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Christelle Samraj
You may be right - I may be crazy!
You may be right - I may be crazy!
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Let's hope this never catches on!!
Yes. Real plants. Painted. 
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The weather was changing between clouds, sun and rain yesterday, I knew I'd get some interesting shots here. Wasn't disappointed :)
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1/11/16
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After all, nobody is a villain in their own eyes. 
The story of Star Wars is a familiar one from an unfamiliar angle. It follows the life of a young jihadi, from his socially isolated teenage years on a hardscrabble farm, through his encounters with local radical elements, through the death of his parents as "collateral damage" in a military operation, through his move to a remote location where he studies under a hard-line mullah, to his involvement in a series of terrorist acts, leaving thousands of soldiers dead in his wake. What's unfamiliar about this story (from a Western perspective) is that we see this story not from the point of view of civil society, the police, or the victims of radical Jedi terror, but from the point of view of the terrorists themselves. That is, this is a chance to see the logic of violent terrorism from the perspective of those participating in it.

This unconventional angle may make the film politically highly sensitive in these security-conscious times, but with a new installment coming shortly (about the consequences of living in the aftermath of the destabilization of the government by terror and insurrection), I think it may be worth the risk of being placed on watchlists to watch this film and seriously consider its lessons for our day. After all, nobody is a villain in their own eyes.

h/t +A.V. Flox​

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For some reason I keep coming across this amazing quote from Sylvia Plath again and again over the last week. But what a quote !!

“I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story. From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked. One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor, and another fig was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was Europe and Africa and South America, and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Attila and a pack of other lovers with queer names and offbeat professions, and another fig was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above these figs were many more figs I couldn't quite make out. I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn't make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet.”

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Remembering Abdul Kalam, a true karam yogi. 
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