shall be the last exchange of the drink of the fruit of passion, and yet the solemn first for him.  Later tomorrow he knows, they all know, that they must part ways.  They must all leave their oasis of comfort and security to dive again into the vast sea of reality, of conformity.  Yet still they cherish it, hold on to it.  Even in the last moments of such a magical night, they open their minds, their hearts, open their souls to each other and learn to love that which is there in what others have exposed.  The chants of “…MORE, MORE, MORE, MORE” truly resound in not only everyone’s thoughts but in their utmost desires.   Late that night, lying in that same old bed for the last time, gazing up at the concrete ceiling.  Finally, his thoughts allowed to sit and slowly filter out.  Shock, insubordinate yet knowingly unjust anger.  A few muttered words from the other side of the room, a brief agreement of opinions. Then silence.  The hazy recollection of events over the past three weeks, the bittersweet insanity which so marked each and every day.  The mistakes made, the friendships formed, the battles lost and won.  And as all of this starts to settle down into a gentle murmur, he drifts off into sleep. The next morning, torn from the warm embrace of his frail sheets, down to the circle, sips from the glass, toasts to a fallen comrade.  Soon enough the group all progressed to go through their daily routines one final time.  They returned to what they knew was the inevitable. They were there, it was time to be rounded up and brought back to their respective lives.  Tears were shed, last goodbyes, every single one of them joined as one united being, as one entity separate from their single selves.  Each and every one of them will never leave the spot they were when they knew it was time they had to leave.  Those who knew they could never return let fall the rains of their misery.  Their true love for something so intangible yet so true and so real ripped apart their true selves and lovingly joined their true selves back together in an instant. But, as inevitabilities go, by midday it was empty and silent.  Once could almost feel on the air all that had occurred there so few hours ago.  That evening, He finally lay in bed before sleep.  All were dispersed from that place they cherished so dear, back in the true world but thinking of naught but what they had left behind. And all at once, without warning, from places near and far came the sound of 300 voices:  “This will be the day that I die…”