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The Comedian in Pain
June 8, 2021 • By Jason Crawford
MY THEME IS the laughter of martyrs. Might as well begin with Lenny Bruce.
He arrived in the 1950s as a kind of emissary from the future, the first American performer to turn culture war into comic spectacle and the last to be convicted of obscenity. His monologues were exercises in criminal speaking, tripped-out dream flights into the back alleys of sexual fascination, racist violence, consumerist decadence, and religious dissent. The crowds that thronged his performances, after he broke through in 1960, teemed with plainclothes agents and walk-out protestors, counterculture hipsters and A-list celebrities, guardians of public morality, columnists sharpening their axes. And his arrests — 19 of them, between 1961 and 1965 — became themselves part of the act, a kind of outrageous comic theater.
Refined in the crucible of these many confrontations, Lenny came to regard himself as a prophet, called to expose the perpetrators of American hypocrisy and injustice. In clubs and courtrooms from San Francisco to New York, he played the part of Elijah demolishing the idols of Baal, of Jesus in the temple court kicking over tables. "I'm off for a bigger mission," he said, after his first acquittal. "I'm going to thwart pseudo-Christians and make them live their religion or back down."
And boy did he pay for it. As the world looked on, Lenny Bruce disintegrated into an obsessive, embattled, speed-addled crusader, brandishing law books and begging for an exoneration that never came. Biographers such as Albert Goldman and Gerald Nachman have documented well the signs and stages of Bruce's demise. He lost his cabaret card in state after state, until he couldn't work anywhere but California and Florida; he crashed stoned through a second-story window and spent six months in a body cast; on August 3, 1966, hours before he died of a morphine overdose in his bathroom, he received a foreclosure notice on his home. Already in 1962, Bruce was what Goldman described as "a fat, bent, shabby-looking street loafer, a horribly dissipated, baggy-eyed, numb-fleshed junkie, with a tragic darkness in his eyes." His late performances devolved into bitter jeremiads punctuated by readings from legal decisions and court transcripts, and even the nightclub appearances of his final years struck many observers as stop-time images of a protracted death march, Lenny Bruce's own personal stations of the cross.
When we talk about the history of stand-up comedy, we tend to imagine the afflicted Lenny Bruce as the founder of a tradition. His nightclub warfare is, for us, the primal scene of a comedy that depends on the suffering of the comedian, and his many heirs have been revisiting that primal scene ever since. George Carlin climbed into a paddy wagon with Bruce in 1962 and never stopped trying to get busted; Richard Pryor fashioned brilliant farces of junkie abasement and finally ran burning down Parthenia Street in a coke-induced agony that was no farce at all. Plenty of others — Freddie Prinze, Andy Kaufman, John Belushi, Roseanne Barr, Sarah Silverman, Louis C. K., Dave Chappelle, Hannah Gadsby — have played their own versions of Bruce's self-destructive shtick, tempting our hatred, begging our pity, embodying our most atrocious stereotypes, and disappearing into one scandal, exile, or untimely death after another. Even the Marvelous Mrs. Maisel discovers her comic vocation on the night she learns that her husband has been cheating on her. In that moment of trauma, she becomes suddenly eligible for comedy's lonely-hearts club of sad clowns and hilarious pariahs. No accident that a few hours later, in jail, she meets Lenny Bruce.
The stories of these comedians in pain converge, in the way we tell them, with the larger stories we tell about laughter. Laughter, we like to say, is therapeutic. It helps us to cope with anger, tension, and grief. It creates space for the comedian to be honest, to say things she could say in no other context. For these reasons, laughter helps the medicines of unfiltered confession and trenchant social commentary go down. That's fair enough. And it's true enough that Lenny Bruce (along with others, from Dick Gregory and Mort Sahl to Mike Nichols and Elaine May) helped write the blueprints for a comedy that fuses intimate disclosure with scorched-earth critique. His career in this way opens forward, into a future he did not live to see.
But it could be that Bruce's career also opens backward, into a past that finds other meanings in the travails and antics of the righteous pariah. Lenny himself made occasional gestures toward other figures, suffering and sacred. In various onstage bits, he enacted the part of one of the thieves condemned with Jesus ("I'm here for checks. I can't get crucified! I'm being denied due process!"), fantasized about Christ and Moses coming to earth and wreaking havoc for the religious authorities ("Don't look at the front door," Cardinal Spellman hisses to Bishop Sheen; "the lepers are coming"), and mused about the kinship of marginalized Americans with the persecuted Christians of ancient Rome ("What do we do with the Christians? Only one thing that is correct and moral to do with them: throw them to the lions"). Near the end of his life, he sent a doodle to his collaborator Paul Krassner that depicted a man on a cross, with a speech balloon that read, "Where the hell is the ACLU?" These jokes, for Lenny Bruce, all hit a bit too close to home. And they all reveal something about how he perceived himself. Even while he was still at it, he had come to understand himself not just as a comedian but as a martyr.
It's alluring, this notion of the martyr-comedian. Bruce's hagiographers, certainly, find it impossible to separate his abiding charisma from his ordeals of persecution and his doomed heroism. But that allure is also a problem. Many of Lenny's friends found his fascination with martyrdom to be self-indulgent and tragically unnecessary, a distraction from the actual work of creating comic art. "The problem was Lenny," Albert Goldman wrote, "who clasped the asp of persecution to his bosom and would not let go of it, even when its sting proved less than fatal." As he courted and caressed his own persecution, Bruce's social critiques floated free from the glow of his former laughter and became merely middling and tedious. His filth became laboriously aggressive, both more shocking and less surprising than it had been in the bright flush of his early, romping innocence. Even his most faithful champions worried at the time that martyrdom, for this comedian, was an artistic and spiritual dead end.
It's a legitimate worry. Plenty of commentators still observe that our myths of the Suffering Comedian are either fraught with ethical peril (is the pain of others a product to be consumed?) or, at least, a bit hard to swallow (is Jerry Seinfeld burning in the street?). To valorize Lenny Bruce as a "martyr," for free speech or rebel authenticity or whatever else, might put us in danger of the same mystifications that tempted Lenny into his own romance with death.
Then again: Bruce's drama of martyrdom has roots in deep places. Comic performers have long modeled themselves on ancient figures — the wild prophet, the riddling philosopher, the holy idiot. And long traditions of Jewish and Christian religious observance have taken the legends of the martyrs as the basis for artistic performance, for sacred drama and festive reenactment. Start reading into the stories of the martyrs and you'll find, too, that these sacred figures are themselves flamboyant performers, not as far removed from the antics of modern comedians as we might expect. In the ancient legends, the martyrs joke and provoke and get themselves arrested. They laugh in the face of unsympathetic judges and uncomprehending friends. They embrace folly as something holy, a special form of truth for this present age of lies. What if these sacred figures belong to a history that likewise includes our own suffering clowns? Could it be that the story of contemporary comedy begins not in the trials of the boy born Leonard Alfred Schneider but in the ancient mythologies that laid down the pattern for who he would become?
No use trying to discover the moment when, for the Abrahamic faiths, the figure of the martyr and the figure of the fool converge. Something is happening already when Abraham prepares to sacrifice Isaac, whose name means "laughter," and the boy asks who it is, Dad, that we're going to burn on this altar. There are elements of folly in the wild abandon of the seven brothers tortured to death on the eve of the Maccabean Revolt ("they are splendid favors that you grant us," one of them says to his executioners), in the locust-eating, Herod-baiting figure of John the Baptist, and in the last performance of the Rabbi Akiba, who in the Jerusalem Talmud surprises his Roman torturer by smiling merrily as death closes in. There is, of course, the mock king of Israel, wearing his crown of thorns and proclaiming paradise from a cross.
But in the long history of antic martyrs, there's something special about Saint Lawrence, regarded in some Christian traditions as a patron saint of comedians. Lawrence was a deacon of the Roman church when the emperor Valerian carried out his purges of the Christian clergy in 258. On a single day in August, the bishop of Rome and six of the city's seven deacons were executed. Lawrence alone was spared because the prefect of Rome wanted to ask him about his particular area of diaconal oversight: the church's treasury. In the first detailed account of Lawrence's martyrdom, written by the poet Prudentius at the turn of the fifth century, the deacon-treasurer cheerfully affirms that the church is very rich indeed and promises to hand over everything if the prefect will give him three days to gather the treasures together. He then spends those three days gathering a small army of the indigent and the ill-favored: a man with two eyeless sockets, a man with festering sores, a man with a withered hand, a man with a chopped-off leg. Some early Christian writers report that he gives the church's wealth to these outcasts. And then, at the appointed time, he reports back to the prefect and says: come and see! In Prudentius's telling, he lays it on thick: "You will see the great nave gleaming with vessels of gold, and along the open colonnades course on course of precious metal." The prefect can hardly contain himself; he follows Lawrence like a hungry puppy. And then he sees them, gathered into one filthy, mouth-breathing horde: the treasures of the church.
It's a beautiful piece of performance art, a cherry bomb blown up in the face of an idiot-villain who has been stupid enough to ask for it. Lawrence punctuates the prank with a proclamation in which he cries that the great ones of Rome are lepers at their core, bleeding and stinking and mucculentis naribus (snotting at the nose), whereas this company of beggars will soon enter into "their Father's house on high, no longer dirty or feeble as for the present they appear, but bright with gleaming robes and golden crowns." In this prophetic vision, Lawrence interprets his own prank as the breaking in of another order, of a kingdom that the privileged citizens of Rome have not the eyes to see. When the prefect finally talks back, he fumes that he has been mocked by all this "comedian's quibbling and theatrical buffoonery," that he has been turned into a "piece of entertainment." It is, in a way, an uncomprehending reply to Lawrence's thunderous disclosures. But the Latin text of this last phrase — acroma festivum — also captures well what has happened: Lawrence has turned a financial exchange into a festive one. In his carnival turn, he confounds the logic of fiscal calculation and state power with another logic, the upside-down calculus of the powerless who fight with tears and overcome the world.
Where is there to go from here? Might Lawrence, as a reward for his brave stand, have had his mortal life spared and his material treasures preserved? I find it hard to imagine. Prudentius intimates, after all, that this jesting deacon already lives somewhere else, in a world of laughter beyond the horizon of mortal life. The jilted prefect orders that Lawrence be roasted on a gridiron as slowly as possible, and Lawrence, in a famous scene, after lying on the gridiron for a while, cheerfully calls out, "I'm done on this side! Flip me over!" It's thanks to this one-liner, apparently, that the dying deacon has become a patron saint of comedians and jesters. But the deep wells from which his laughter springs, the fountainheads of comedy, open up all over the place in Lawrence's legend. For those who had eyes to see, Prudentius reports, Lawrence's face was radiant with brightness and his flesh smelled of nectar, while to his persecutors he just looked and stank like a body on fire. When, in this account, Lawrence invites the prefect to turn him over, he explicitly challenges, "let's see what your blazing Vulcan has done." It's as if two divinities are battling to consume the man on the altar, and the fire of the Christian God has prevailed so powerfully that Lawrence can't feel the heat of Vulcan at all. "For Christ," as Prudentius says, "is the true fire."
If Lawrence, then, can be imagined to preside over a world of comedy, of sacred laughter and prophetic folly, he might do so not just because he once out-heckled a Roman prefect. The power of his laughter, its authority to tear down kingdoms, comes from an eschatological order that translates death into martyrdom and defeat into victory. The Greek verb apokalyptō means to uncover or disclose, and Lawrence in his prophetic disclosures reveals that his laughter has an apocalyptic vision at its core. Rabbi Akiba, who according to the Talmud smiled in the face of his torturers, likewise makes the eschatological roots of his laughter explicit when, in another episode, he responds merrily to the sight of a fox coming out of the ruined Holy of Holies. How can you be merry, his companions ask, when we all weep at the prosperity of the oppressor and the desolation of our people? Akiba's answer, like Lawrence's, is apocalyptic: if the prophecy that therefore shall Zion for your sake be plowed as a field has come true, so likewise will the prophecy that there shall yet old men and old women sit in the broad places of Jerusalem. My laughter, he says, is the promise of a shalom that the Roman conqueror cannot plow down.
The spontaneous laughter of these dying martyrs might seem a far cry from the craft of comic performance. But in the Christian traditions that descend from Lawrence and his fellow martyrs, believers have often imagined themselves as both martyrs for the sake of the gospel and practitioners of a folly wiser than wisdom. The major Eastern churches include among their classes of saints not only the martyr but also the salos (in Greek) or the yurodivy (in Russian), the holy fool. The first of the canonized fools, the sixth-century Syrian hermit Symeon, exemplifies well the ancient alliance between those two classes, between holy suffering and holy laughter. As Leontius of Neapolis tells it in his seventh-century biography, Symeon entered into his vocation of laughter after 29 years of prayer, fasting, silence, and spiritual warfare in the desert. The Lord called him to leave the desert and make converts, and Symeon embarked on a long tour of duty as a prankster-provocateur in the city of Emesa. His absurdist performances made him infamous: he dragged a dead dog around with a rope, defecated in the middle of the market, burst naked into the baths of the women, danced with mime-girls and prostitutes. Lenny Bruce would have recognized the shtick.
But this wild and crazy guy routine was all, the early legend tells us, a spiritual discipline, a school of holiness. Leontius insists that the two vocations of Saint Symeon were inextricable from one another, that his calling to folly had at its heart an askēsis or "mortification," a dying to the appetites of the ego and the body. When Symeon first returned from the desert to the world of ordinary human activity, he brought with him a longing "that his works might be hidden until his departure from life, so that he might escape human glory." His habit of folly was an answer to that longing — a performative self-abasement — and his glutton-farts and randy innuendos were just as much ascetic disciplines as his long years of silence in the wilderness. He might have spent his days wearing sausages around his neck and throwing nuts in church, but he spent his nights deep in prayer in his hut, "drenching the ground with his tears," as Leontius says, a warrior of the desert once more.
This story, of asceticism wed with laughter, has governed the careers of Christian saints from the Antiochene duo Theophilus and Maria, who paraded around disguised as a mime and a prostitute, to the monastic reformers Bernard of Clairvaux and Francis of Assisi, who styled themselves as juggler-clowns for God. Some historians have observed that these figures have tended to flourish at times of prosperity in the church, when the Christian community allies itself with the interests of political and economic power. Against such power, the holy fools proclaim something other: a kingdom of and for the weak, built on the foundations of a love more powerful than law and a poverty more powerful than money. They might not participate in what various Christian traditions refer to as the "red martyrdom" of those called to shed blood, but the fools are martyrs even so, practitioners of the "white martyrdom" of those who, living still, die to the world.
No accident, then, that the martyrs themselves often play the part of fools. The term "martyr" derives from the Greek martus — "witness" — and many legends of Jewish and Christian martyrdom feature scenes in which the protagonist takes the stand and performs, armed only with an apocalyptic message and a killer gospel wit. When the second-century bishop Polycarp, on trial in the arena, is directed by a Roman proconsul to declare, "Away with the Atheists" (that is, with the pantheon-denying Christians), he waves his hand to indicate the jeering spectators and cries out, "Away with the Atheists." Is he a martyr here, or a fool? The answer, of course, is both. In his exasperating, apocalyptic laughter, Polycarp bears the memory of the outlaw deacon, eyeball-to-eyeball with a legal apparatus that tries and fails to own him.
These performances might seem far off from those of professional comedians. The ordeals of the martyrs have not, after all, been orchestrated for our amusement, and to watch them with any sort of pleasure is to enter into ethical trouble. But then comedy comes with its own sort of ethical trouble, because the laughter of comic audiences turns remarkably often on the pleasure of regarding someone else's pain. Think about it. Lawrence dies in the fire, and Richard Pryor lands in a burn unit. Is either of those spectacles funny? Plenty of clowns in between have stuck their flaming backsides in a water barrel that turns out to be a powder keg. Is that spectacle funny? One burning body is a matter for tears and another a matter for laughter. The smoldering performers of comedy don't always make it easy to tell the difference.
Fools and clowns have long danced on a precipice just this side of their own harm. Charlie Chaplin and Buster Keaton made their early careers falling off ladders and being thrown around stage by large men (Keaton for a time was billed as "The Little Boy Who Can't be Damaged"). And even the pantheon of American comedians that Lenny Bruce supposedly rendered obsolete fashioned themselves as drunks, tramps, idiots, boors, wayward husbands, bad citizens. The images of Milton Berle in a dress, of Jack E. Leonard abusing his audiences, and of Foster Brooks stumbling around in mock intoxication are so conventional, in mid-20th-century comedy, that we forget how deviant they really are. Outside the context of entertainment, what these clowns did onstage would end careers and marriages, provoke moral indignation, attract the attention of the law. They projected into public view the sins and deformities most despised by the audiences before whom they stood. The risks involved in their performances are more easily apparent in the work of American performers such as Stepin Fetchit and Pigmeat Markham, who spun their personae out of the very racist mythologies that their brilliant careers helped them to resist. Contemporary performers as different from one another as Dave Chappelle and Hannah Gadsby are still reckoning with the way these old-time comedians laid themselves down on an altar of exclusion, at once bearing the pain and eviscerating the power of the abasement they acted out.
What's the good in these performances of self-abasement? Comedians often say that their job is simply to make people laugh, but that way of answering the question only raises more questions. Laughter can speak truth, but it can also falsify; it can be healthful or toxic. In the legends of the martyrs, the problem of laughter is already easy enough to see. The story of Saint Lawrence and the purges of 258 offers a chronicle of atrocity, heartbreaking in the suffering it has to tell. What does it mean, then, that Lawrence, in the end, cracks jokes and smells great? What does it mean that Saint Perpetua, martyred in Carthage at the beginning of the third century, doesn't even know she has been injured in the arena because her joyful ecstasy removes her so completely from the violence at hand? Are these the same martyrs who, in the biblical apocalypse, cry out for relief and are told to wait a little longer? Is the Perpetua who spends the evening before her passion holding forth cheerfully on the goodness of martyrdom and "laughing at the curiosity of the people" a fellow-traveler of the Christ who weeps blood on the eve of his own passion? These legends seem to use laughter to trivialize suffering, to erase it from view.
Hannah Gadsby is wary of laughter exactly because, as she says in her 2018 special Nanette, laughter dissolves tension. In the face of atrocity, laughter dissolves guilt and anger, the tensions that arise when we actually draw close to the pain of those who suffer. Gadsby confesses in this performance that she has spent her career manipulating her own history of suffering — the abuse she has endured because she is "incorrectly female" — as a source of comic tension, climbing onto an altar of self-deprecation and then giving us the gift of a laughter that absolves us of our role in that suffering. Now that's all over: "This tension," she says, "it's yours. I am not helping you anymore. You need to learn what this feels like because this, this tension is what not-normals carry inside of them all of the time." There won't be, from Hannah Gadsby, any more zany farces of martyrdom, any more "I'm done on this side! Flip me over!" She wants to look us in the eye and tell us that it hurts.
But that's not all. The Gadsby who announces in Nanette that "I must quit comedy" proceeds to go right back on the road, working up material for a 2020 special in which she laughs uproariously at golfers, anti-vaxxers, misogynistic paintings, Louis C. K., men who explain things to women, her own autistic cognitive apparatus. Like the abusers she confronts in Nanette, every one of these targets is, in Gadsby's estimation, an actual or potential agent of harm. In the face of that harm, she rises up with apocalyptic authority, speaking of a promised end in which wounded children become prophets and broken things are restored. That 2020 special, Douglas, still resonates with the challenge she thundered at her audience in Nanette: "Would you test your strength out on me? There is no way anyone would dare test their strength out on me, because you all know there is nothing stronger than a broken woman who has rebuilt herself!"
So is she quitting comedy, or not? Pay attention to the apocalyptic strains in Gadsby's laughter, and her pronouncements about the end of comedy begin to make a strange sort of sense. When Saint Lawrence proclaims to the Roman prefect that beggars are really royal sons and fire is really love, he reveals something presently real and yet far off, the eschatological future to which his laughter ultimately belongs. Rabbi Akiba does much the same when he catches his glimpse of a shalom, a city rebuilt, that those around him can't yet see. Something similar might be in play when Gadsby tells of an ending that comedy has deferred or denied — "in a comedy show, there's no room for the best part of the story, which is the ending" — and then initiates a firestorm of reckoning in which this ending comes fitfully into view. Jokes, in Gadsby's comic eschatology, have only a beginning and a middle — a punchline — that pretends to be an ending. But punchlines aren't really endings, and Gadsby's avowed mission in Nanette is to see past the sham endings to something truer, to the resolutions that turn experience into story. This world of meanings on the other side of comedy is, in the moment of her performance, both now and not yet. "That is your last joke," she decrees partway through the show, as the tension of expectancy grows stronger and the truth of story begins to break through. But laughter has not ceased. She keeps unleashing it, right to the end.
She does so because there's another side of laughter. Laughter can dissolve tension, yes; it can deny the weight of suffering. But it can also produce tension. In the hands of a prophetic performer such as Saint Lawrence, laughter can assert the weight of suffering, confronting the depredations of a bloodstained present with the claims of an eschatological future. Perhaps Lawrence's laughter in the face of the Roman prefect is not so much a way of ignoring atrocity as a promise spoken in the midst of atrocity, in defiance of the systems of power on which atrocity depends. As he speaks this promise, the comedian-saint goes out of his way to bait, antagonize, and insult his Roman audience, to arouse maximum discomfort among the comfortable. Like plenty of comedians after him, he aligns himself with the people his persecutors most despise — cripples and beggars — and proclaims, against all odds and opposition, that these outcasts will inherit the earth. So much for laughter as the spoonful of sugar that makes the medicine of critique go down. Lawrence brings laughter as a holy fire, powerful enough to overcome empires. He knows full well that he himself might get burned in the bargain.
Gadsby insists in Nanette that suffering does not make art. Survival makes art, she says instead; connection makes art. Fair enough: she's not going to justify or explain suffering by bending it toward some satisfying conclusion, and she's not going to allow us to instrumentalize the pain of others by saying that, well, it does make for some compelling drama. Still, in the context of her defiant laughter, her suffering, like the suffering of a Lawrence or a Perpetua, becomes part of her authority. Those ancient martyrs speak from a piece of ground that the priests and prefects of this age cannot reach. Their laughter is a sign of their charismatic life, their radiant joy in the face of all the violent force that the Roman law can throw at them. It's no wonder that some legends of Lawrence interpret his name as a derivation from lauream tenens ("bearing a laurel wreath") and treat the burning saint as a champion, prevailing in his weakness over the strength of the strong. No wonder, either, that the chronicle of a holy fool such as Symeon emphasizes not just his laughing antics but also the suffering that gives his laughter its meaning. Evade the suffering, and the laughter is in danger of becoming another instrument of power, a way of abusing the weak or of amusing and anesthetizing the strong. Inhabit the suffering, and the laughter becomes something holy, the special possession of those dispossessed by the powers of the present age.
So the charisma of martyrs and comedians depends partly on their pain, on their willed exile from the economy of social and political power. But it also depends, even more, on their embodiment of an alternative economy, a kingdom that unsettles the whole order of things within which those forms of power are possible. In this way, the martyrs and the comedians belong to a great army of twee warriors and avenging nerds, from the unlikely prophets of sacred history — David making his stand before Goliath, Jonah at the gates of Nineveh, Francis preaching in his underwear — to the little general of Buster Keaton, the little senator of Mr. Smith Goes to Washington, and the little philosophers and freedom-fighters of Peanuts. It's no accident that, in American culture, one of the most resonant representations of the paradigmatic little warrior, the Christ Child, comes in the person of Linus van Pelt, clutching his blanket and speaking to an empty auditorium: "And this shall be a sign unto you: you shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, and lying in a manger." The unlikely victors of all these comic enterprises overcome the world of temporal power by affirming the things temporal power chronically fails to acknowledge: faith, hope, love, shalom, the miracles of forgiveness and resurrection. Saint Lawrence, with his battalion of beggars, is never far off.
These figures are, of course, widely diverse. When Rabbi Akiba proclaims the hope of Jerusalem rebuilt, he means something very different from what Hannah Gadsby means when she comes onstage as a woman who "has rebuilt herself." There are gulfs of difference between Lenny Bruce and Lawrence the deacon, and between the different forms of hope they come to proclaim. In the case of the shock jocks and loudmouth sadists I've seen on some comedy stages, the claim of kinship with Lawrence or Symeon might be a stretch too far. But where there is vitality in contemporary comedy, I want to propose that the comedians do share something with the ancient martyrs. And the martyrs might help us to see that this shared something is an eschatology, the apocalyptic and prophetic enactment of a redemptive future. The gravitational pull of eschatological longing might explain why Linus's proclamation of the child-Messiah is so strangely resonant, and why so many comic stories have grown up around the celebration of Christmas. Linus belongs to a history that stretches from the Ghost of Christmas Future to the image of Kevin McCallister in a nativity scene, huddled at the threshold of a new creation. In these stories, as much as anywhere, the sacred resonances and residues of comedy become explicit. They gather at the manger of a child whose death will redefine martyrdom, and they belong to a festive celebration in which the kingdom of God comes blazing into view, even as innocents are slaughtered, the poor chased into exile, and orphans left home alone.
How might the martyrs help us to understand the trials and demise of Lenny Bruce? I find it hard to ignore the friends and contemporaries of Bruce who regarded his crusade as not a fulfillment but an abandonment of his comic vocation. "You can get so obsessed with an injustice that you lose sight of what's funny," Mike Nichols commented to Gerald Nachman; "that's what happened to Lenny." The untimely death that has struck many of Bruce's hagiographers as the inevitable cost or even the apotheosis of his wild laughter struck Nichols and plenty of others as instead a turn away from that laughter, a senseless and costly abdication. Bruce himself seems to have entertained a similar suspicion. When, in Nachman's telling, Paul Krassner observed that Lenny wasn't getting laughs anymore and so wasn't doing his job as a comedian, the doomed performer replied: "I'm not a comedian. I'm Lenny Bruce."
Is this martyrdom? Or could it be that Lenny Bruce's turn away from the laughter of the comedian amounted also to a turn away from the miraculous charisma, the defiant aliveness, of the martyr? He once joked, of a nightclub gig, "I feel like it's taking me away from my practice," and the joke rings tellingly true. If comedians confront law with laughter, it might be that Lenny Bruce chose progressively to confront law with law. He put aside the trivial question of laughter and started traveling with a suitcase full of law books, begging the very civic order against which he had raised his voice to ratify his proclamation. "Please, your honor," he begged the judge in his 1964 New York trial, "I so desperately want your respect. The court hasn't heard the show. I can give you the show verbatim. Let me tell you what the show is about. Counsel doesn't understand my show." This became his plea: for the American legal establishment to understand his show — for confirmation that Lenny Bruce is a legitimate citizen of the present age.
Is that too much to ask? Perhaps it's too little. No surprise, in any case, that when Bruce met the powers of the state on their own field of battle, within the orbit of their own values, they crushed him. Perhaps his most powerful weapon, from the beginning, was his charism of laughter, rooted in his affirmation of realities that the principalities of this age cannot legislate or own. Perhaps, in the end, he was tempted to confuse the apocalyptic liberties of his laughter with a freedom of speech defined and policed by the very forces at which he laughed. There's something poignantly ironic about Bruce's doodle of Christ on the cross, with its "where the hell is the ACLU?" plea. Christ himself pled in his agony, after all, not for the arrival of the ACLU but for the opening of a whole new life, a "paradise" in which, as he says to the thief hanging beside him, criminals and kings will abide together.
In his 2017 show The Bird Revelation, Dave Chappelle says to the comedians in the audience, "You have a responsibility to speak recklessly." The case of Lenny Bruce can be hard to make sense of because he owned so completely his calling to speak recklessly — until he didn't. The language of the law is not reckless, and Bruce's devotion to that language says something about his longing to escape the tensions of comic speaking, the suspension of the comedian between criminality and holiness. When Donavan Bess interviewed him in 1964, he noted that Bruce's eyes "glowed with joy just once, while reading extracts from the U.S. Court decisions on obscenity. 'Beautiful!' he exclaimed. 'Magnificent writing!' He savored the eminent sound of 'Judge Learned Hand.' He exclaimed, 'That is his name!'"
There's sadness in the anecdote. The decisions of Judge Learned Hand represent a false hope, a marker on Lenny Bruce's journey toward his dismal end. I wonder, though, whether this small kindling of joy doesn't bring Lenny closer to his martyr's victory than any court decision on obscenity ever could. It could be that the presiding genius of modern comedy asserted his freedom most powerfully not in the moments when he confronted the feds or whetted his obscenities to weapon-sharpness, but rather in this moment of boyish wonder at the sound of a name, or in moments such as the opening of his 1961 midnight show at Carnegie Hall, when he confessed his fantasy that "maybe the people who own this place don't even know we're here."
A tiny disclosure, this, and it might not look like apocalypse. But here he stands, the beggar-king, blazing with a hilarious proclamation. Come to me, you thieves and outcasts, you wayward children and midnight insurgents — O come, all you who don't own the place. Today you will be with me in paradise.
Jason Crawford teaches in the Department of English at Union University. He is the author of Allegory and Enchantment: An Early Modern Poetics (Oxford University Press, 2017).
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Holy Terrors
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The Richard Pryor Show
OUT IN ONTARIO where he believed the women and money were supposed to be, Richard Pryor was looking at the latest Newsweek (June 17, 1963) when he came across a full-page article on a black stand-up comedian whose name was not ...


text:
Little Richard (1932-2020)
Posted on May 9, 2020 May 9, 2020 AuthorSkafish6 Comments
Little Richard, one of the greatest rock n roll singers and performers of all time, has transitioned into spirit. He was 87 in earthly years, and the cause of his transition was bone cancer.
As an artist, it would be hard to accurately describe the influence that Richard had on rock n roll, music, and future generations. Singers really got how powerful his voice was. Singing in a demanding, high register well over a decade before the emergence of hard rock and heavy metal, his ability to belt was unparalleled then and still now.
I hate when people use the term falsetto to describe his voice. Due to general misunderstanding of the term, people often refer to any male vocalist singing in a high register as falsetto, but the two are not one and the same. Falsetto is not even a vocal register, but a tone. It is airy, and weak sounding. It sounds breathy, and non-substantial. It has no power, or bite. That was not Richard's singing.
Richard's voice could be thought of as analogous to both a rowdy tenor and alto saxophone through an ear-shattering amplifier. Yet, he was not a tone deaf screamer. He sang beautifully: on pitch, with great phrasing, and soulful, heartfelt interpretation.
He was David Bowie's favorite singer. Iggy Pop has mentioned that when he recorded the album Raw Power, he was trying to sing like Little Richard.
It is astonishing to think that somehow, Little Richard burst onto a 1950's middle America white public and became famous. He shocked people, especially parents, because people had never seen anything like him before. Pat Boone covered some of his hits in a more sanitized version, but the kids of America loved Little Richard. Imagine this: a black man screaming and hollering, wearing heavy makeup, acting effeminate (as the 1950's term was), jumping off stage, ripping off his clothes and giving them to the audience, all done in 1950's white America. It was astonishing that he was so on the fringe, yet had such a powerful mainstream impact.
And, with that impact also came him being dismissed. People who are truly the innovators often have their contributions trivialized or disregarded. Richard's flamboyant sexuality (as in his gayness) and being black made him a double minority. This was a turnoff for the gatekeepers: the narrow-minded establishment that approves who is recognized or not. Richard didn't like the rejection, and spoke out about it. He deserved all of the respect of the entire world, and he didn't have to tolerate being thrown under the bus.
He spoke out and championed his accomplishments, as he should have. Why did he need to be humble? To keep himself small? Why should he accept the not-so-subtle dismissal of his tremendous contributions, influencing everyone from the Beatles, to The Rolling Stones to Jimi Hendrix (who played with Richard), to Prince, to Michael Jackson, and to the entire world of music?
Thankfully, Richard received some of the acclaim he deserved as the decades unfolded, but he probably would have not if he hadn't tooted his own horn. In today's world, people scoff at the idea of somebody tooting their own horn, as if it is the height of shameful self-aggrandizement and whipping your tiny dick out embarrassment. But, I am thrilled that Richard let everybody know who he was. He was his greatest promoter and he deserves any and all credit he ultimately receives.
I have to say that Richard was one of my greatest rock n roll inspirations. He helped to inspire my own sense of authentic outrageousness and desire to both rock and shock the world. Because I was different when I was a kid, I had a tough childhood. I sometimes got a reprieve when I went to spend weekends at my cousin Bobby Skafish's house. Bobby, his brothers and sisters were older than me, and they had this wonderful collection of original rock n roll records. It was them who turned me on to Little Richard. And whenever I went there, I wanted to hear his records over and over. Surprisingly, my parents didn't have a problem with me liking Richard, and at times even picked up some of his albums when they were out shopping and brought them home to me.
The frenetic energy of Richard's records and singing, along with his flamboyant performance style was a win-win in my young social outcast mind. I never wanted to be like him, or sound like him, but let his uniqueness be an inspiration for me to hopefully take the boundary-pushing aesthetic further.
When I think of my favorite Little Richard songs, I start with Good Golly Miss Molly. The drumming of Earl Palmer, the ferocity of the band, and Richard's vocal performance are just unparalleled. I also love Lucille, because of the unique one-of-a-kind approach to the vocal. In other words, no one else could really sing that song and do it justice but Richard. Keep a Knockin' is also one of my favorites, too. Not only did Led Zeppelin lift the drum intro for their 1972 song Rock and Roll, Richard's band sounds like it's coming apart at the seams. Again, Richard's performance in such a high vocal register in full voice is jaw-dropping.
In reflecting on the immeasurable impact of Little Richard, all of us should take a moment to salute his unparalleled greatness and wish him well moving forward in the spirit world. But, as time moves so quickly in today's world, let us never forget who he was and all he contributed.
Skafish
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6 Replies to "Little Richard (1932-2020)"
Mykel Board says:
I was lucky enough to see Little Richard in Sweden in the late 80s / early 90s. Quite amazing. Funny, sexy, and most of all…. Rockin! Thanks a lot for taking notice of him. Death often means a revival… let's hope it happens here.
Skafish says:
Let's always keep Richard in our consciousness!
Gary Dalrymple says:
Orvis Goodnight Always had some comparison to being Down and out in Beverly Hills . But he made all of us who were down and out feel better . Little Richard opened the Doors and sometimes compared to a James Brown and was later emulated by the likes of Michael Jackson and many others to come and still to come . He will always be remembered in the halls of Rhythm and Blues and the Rock"N"Roll hall of fame .He will always be remembered and sorely missed .
What a phenom he was!
Jenni Madden says:
I will never live long enough to really appreciate and listen to much of the music out there. Part of the reason is having a big family and the other part is having way too many interests to see to them all. But Little Richard, I was familiar with. YouTube is great. Music videos teach you a lot more than just how to sing the song or what the artist looked (looks) like. Great tribute. Thank you, Jim!
You are discovering so much and all the right music will find its way to you!!
sixteen − two =

redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaCommonCrawl


Build your equestrian dream home here on this 35.73 acre tract. Road and infrastructure has been installed for this lot and 6 adjacent lots which are also available for purchase. Plats in documents above. Enormous views and borders public land. Located in the beautiful Ohio Creek Valley, with hiking, riding, biking areas either adjacent or nearby. Only a 15 minute drive or less to the town of Gunnison for grocery, retail and restaurants. Hay production annually for income and personal use. Irrigation ditches in the subdivision. Building envelope is 2.22 acres as depicted on plat. Ag value for taxes.


Actor Leonardo DiCaprio has donated $3 million to ocean conservation organization Oceana.
The Great Gatsby star's grant will be used to help support a campaign to ban the use of gill nets, which are used to capture fish, off the California coast.
This isn't the first time the 39 year old, who is known for his philanthropic efforts, has donated funds to an animal organization – in November, he gave $3 million to the World Wildlife Fund .


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Santa Fe High School shooting
Santa Fe community in feeling of 'solemn and shock' day after high school shooting
Mood in Santa Fe following fatal highs chool shooting
SANTA FE, Texas (KTRK) -- On Saturday, Santa Fe High School students collected the cars left on the school parking Friday morning when they ran for their lives after a shooting.
Ten people were killed and 13 more injured. Two of the injured remain in critical condition.
The parents of 17-year-old Dimitrios Pagourtzis issued a statement, saying: "We are as shocked and confused as anyone else by these events. We are encouraged by the comments made by other Santa Fe High School students that show Dimitri as we know him: a smart, quiet, sweet boy."
Students were overseen by law enforcement as they returned to this high school, as much for privacy as safety.
Behind the counter of the Santa Fe feed store, owner Gregg Blackburn offered his view of the town's mood. "Solemn, shocked, we still don't know what to say."
Congressman Randy Weber predicted Santa Fe will rebound from the second blow it's felt in less than a year. First, there was Harvey, but the killing of students and school personnel is a different kind of tragedy.
"We will once again laugh. It'll be a while but we will get over it," he said.
A resource center has been set up by the Red Cross at a local church for families, and Saturday evening, Texas First Bank is staging a community dinner. No donations are required. "It's a chance to meet your neighbors and share," the invitation read.
Texas Governor Greg Abbott and first lady Cecilia Abbott will attend service at Arcadia First Baptist Church on Sunday.
Healing will come, but Blackburn expects it will take a lot of time. "Too many people got hurt at one time. It's going to be a while out here."
societysanta feschool shootingsanta fe high school shootingcommunity
Rep. Thomas Massie posts photo with guns, asking Santa for ammo
Santa Fe Ten Memorial recipient of 9/11 Survivor Tree Seedling
Autopsy details of Santa Fe HS shooting victims leaked, families say
Mayor apologizes for drunken post on deadly school shooting


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Q: C++: Cannot instantiate my class with new With Eclipse CDT I've written an abstract class 'Lexer' that resides in a shared library project. It is inherited by 'UTF8Lexer' in another shared library project. For these I created a UnitTest++ test project that contains the following code:
#include "UnitTest++.h"
#include "UTF8Lexer.h"
#include <fstream>

using namespace std;

programma::Lexer<UChar32, icu::UnicodeString>* getLexer(string sampleFile)
{
    string path = "../samples/" + sampleFile;

    ifstream* stream = new ifstream();
    stream->open (path.data());

    programma::UTF8Lexer l1(stream); //This line compiles fine.

    programma::UTF8Lexer* l2 = new  programma::UTF8Lexer(stream); // Error: "Type 'programma::UTF8Lexer' could not be resolved"

    return l2;
}

I don't understand why he likes the declaration of l1 but dislikes the one of l2... The typically unspecific error message doesn't give me much of a clue (Though I'm new to C++, I've worked a lot with C# and made some things in C during my computer science courses at university...). I think it cannot be any missing reference or include because it actually processes the l1 declaration... But if I create some other class right in the same source file and instantiate it the same way, everything works...
I used this tutorial to connect the libraries to their using projects, so this should be fine.
I also googled a lot for this, but as it turned out, it's either impossible to find specific search terms for this problem or I've found some sort of special case...
Here are some excerpts from the classes mentioned above:

*

*UTF8Lexer.h:
#ifndef UTF8LEXER_H_
#define UTF8LEXER_H_

#include "unicode/unistr.h"
#include "Lexer.h"
#include <iostream>

using namespace icu;

namespace programma {

class UTF8Lexer : public Lexer<UChar32, UnicodeString> {

public:

    UTF8Lexer(std::istream* source);

    ~UTF8Lexer();
...

*UTF8Lexer.cpp:
#include "UTF8Lexer.h"

namespace programma {

programma::UTF8Lexer::UTF8Lexer(std::istream* source)
{
}

programma::UTF8Lexer::~UTF8Lexer() {

}
...

*Lexer.h:
#ifndef LEXER_H_
#define LEXER_H_

#include "Token.h"

namespace programma {

template<typename C, typename S> class Lexer {
public:
...

A: programma::UTF8Lexer l1(stream); is probably parsed as programma::UTF8Lexer l1(std::stream __Unnamed_Argument);, i.e. a declaration of a function named l1. Remove using namespace std:: to fix this.

A: I found out what's causing my trouble: Properly enaming 'UTF8Lexer' to 'UTFLexer' solved everything. But then, a few hours later, I had the same problem with a class member. Minutes away from disposing of this seemingly totally defunct Eclipse/CDT/GCC setup, I had the idea of rebuilding the index for the project: Just right click on the project, select "Index"->"Rebuild". Now it works.

redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaStackExchange


Show how the methods of teaching used by teachers in schools today affect you as an individual student. Make suggestions for possible alternatives if necessary.
How has the recent drive towards healthy physical activity and healthy eating affected your lifestyle?
Discuss how you feel about the relationship between you and your favorite pet.
What do you think about the recreational activities made available to young students during their school careers?
Express you opinions about the trip made to the moon and whether or not you think its wort the expense and effort to continue this type of exploratory activity.
Why do you think human civilizations are not capable of avoiding war and conflict because of simple differences?
Describe how the first day of school after returning from a long enjoyable summer vacation makes you feel.
Popular music has recently been created by very young artistes and many adults think their productions are inferior despite popularity among young people. Discuss how this negative reception of new music by adults affects your listening choices.
How do you feel about dentists and the fact that every one of us must, at some point in our lives, pay a usually uncomfortable visit to one.
Describe how you were affected by the recent emergence of widespread LGBT activity in our society.
Express your feelings, as a young child, about your lack of ability to make your own educational and career choices until you are much older.
Give your opinions on racial practices that are commonly found in communities today, state whether you think they are positive or negative practices.
Describe how you feel about your previous self, from ten years ago, when you were still a toddler.
How do homeless people make you feel when you see them in the streets, begging for a meal or small financial donations.
Based on your personal observations, how effective are conservation efforts targeted at the preservation of endangered species.
What do you think about computers and the way they have changed our world. Do you believe they have made a positive or a negative change to our lives?


text:
Home Entertainment Tokyo Raven Season 2: Will There Be A Season? The big day has here!!
Tokyo Raven Season 2: Will There Be A Season? The big day has here!!
1 What was the plot of Tokyo Raven Season 2?
2 Will There Be a Tokyo Raven Season 2?
3 Novel with a light tone
4 Tokyo Raven Season 2: Popularity
5 The End of Tokyo Raven Season 2
Tokyo Raven Season 2: Around the same time, Tokyo Ravens, which began as a light novel in 2010, was adapted into a manga. Shounen Ace, a well-known shounen magazine, began to be issued on a monthly basis. Khei Azano's light book was eventually adapted into animation by Eight Bit.
A similar studio to Star Align made this animation, which was licenced by Funimation. Several local organisations, including Tokyo MX, Sun TV, KBS, tvk, TV Aichi, AT-X, and BS11, broadcasted it. The anime was released in 24 episodes between October 9, 2013 and March 26, 2014. Let's take a look back at the series and see what's new with Tokyo Raven Season 2.
Despite the fact that it has been a long time, supporters are still waiting for the season to begin. Would Tokyo Raven Season 2 be able to combine active and strange anime with regular joys and vivid outlines?
What was the plot of Tokyo Raven Season 2?
When a Japanese ceremony goes wrong, the city is attacked by malevolent spirits. The Onmyoujis must clear the city of extraterrestrials. Onmyoujis are people who have the ability to perceive ghosts and control their powerful energies. Following the catastrophe in Tokyo, schools to prepare Onmyoujis have begun to operate. Despite the fact that our main character, Tsuchimikado Harutora, is a seasoned Onmyouji, he is unable to detect significant energy.
Because of his failure, he goes about his business as usual, playing around with his pals in the wide country, away from the chaos. Despite his friend's insistence that he become an Onmyouji, Harutora is also close friends with Natsume, the main family's beneficiary.
He promised Natsume as a child, but he can't maintain it because he doesn't have any supernatural abilities. Natsume, on the other hand, is a brilliant Onmyouji known as a virtuoso, who is the responsibility of the entire family who travels to Tokyo to focus on Onmyouji.
Despite the fact that Harutora must avoid duties in order to avoid becoming Onmyouji. He is unable to escape his predetermination. He chooses to join a prestigious school in Tokyo after losing his treasured buddy and remembers his promise to Natsume. Harutora teams up with Natsume and trains to avenge the 12 Heaven Generals in charge of Tokyo.
Will There Be a Tokyo Raven Season 2?
The anime season has yet to be restored by the Eight Bit studio or light novel/manga distributors. Even yet, the passage of time reduces the likelihood of a following season.
We can't rule out the possibility just based on the passage of time, since countless anime series have been renewed for another season despite the long gap. Eight Bit, Tokyo Raven's inventive studio, is still a working animation studio. They recently found out how to renew That Time I Got Reincarnated as a Slime for another season. It's an animated adaptation of Fuse's Light Novel.
Some fundamental features are required for anime restorations, and the chosen advisory committee takes these contributions seriously. Because animes are profit-driven creations, circle deals and fame are important. However, the availability of light-smart sources will also impact the new season's decision. We hypothesized about Tokyo Raven Season 2 based on these crucial characteristics.
Novel with a light tone
The light original series, directed by Sumihei and scored by Khei Azano, ran from May 20, 2010, until October 20, 2018, and is now tragically over. The series consists of 16 books plus four extra volumes. If we go through the primary volumes, the first nine volumes were altered in a long time throughout the first season.
The surplus source material appears to be seven volumes, according to all reports. Perhaps there isn't enough source material for the main season's 24 episodes. In any event, a 12-episode season is possible. However, the manner the series ended years ago limits public relations efforts and eliminates the prospect of an anime season to promote light savvy agreements.
Tokyo Raven Season 2: Popularity
In the fall of 2013, Tokyo Ravenss circle transactions were made, and it sold 2,247 copies in regular volume. In most cases, an anime is expected to sell roughly 4,000 units in order to be renewed for next season.
Circle trades were more common in those years than they are now, because this proclivity isn't as strong as it once was. Despite the fact that anime looks to be quite popular, as measured by Myanimelist (#374), our momentum metrics indicate that it need more attention for the upcoming season.
In particular, we can see that the amount of Google searches related to anime has decreased recently. In comparison to other animes, the anime has a poor fan base on Twitter, with only 27k followers. The option for Tokyo Raven Season 2 is just difficult.
The End of Tokyo Raven Season 2
Even if the flow universality isn't adequate for a brief season, it may be frightening at times. We can notice that animes are endorsed in Tokyo Raven Season 2. The anime world is full of surprises.
The light novel has enough content for a second 12-episode season. According to Krebsdaily, we might witness Tokyo Raven Season 2 in 2023 if there is a restoration. In any event, the chances are slim, and reestablishment must come first. Until then, we enthusiastically propose that you watch comparable animes such as Noragami and The God of High School. When new information becomes available, we will update this story.
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Elevate your work with the Stood Minimal Wood Laptop Stand. Featuring stunning beech wood, this system actually folds totally flat.
Elevate your work with the Stood Minimal Wood Laptop Stand. Featuring stunning beech wood, this system actually folds totally flat when it's not in use. Additionally, the lightweight design consists of just two parts. To use, simply cross the pieces of wood and slide together. The edges of the Stood Stand have a small lip to hold your laptop in place. Additionally, the stand comes with a large and durable silicon band. This slides over your device and rests between the keyboard and the mouse. The Stood Stand is the perfect system for anyone with an active work life. Because it folds flat, you can take it virtually anywhere. The wood is super lightweight and the silicon band can hold it in place on your device for easy storage. Finally, the Stood Stand comes in two sizes to be compatible with any device.


text:
Mallocampa porphyria is een vlinder uit de familie van de spinners (Lasiocampidae). De wetenschappelijke naam van de soort is voor het eerst geldig gepubliceerd in 1893 door Holland.

Spinners

redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaWikipedia


I may just be not remembering properly from last year, but is there a way to pre-assign spots in any of the games I run to friends (I mean this both in the literal sense but also in terms of People I Am Friends With on the GenCon site)?
While I certainly don't want to just pre-seat all 6 slots for all of my games ahead of time, in particular, a couple of old friends from college are coming out to GenCon this year who live very far away from me the rest of the year; it'd be really nice to be able to guarantee them a spot at one of my tables.
I seem to recall being able to buy multiple tickets to Events I'm attending from last year (my first GenCon), but don't remember if there was something in place from the event management dashboard.
There is no way to save spots in your game. Anyone can buy two tickets to your event, however.
Could you just set the limit of players for the game as 2 fewer than you need? Then have your friends buy generics and show up and accept them as players, in addition to the people who bought tickets?
You could not. That's not fair to people that might, for instance, want to play a 6 person RPG, which is what they signed up for, but not an 8 person RPG. Secondly, we will not be planning for those extra seats, so even if the other players agree to the additional players, they might not have seats.
Alas, that's a little disappointing, but hopefully my friends will squeeze into at least one of my sessions!
Thanks for the official answer, @Marian.
Another option might be to run the games required, for your badge, as is.
Schedule, with your friends, a time between a couple games you're running.
Go to the HQ you're in and ask for an empty table during that time. They slot you a table, you're good to go. You won't get credit for running that game, so there is that, but you do get a place to play with your friends. If the trouble is that the game needs 6 and you have 3, try posting on that game's forums for some players. Or if it's a popular game, see if anyone from your other slots want a second experience, or if someone shows with generics, suggest that other time.
There are lots of gamers at gen con. It's pretty easy to snag folks.


text:
Q: Laravel command php artisan serve showing Directory does not exist I have installed Lavarel on my ubuntu system by going through this link. After all the steps I can see the laravel default page(You have arrived). I came to know about the laravel command tool. So inside laravel folder from command tool(terminal) I tried
php artisan serve

and it showed me like this
Laravel development server started on http://localhost:8000
Directory  does not exist.

When I used http://localhost:8000 from the browser it showed me like This webpage is not available. So can someone tell me how to solve this? Any help and suggestions will be really appreciable. Thanks

A: This is caused when Laravel cannot find public/index.php. You might need to update boostrap/paths.php to reflect your current public path.

A: In bootstrap/paths.php, change
'public' => __DIR__.'/public',

to
'public' => __DIR__.'/../',

*(Assuming there's a good reason for butchering the base install, such as deploying on IIS)

A: Reinstall it and skip the part when you remove public folder. It's a good security feature to have your public folder separated from your application code.


text:
Parly's police committee concerned by growing murder and rape stats
Police Minister Bheki Cele presented the crime statistics to Parliament's police oversight committee on Friday morning, which reflected a general decrease in violent crime, but a 1.4% increase in murders.
FILE: Former Energy Minister Tina Joemat-Pettersson. Picture: GCIS
Bheki Cele
Parliament Police Portfolio Committee
Serious and violent crimes
Babalo Ndenze | 172 days ago
CAPE TOWN – Members of Parliament (MPs) have questioned the country's police on how they plan to reduce violent crime by half over the next decade.
The South African Police Service on Friday reported a general decrease in violent crime, but murder increased by 1.4%.
Police Minister Bheki Cele presented the crime statistics to Parliament's police oversight committee on Friday morning.
While there's a been a slight decrease in serious crime, murder continues to be a problem.
Murder is up by 1.4% - which amounts to over 21,000 people killed between April 2019 and March 2020.
Police committee chairperson Tina Joemat-Pettersson questioned the police's long-term strategy to reduce violent crime.
"Serious violent crimes like murder and sexual offences have increased, and increases add up to a bigger increase. How are we going to reduce violent crimes by 50% over the next nine years if the murder and rapes keep going up?"
DA police spokesperson Andrew Whitfield said the rape statistics were "alarming".
"Can we please get very specific and detailed answers on that, because it paints a very alarming picture and we need to walk away from this meeting with a clear understanding of what that picture is."
WATCH: Police Minister Bheki Cele releases latest crime stats
Bethelsdorp teen appears in court on rape charge
Ramaphosa announces inter-ministerial committee to facilitate vaccine rollout
9 matric exam markers in North West test positive for COVID-19


text:
Q: Question about expressions in Field Theory How I can express $(\alpha^2 + \alpha + 1)(\alpha^2 - \alpha)$  and $(1-\alpha)^{-1}$ like  $a\alpha^2 + b\alpha + c$ where a, b, c $\in \mathbb{Q}$ ?

A: $$(\alpha^2 + \alpha + 1)(\alpha^2 - \alpha) = \alpha(\alpha - 1)((\alpha^2 + \alpha + 1) = \alpha(\alpha^3 - 1) = \alpha^4 - \alpha$$
$$(1 - \alpha)^{-1} = \frac{1}{1 - \alpha} = \sum_{i=0}^{\infty}{\alpha^i} \text{ provided }|\alpha| < 1$$
As you can see, without further information about $\alpha$, there is not much you can do with expressing
$$(\alpha^2 + \alpha + 1)(\alpha^2 - \alpha)$$
and
$$(1 - \alpha)^{-1}$$
in the form
$$a\alpha^2 + b\alpha + c$$
where $a, b, c \in \mathbb{Q}$.


The term 'secular' has become almost synonymous with progress, Westernization, and democracy. It often stands in contrast to the religious, the traditional, or the authoritarian. It is a beacon of hope in a world tied down by its past superstitions and stains of ignorance. Secularity, it seems, is a very good thing indeed. But what does 'the secular' really represent, and how religious–or more properly, irreligious–has the West really become? And most importantly, is this secularity a good thing for society?
Despite the prevalence of the myth of secularity that says science has disproved religion, religious faith is no less logical today than it was 500 years ago. In order to illustrate this bold claim without engaging in too much of an apologetic (for those interested in a thoughtful and articulate defense of the Christian faith, see C.S. Lewis's Mere Christianity), I must note that religion, most of all Christianity, claims to tell us as humans about a reality that goes beyond the material order, beyond what science has any authority to claim. Put differently, science represents a brilliant and beautiful process and body of knowledge that attempts to explain and understand the material world better. But it does not, in fact it cannot, tell us anything about the existence of things outside of the material world. It cannot do this because its tools and its methods are inherent to the material world and its scope of knowledge is limited by the subject and object of its analysis, both of which are material. To say that science informs anything beyond the material world would be like saying one could infer the complexities of air traffic control, flight plans, and the thoughts of pilots by knowing everything about an airplane, from its aerodynamics to its dimensions. Even sociology has long debunked the myth that science disproves religion and thus ought to be considered the primary cause of secularity. Therefore, since we can't expect science to be able to explain a transcendent reality (like religious claims), much less can we expect the same of any specific scientific theory, whether it be evolution or the Big Bang or the Higgs boson particle (as I readily believe in all three). To refocus our discussion, it is perfectly alright to be an atheistic materialist. It is not alright to be an atheistic materialist because of science.
We must then seek to understand secularity differently. Here, the philosopher Charles Taylor has done a tremendous amount of work and thinking to help get us to a different explanation. His book, A Secular Age, is a weighty (both figurative and literal weightiness, as the book measures in at over 800 pages) discussion about what secularity is and why we should care about it. Taylor opens his book by asking the question, "why was it virtually impossible not to believe in God in, say, 1500 in our Western society, while in 2000 many of us find this not only easy, but even inescapable?". As a definitive historical statement, we are not in a position to evaluate the validity of such a claim. Since it seems reasonable, that very few people did not believe in God (since this paper focuses on the West, we're focusing on the Christian God) in 1500, I am going to proceed assuming that it is true, as without that assumption any discussion about history and secularity is fairly fruitless. Similarly, it is not necessary to consult the Pew Surveys on Religion to generally endorse the latter claim. Such generalizations are helpful in focusing a very broad and sometimes difficult discussion.
Secularity in A Secular Age is talked about in three different senses. The first describes the removal of references to religion in the public space and a general decline in its cultural influence (sense 1). The second sense describes the decline in practice and belief (read intellectual assent) of individuals. In other words, it means simply that fewer people are Christians and more are atheists and agnostics and 'nones' (sense 2). The third sense of secularity, which is most interesting and accurate for Taylor, is that society has developed a widening array of viable options of things to believe in. As Taylor puts it, "Naïveté is now unavailable to anyone, believer or unbeliever alike". For Taylor, the chief fact of society that has changed is not simply a decline or a 'subtraction' of beliefs and a status quo that once were, but it is that some new 'social imaginary' has been constructed that undergirds the framework by which people believe certain things. It is this new 'social imaginary' that has created more choices than simply orthodox belief or atheistic unbelief. This isn't to say that the first two senses are not correct, because any plain observation of society would say that they certainly are correct. But for Taylor, and for me, more important than any decline or reduction is that the background against which people believe has dramatically changed. So while fewer people may subscribe to the Nicene Creed (an historic Christian creed of belief, which falls under sense 2), many more explore varieties of spirituality that never before existed. Likewise, though on the surface much public space in the West has been 'de-Christianized', it is very much still animated by a religious past, and even modern sensibilities have a root in the changes in social imaginaries that have also changed the choices for belief.
To better flesh out what this third sense of secularization really looks like, we must go beyond looking at mere data that tracks how many people belong to a church. That would belittle the scope of trying to fully understand secularity. Rather than simply being a behavior or activity in which people participate on occasion, religion and religious faith are in their highest forms draws to transcendence, pulls beyond the purely material world. But these draws to transcendence must not be confined to traditional religion. The 'transcendent' manifests itself in different ways. Surely it can be the historical institutional church, but in modern times it can also be a draw to 'higher' moments of unity, celebration, and intimacy (like the World Cup or the love experienced between spouses). There is a sense that these moments and cultural practices have meaning beyond purely physical processes. In fact, it is the human condition to pine after such meaning and to find it there, whether it truly is or not. And so we must conclude that these draws to transcendence have had an indelible impact on society throughout history, and because of their ingrained nature in society and how they have developed, they cannot simply be erased, even slowly, from public consciousness. That these draws to the transcendent merely look different is not evidence that the draw ceases to exist altogether.
This brings us back to Taylor, who now forces us to look beyond a superficial or statistical understanding of secularity. Part of Taylor's brilliance is that he simultaneously acknowledges the existence, prevalence, and power of secularity while also problematizing any simple, straight-line theory as to how it has developed or how it is defined. Crucial to properly understanding secularity, says Taylor, is a right understanding of religion. It seems simple enough, that we must define and contextualize religion before we could ever understand the nuances of secularity. But much of the mainstream scholarship on secularity fails to do that. From statistically-oriented arguments to political projects to anthropological lineages, these approaches focus so much on the 'secularity' that they neglect to actually define what 'religion' is. Fundamentally, any attempt to put forth a hegemonic story of secularity (such as a story of simple decline) itself presupposes a hegemonic view of religion. And so if we cannot agree on the definition of religion, can we even call anything 'religious' or 'secular'?
What, then, are the true definitions of religion and secularity?
My argument, and Taylor's to some extent, is that these definitions must be made on an individual level. As a result, any macro-story of secularization will be incredibly nuanced, complex, and changing. In other words, church attendance statistics are no match for what is actually going on in individual hearts. The closest thing we can call 'religion' that is as universally true as possible, is that draw to transcendence that I talked about earlier. This draw can be as present in the Italian Catholic attending Mass daily as it is in the agnostic artist in London. No, it doesn't come close to describing what is conventionally understood as 'religion', but that restrictive definition of religion cannot be used in a world with as many diverse beliefs as ours. For even the orthodox, historically-minded churches of the West often have widely differing understandings of what true religion constitutes (see the battle between the Vatican and American evangelicals on a whole host of issues, for instance). But this extreme abstraction of religion, that it is at root a draw to transcendence, can tell us much more about secularity and the modern religious landscape than you might anticipate.
Taylor talks about what he calls 'unthoughts', which are present in any human being. We might understand them as biases, presuppositions, or unconscious dispositions that inherently influence anyone's approach to religious faith. These unthoughts are inescapable since they represent the scorecard by which we evaluate religion. For instance, to the academic sociologist who resides purely within an imminent (as opposed to transcendent) and materialist worldview, any study of religion using statistics and associations with traditional religious bodies will be perfectly adequate in explaining religion. But to the center-left American millennial who is 'spiritual but not religious', such an understanding as put forth by the sociologist will surely be inadequate.
As I said, on a macroscale, defining religion in terms of transcendence seems to be the most accurate characterization. Individually, however, religion becomes much more robust and varying, and more specific when we examine its history in the West. It must also be defined on a microlevel. Taylor tends to disagree here. It is well and good for Taylor to maintain his 'sense' of the religious as being exclusively defined by a transcendence/immanence divide, but he cannot escape the need to define religion in particular terms for particular people. Yes, there is no way to generalize religion over the globe today or throughout history in its various manifestations. At the same time, it is not simply an abstract transcendence that has defined the history of Europe for the past 1000 (or 500) years. Painting such a broad picture, so as to accommodate the more current-day variations of belief, makes the specifics of how secularization happened problematic, since the phenomenon of secularization that we're describing was limited to Christianity in the West. For this reason, A Secular Age never quite escapes Taylor's idealism (and perhaps romanticism?). Thankfully, it needn't.
In a contradiction of sorts to his vague typology, Taylor is helpful in giving us a much more helpful individual definition of religion. He says that it must believe in some higher power (1), it must believe in a life that extends beyond the natural world (2), and it must believe in a higher good that eclipses (but does not necessarily negate) human flourishing (3). This is a much more adequate micro-definition of religion. But importantly, Taylor argues that our definition of religion does not matter as much as the understanding of its effects. In some sense I agree with this. True, to explicitly define religion is unnecessary to tracing secularity, since as I've said the micro-variations are huge while the macro-characterization (transcendence) is fairly consistent. To deny, however, that the definition of religion matters is to say something different. Definitions of religion surely matter, since they determine what secularity is, both on an individual (micro) and societal (macro) level. What then do we do with these observations about religion and its varying forms?
Given the importance of defining religion, and the difficulty of finding consensus on a definition of individual religion, some would say the answer to this very question is secularism, a political ideology that favors a public stripped of any partiality toward religion and a private space that allows the individual relative autonomy in pursuing religion. This model basically describes much of Western Europe and to a lesser extent the United States. In principle, this is the perfect embodiment and accommodation of secularization, as it prevents partiality or even the acknowledgement of religion on a public level while permitting its 'nova' of options of belief on a personal level. But under the surface, it denies a reality of belief that influences individuals and society in a significant yet nuanced way. Like we discussed earlier about the drive for meaning and its ubiquity, draws to transcendence are powerful motivators of human behavior and psychology. To say that something motivates human actions but to deny that thing efficacy on a societal or public level is to lie about reality. That reality is that religion is woven into the fabric of society and that it is not going away. For that reason, it is foolish for any government or society to try to blot out religion or to refuse to let it influence public thought.
Now, this is not to say that it is a government's responsibility to choose which religion is right. In fact, it shouldn't. The celebration of religious faith in general means that every person is free to acknowledge and live out the way that their own religion, whatever it may be, does actually affect how they interact with the world. The philosopher James K.A. Smith has written about what he calls the "spiritual power of habit". To Smith, every person, whether 'religious' or 'secular', has in their lives ultimate loves. That could be a drive to be the best in a chosen career, pride in treating everyone equally, or seeking pleasure above all else. Building on the thought of the fourth century theologian St. Augustine of Hippo, Smith argues that whatever loves a person has, those loves control who that person is and what they do. In his book, You Are What You Love, he builds on other psychological and sociological scholarship to show how the things we value most end up becoming our habits and practices, the things we think about and do most. And importantly, those ultimate loves are found everywhere in society and end up affecting us in ways we can easily miss. Just like the person who strives after career success will define their value and many of their decisions by what will cause them to succeed most in their career, the same person could be affected and formed by practices and habits they create by regularly sacrificing dinners with family or choosing to not value time to rest. These habits are everywhere, even in the mundane, and these habits collectively make up religion. This religion is more broad than it was 500 years ago and looks very different in different people, but it has not gone away or become less powerful. In the end, secularity is a broadening of people's experiences with where they locate meaning. From this lens, secularity doesn't look so much like a good or bad thing, but more as an opportunity. Specifically, an opportunity for dialogue and mutual understanding and for an acknowledgement of ideas and practices that influence us most, whether they are traditionally 'religious' or not.
This sort of robust pluralism that I'm describing means that people need not agree on where they locate meaning. Even more, it means that because there will never be a set consensus, there is a continual process whereby ideas are refined, better supported, and where respect can be fostered between people of different positions. Religious difference could then lead to flourishing, not division. When religion is relegated to only a certain segment of private society, tribal inclinations kick in and 'culture wars', shouting matches, and suspicion start to take effect. The wide-open acknowledgement of religion prevents this type of festering in the dark to ever occur. We must get to the point where we start to see the division between sacred and secular as not such a neat division after all. Yes, this approach means that every belief position becomes more fragile, since there is so much more 'competition'. But instead of throwing religion away, the 'fragilization' of different belief options means that each one has an opportunity for it to make its case, so to speak.
Is this a good thing? I think it is. It allows for a marketplace of ideas. It forces us to critically examine what we believe and why we believe it. For me, the Christian faith represents the perfect combination of the acknowledgement of doubt combined with reasons for hope and certainty. The same book that talks of skepticism and doubt about God and his character also gives hundreds of eyewitnesses and prophecies pointing to the hope that is found in a died, resurrected and alive Jesus Christ who has reconciled the World to God. That book is the Bible. It is filled with people who wrestle with the same difficulties, both intellectual and otherwise, that the modern human wrestles with and it testifies that the world can often be a confusing and conflicting place. Most importantly, it does not brush this disharmony away as if it is an illusion. In the turning tides of modernity and in the widening array of options that we call secularity, Christianity provides for me more solace than any other system could. By it I believe the counter-intuitive, I hope in what I do not see, and I cry out "Lord I believe, help my unbelief!" (Mark 9:24, English Standard Version). There are others than me who have even more doubt and uncertainty about whatever it is they believe, Christianity or not. Such skepticism is a symptom of the age we live in, but we must not mistake it for anything close to the end of religion, much less the end of Christianity.
1. Bruce, Steve. Secularization. Oxford, United Kingdom: Oxford University Press, 2011.
2. Taylor, Charles. A Secular Age. Cambridge, MA: Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 2007.
4. Tyler VanderWeele, "Religion may be a miracle drug", USA Today, 28 October 2016.
5.Taylor, Charles. A Secular Age. Cambridge, MA: Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 2007.
7. Smith, James K.A. You are What You Love: The Spiritual Power of Habit. Grand Rapids, MI: Brazos Press, 2016.
Noah Black is a senior majoring in economics and mathematics. He is a proud Ohioan and takes any chance he can to golf, albeit poorly.


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Meet the designer dressing Bella Hadid and SZA in recycled sporty corsets
Cassandra Evanow is changing what it means to be couture.
Giovanna Osterman
Her 2020 survival kit is sorted, and it looks nothing like what you might think. Instead of toilet paper or sourdough starter, Los Angeles-based upcycled designer Cassandra Evanow is prepared to fight the imminent apocalypse in a corset.
"It does have a warrior vibe, doesn't it, a corset?" said the 31-year old, musing about a post-COVID world in which Whole Foods lines are replaced with lingerie-clad hunting and gathering. "'Femme fatale,' that's what I call it on my Pinterest boards."
The pandemic was somewhat of a catalyst for Evanow. She's been fascinated by corsetry, the art of crafting the 14th-century undergarment, since she saw the Renaissance fairs in her Oregon hometown. She started studying the painstaking structural process in 2019 — but the chaos of 2020, coupled with binge-watching period dramas in lockdown, shaped her view of the corset as a form of feminine armor; a method of survival.
Cassandra Evanow in one of her corsets. Instagram: @slimjawn
An Art Form
Evanow's corsets have the traditional construction of their ancient predecessors, but that's about all they have in common. Aside from the steel boning, her designs are made entirely from recycled sportswear. From YMCA T-shirts to football jerseys, she transforms pre-owned menswear into possibly the most feminine garment possible. With a decade's worth of upcycling experience documented on Instagram, where she has nearly 50,000 followers between her personal and portfolio accounts, Evanow has found herself at the intersection of the blossoming corset trend and an industry-wide reckoning towards sustainability.
Growing up with a petite frame and the chronic hand-me-downs of a youngest sibling, learning to alter clothing was survival for Evanow. She moved to Los Angeles at 18 with hopes of attending the Fashion Institute of Design & Merchandising, but once she faced the tuition and debt payments that came along with that dream, she ditched it and built a new one.
"I didn't have any money to buy fabric, and it's expensive to live in L.A."
Building off her childhood alterations, Evanow continued using pre-owned materials throughout her self-taught curriculum, using weekend club crawls as test runs for her creations. When Instagram first hit the app store in 2010, she pounced on the opportunity to build a portfolio. As her self-taught skills grew stronger, every upcycled project made its way onto her profile.
"I want to say I was the first one to be doing this reconstruction stuff… right out of the gate, around 2012, I was making reconstructed bodysuits out of Nike T-shirts," said Evanow. "I didn't have any money to buy fabric, and it's expensive to live in L.A. My bestie and I were going to clubs every weekend, so I wanted to make us things that were unique." Her aesthetic was unwaveringly feminine off the bat; her girls-night-out experiments evolved into a steady stream of bodysuits, jackets, and hip-hugging pants. But while using pre-owned materials was simply a necessity in her early designs, the sustainability of upcycling eventually became ingrained in her ethos.
SZA's 2018 Air Jordan campaign, wearing leather pants by Cassandra Evanow. Nike
Nothing is Trash
"I hate waste so much…it's just a wavelength that I'm on now" said Evanow. "It makes me feel magic, being able to generate something out of nothing is a really powerful feeling." That "wavelength" Evanow speaks of was affirmed in 2016, when an unfamiliar DM led to her creating a series of stage looks for Kehlani. In 2017, she created the baby blue bodysuit in Bella Hadid's Nike Cortez campaign, then patchwork leather pants for an Air Jordan shoot with SZA. SZA liked the pants so much she bought them on set, and wore them onstage at London's Eventim Apollo the next night.
All of these collaborations sprouted from Evanow's network and Instagram clout alone. Her profile, updated obsessively since the app's early days, gave her work a massive following and distinct aesthetic by the time top-tier brands came knocking. By building her business and partnerships solely through social media, Evanow arguably built the blueprint for similar avant garde designers-slash-Insta sensations like Nicole McLaughlin.
"There needs to be a totally different channel for this kind of fashion."
Most recently, Evanow worked behind the scenes producing KITH's upcycled collaboration with Russell Athletics. She left the job with 20 bags of sweatshirt scraps (to mock up a menswear collection) and a jarred outlook on sustainability's place in fashion.
"I spent the whole year in a factory, trying to convince people to not take shortcuts with this process," she said. "There needs to be a totally different channel for this kind of fashion, it shouldn't even be compared to fast fashion. You can't have the same mindset… there are so many little steps that seem crazy to the average production factory."
Cassandra Evanow corset and pants. Instagram: @slimjawn
Between producing gigs, Evanow flows with the same low-key commerce model as when she first started. Each corset takes 40 hours to make, and priced in the mid-hundreds — a bargain considering the hours she's clocking, but not affordable enough to generate a steady income. To launch an automated e-commerce site, she'd have to "dumb down" construction so the products (and prices) aren't all in the luxury realm. She refuses to sacrifice her bespoke quality with inexpensive, elasticized materials, which is what fast fashion bandwagoners do to cheapen production.
"I think you could mass-produce this look," said Evanow, "but you would need somebody like me to come in and say 'I've done this a million times, I know what works and what doesn't, you need to forget everything you know about production and listen to me.'"
Although zero-waste consulting could easily be a full-fledged career for the designer, Evanow's sights are set on a bigger goal — her own factory, completely operating and innovating within her zero-waste mindset.
Evanow's upcycling utopia would collect packaging waste to reuse, produce eco-minded jobs or collaborations for streetwear brands, and provide after-school education on sewing and sustainability. It wouldn't just be a factory, but an emblem of her role in shifting the paradigm of conscious streetwear: a safe haven for collecting spare zip ties, normalizing sustainable production, and, obviously, perfecting female armor. You know, just in case.
Kehlani wearing a custom bralette from Cassandra Evanow. Instagram: @evanowstudio