Anonymous Mask Quotes

But people in masks were always assholes. It was a scientific law. Give someone anonymity and all social niceties break down. The Internet had proven that.

Give a man a mask, and he'll tell you deeper and darker truths. But he'll also be more abusive, unaccountable, and demonic.

In some ways grief anonymizes as powerfully as a Greek tragedy mask.

His character would be blamed, loathed, discussed, and adored – but somewhere there, behind his mask of a hero, Cardew would remain faceless. Anonymous.

In a mask we are faceless and classless, ageless and anonymous. Masks reveal the primal urge to behave like the beast in rut that leaps on the stranger or waits in the penumbra to be leapt upon.

A capacity for inferiority in the growing adult is threatened by the temptation by squander that capacity ruthlessly, to revel in hallowness. The syndrom especially plaques anyone who lives behind a mask. An elephant in her disquise as a human princess, a scarecrow with painted features, a glittering tiara under which to glow and glide in anonymous glamour. A witch's hat, a wizards stole, a scholars gown, a soldiers dress sartorials. A hundred ways to duck the question: how will I live with myself now that I nkow what I know.

There’s something about New York City that gives you permission to just be. There’s no need for pretense, no need for masks. You can be real, without risk. The buildings are your protectors, the streets are your tethers. The people…you will never see them again. Even when they’re right in front of you, you don’t see them. Not really. Just as they don’t really see you. New York is beautifully anonymous.

If we are to succeed, we must maintain our anonymity, mask our identities. Even if it means suffering the mockery of others. Being taken for fools, fops, nitwits, even cowards.

Sometimes it’s not the people who change, it’s the mask that falls off.

Everyone wore masks, and yet this culture of anonymity-through-polyonymy produced more truth than falsehood, because it was creative and cooperative rather than commercial and competitive (about the Internet)

Mobs can rob good people of their conscience, particularly when participants wear masks (in a real mob) or are hiding behind an alias or avatar (in an online mob). Anonymity fosters deindividuation—the loss of an individual sense of self—which lessens self-restraint and increases one’s willingness to go along with the mob.73

We are all wearing masks. That is what makes us interesting.

In some ways grief anonymizes as powerfully as a Greek tragedy mask, but in others it pares people to the essentials

the rhetoric of this masked master is one of the tolerance of difference. What better way to keep people in tow, hold them in the same old line of the same, than to console them with the noble lie of difference

According to Auster, proximity is deceptive, and anonymity is not only the misfortune of the masses, of the cities, but also a cancer gnawing away the family and marital unit. Human contact often masks a gulf that only death or distance can bridge. We are separated from others by those very things that also connect us; we are separated from ourselves by the illusion of self-knowledge. Just as we must forget ourselves in order to reach a certain level of self-truth, we must also leave others in order to find them in the prism of memory and separation. That which is closest is often the most enigmatic, and distance, like mourning and wandering, is also an instrument of redemption.

Whatever the answers, I am now pushed up against the Monster I’ve been trying to hide from. And suddenly I face two paths. Just two choices: Either accept this and allow myself to be violated all over again—remain the Anonymous Girl and hide even deeper behind my masks and coping mechanisms. Or this time stand tall. Fight back. Be seen. No longer the ghost.

The morning grass was damp and cool with dew. My yellow rain slicker must have looked sharp contrasted against the bright green that spring provided. I must have looked like an early nineteenth century romantic poet (Walt Whitman, perhaps?) lounging around a meadow celebrating nature and the glory of my existence. But don’t make this about me. Don’t you dare. This was about something bigger than me (by at least 44 feet). I was there to unselfishly throw myself in front of danger (nothing is scarier than a parked bulldozer), in the hopes of saving a tree, and also procuring a spot in a featured article in my local newspaper. It’s not about celebrity for me, it’s about showing that I care. It’s not enough to just quietly go about caring anymore. No, now we need the world to see that we care. I was just trying to do my part to show I was doing my part. But no journalists or TV news stations came to witness my selfless heroics. In fact, nobody came at all, not even Satan’s henchmen (the construction crew). People might scoff and say, “But it was Sunday.” Yes, it was Sunday. But if you’re a hero you can’t take a day off. I’d rather be brave a day early than a day late. Most cowards show up late to their destiny. But I always show up early, and quite often I leave early too, but at least I have the guts to lay down my life for something I’d die for. Now I only laid down my life for a short fifteen-minute nap, but I can forever hold my chin high as I loudly tell anyone who will listen to my exploits as an unsung hero (not that I haven’t written dozens of songs dedicated to my bravery). Most superheroes hide anonymously behind masks. That’s cowardly to me. I don’t wear a mask. And the only reason I’m anonymous is that journalists don’t respond to my requests for interviews, and when I hold press conferences nobody shows up, not even my own mother. The world doesn’t know all the good I’ve done for the world. And that’s fine with me. Not really. But if I have to go on being anonymous to make this world a better place, I will. But that doesn’t mean I’m not thinking about changing my hours of altruism from 7-8 am Sunday mornings to 9-5 am Monday through Friday, and only doing deeds of greatness in crowded locations.

Avoid the anonymous “we” and “they,” because they mask personal responsibility. Things don’t just happen by themselves—they happen because specific people did or didn’t do specific things. Don’t undermine personal accountability with vagueness. Instead of the passive generalization or the royal “we,” attribute specific actions to specific people: “Harry didn’t handle this well.” Also avoid “We should . . .” or “We are . . .” and so on.

The Sabbat arose as a conspiracy to destroy the rotten edifice of Church and State, meeting on the heath to avoid the gaze of authority, guised in anonymity and foreboding. This revolutionized the nature of witchcraft, regardless of the pre-existence of the Sabbat form. I do not simply refer here to the inspiring fantasies of Jules Michelet, but the important modern work of Silvia Federici. We see the same attacks on freedom of assembly in the destruction of the free festivals, rave culture and the occupy movement. These have been met by the masked Anonymous, the faceless black bloc anarchists, the direct actions of the ELF. These are expressions of popular witchcraft and have been persecuted by the same inquisition that came for us. I do not say that these are examples of operative witchcraft, I say that we, the people who are the Witchcraft, have a sacred duty to join this war. We need to celebrate Grand Sabbats again, infuse them with our witchblood, our cunning.

A capacity for interiority in the growing adult is threatened by the temptation to squander that capacity ruthlessly, to revel in hollowness. The syndrome especially plagues anyone who lives behind a mask. An Elephant in her disguise as a human princess, a Scarecrow with painted features, a glittering tiara under which to glow and glide in anonymous glamour. A witch’s hat, a Wizard’s showbiz display, a cleric’s stole, a scholar’s gown, a soldier’s dress sartorials. A hundred ways to duck the question: how will I live with myself now that I know what I know?

By sacrificing the public self, by shunning leaders, and especially by refusing to play the game of self-promotion, Anonymous ensures mystery; this in itself is a radical political act, given a social order based on ubiquitous monitoring and the celebration of runaway individualism and selfishness. Anonymous's iconography — masks and headless suits — visually displays the importance of opacity. The collective may not be the hive it often purports and is purported to be — and it may be marked by internal strife — but Anonymous still manages to leave us with a striking vision of solidarity — e pluribus unum.

Before you recoil, knowing well the toxic madness that infests that hive in our time, understand that for me, when I came to know it, the Internet was a very different thing. It was a friend, and a parent. It was a community without border or limit, one voice and millions, a common frontier that had been settled but not exploited by diverse tribes living amicably enough side by side, each member of which was free to choose their own name and history and customs. Everyone wore masks, and yet this culture of anonymity-through-polyonymy produced more truth than falsehood, because it was creative and cooperative rather than commercial and competitive. Certainly, there was conflict, but it was outweighed by goodwill and good feelings—the true pioneering spirit.

The easel had a cloth draped over it. Ideally, he shouldn’t look at the painting at all tonight. The gaslight flickered, its bluish tinge changing every color and tone in the room. No, no, it would be a complete waste of time. But the painting seemed to call to him. At last he could stand it no longer. He jumped up and pulled off the cloth. My God. It looked as if it had been painted by somebody else. That was his first thought. It had an authority that he didn’t associate with his stumbling, uncertain, inadequate self. It seemed to stand alone. Really, to have nothing much to do with him. He’d painted the worst aspect of his duties as an orderly: infusing hydrogen peroxide or carbolic acid into a gangrenous wound. Though the figure by the bed, carrying out this unpleasant task, was by no means a self-portrait. Indeed, it was so wrapped up in rubber and white cloth: gown, apron, cap, mask, gloves—ah, yes, the all-important gloves—that it had no individual features. Its anonymity, alone, made it appear threatening. No ministering angel, this. A white-swaddled mummy intent on causing pain. The patient was nothing: merely a blob of tortured nerves. It shook him. He stood back from it, looked, looked away, back again. It must be the gaslight that was so transforming his view of it. And he was no nearer knowing if it was finished, though at the moment he felt he wouldn’t dare do anything else.

He hardened his face against the past as easily as if he’d slipped on a plastic superhero mask.

Guilt is our morality shame and guards our conscience. It tells us we have transgressed our values. It moves us to take action and change. Shame warns us not to try to be more or less than human. Shame signals our essential limitations. Shame limits our desire for pleasure and our interest and curiosity. We could not really be free without our shame. There is an anonymous saying, “Of all the masks of freedom, discipline (limits) is the hardest to understand.” We cannot be truly free without having limits. Joy is the exhilarating energy that emerges when all our needs are being met. We want to sing, run and jump with joy. The energy of joy signals that all is well.

Why is it that I have to rhyme to show what happens deep inside? to tell the thoughts that here reside it feels like a huge waste of time When we speak out we only whine theologians tend to misguide tell us to smile and nod with pride they always say pain fades with time So don the mask, wear the facade stick with the norm and don't speak out heaven forbid you make a stand You wouldn't want to seem too odd we're suffering from a creative drought what's wrong with a little contraband?

Howard asked his students to imagine prettiness as the mask that power wears. To recast Aesthetics as a rarefied language of exclusion.

I learned that the world didn’t see the inside of you, that it didn’t care a whit about the hopes and dreams, and sorrows, that lay masked by skin and bone. It was as simple, as absurd, and as cruel as that.

Hearing Evangeline’s name startled Verlaine. “Percival Grigori is her grandfather?” he said, unable to mask his incredulity. “Yes,” Gabriella said. “It was Percival Grigori’s granddaughter who, just this morning, saved your life.

She often spent her mornings there, nibbling tree eggs, locust pie, and green noodles, listening to the high ululating voices of the spellsingers, gaping at manticores in silver cages and immense grey elephants and the striped black-and-white horses of the Jogos Nhai. She enjoyed watching all the people too: dark solemn Asshai’i and tall pale Qartheen, the bright-eyed men of Yi Ti in monkey-tail hats, warrior maids from Bayasabhad, Shamyriana, and Kayakayanaya with iron rings in their nipples and rubies in their cheeks, even the dour and frightening Shadow Men, who covered their arms and legs and chests with tattoos and hid their faces behind masks.

miscoding of such crimes is masking the high incidence of rape in the United States. We don’t have an overestimation of rape; we have a gross underestimation. A thorough analysis of federal data published earlier this year by Corey Rayburn Yung, associate professor at the University of Kansas School of Law, concludes that between 1995 and 2012, police departments across the country systematically undercounted and underreported sexual assaults. Yung used murder rates—the statistic with the most reliable measure of accuracy and one that is historically highly correlated with the incidence of rape—as a baseline for his analysis. After nearly two years of work, he estimates conservatively that between 796,213 and 1,145,309 sexual assault cases never made it into national FBI counts during the studied period.

Your bottle cap collection can’t protect you from harm, of course. But when your brain is screaming “do something,” anything that triggers happy chemicals masks unhappy chemicals. Distraction is not the best survival strategy when your cortisol is triggered by a lion. But when your boss is in a bad mood, it’s nice to have a way to mask your bad feelings

a netherworld populated by those artificial persons called corporations that masked the real persons behind them; by paper money, that masked real gold and silver; by whispered rumors, that masked the manipulations of self-serving men.

In 1939 he left England for America, partly to escape his own public status. Six months later, after making a speech at a political meeting, he wrote to a friend: I suddenly found I could really do it, that I could make a fighting demagogic speech and have the audience roaring…. It is so exciting but so absolutely degrading; I felt just covered with dirt afterwards. He was disgusted by his early fame because he saw the mixed motives behind his image of public virtue, the gratification he felt in being idolized and admired. He felt degraded when asked to pronounce on political and moral issues about which, he reminded himself, artists had no special insight. Far from imagining that artists were superior to anyone else, he had seen in himself that artists have their own special temptations toward power and cruelty and their own special skills at masking their impulses from themselves.

It is said that everyone has one secret. This is not true," she said quietly. "Everyone has many secrets, many faces, many masks. All humans, and dwarves and elves, are the sum of their masks, young Herzer. You are young, yet, and your masks have many rough edges. And you do not see that this is the case of everyone. It is what you do in life, not what torments you in your soul, that matters. And who you are in life, not who you fear you might become.

I learned to hold my tongue and to turn my features into an indifferent mask so that no one could ever read my thoughts.

Logging can also change the interaction of the threads and mask the problem. And non-optimised, “debug,” builds of your software can perform rather differently from the “release” builds. These are affectionately known as Heisenbugs, after the physicist Werner Heisenberg’s “observer effect” in quantum mechanics. The act of observing a system can alter its state.

understand how dangerous a mask can be. We all become what we pretend to be.

This vicarious participation is able to mask, at least temporarily, the underlying emptiness of wasted time. But it is a very pale substitute for attention invested in real challenges. The flow experience that results from the use of skills leads to growth; passive entertainment leads nowhere. Collectively we are wasting each year the equivalent of millions of years of human consciousness. The energy that could be used to focus on complex goals, to provide for enjoyable growth, is squandered on patterns of stimulation that only mimic reality. Mass leisure, mass culture, and even high culture when only attended to passively and for extrinsic reasons—such as the wish to flaunt one’s status—are parasites of the mind. They absorb psychic energy without providing substantive strength in return. They leave us more exhausted, more disheartened than we were before.

the tin-plate mask designed to prevent the slaves eating the sugar-cane,

Fear is the most destructive of emotions. Fear is to a man’s soul as a drop of poison is to a well of springwater. Fear wears so many different masks and comes in so many forms. Deep down in our subconscious, we are wise enough to recognize the fragility of how this universe was put together; that our existence and survival hang on the invisible threads of God’s grace. In our conscious awareness, fear is a vague but constantly nagging uneasiness. Most people do not even know that they are afraid most of the time.

sorun aslında ‘’soytarı’’ gibi soytarılarımızın olmaması olabilir. ‘Soytarı’ kelimesi, Arapça, sahte fallus takarak gülünç ve çoğunlukla müstehcen oyunlar oynayan kişiler için kullanılan ‘sa’tir’den geliyor. Arapça ‘satir’in kaynağı ise Eski Yunanca’da sahte penis ve keçi ayaklarla tasvir edilen mitolojik yaratık ‘satyros’. Batı dillerine vakıf Ahmet Vefik Paşa, Lehçe-i Osmani’de, soytarı kelimesini ‘’taklitçi maskara’’ şeklinde tanımlamış. Maskara, Arapça’dan Batı dillerine geçmiş kelimelerden biri. Güldürmek, eğlendirmek için başka kılığa giren, yüzünü başka bir şeyle kaplayan örten gibi anlamları var. Evet doğru tahmin ettiniz; ‘maske’ ve ‘maskot’ ile de tabii ki ilgili… İngilizce’de ‘jester’ deniyor soytarıya. Anglo-Norman ‘gestour (ozan)’ kelimesinden türemiş. Fransızca da ‘minstrel’ de deniyor bu halk ozanlarına. Minstrel ise, eski Fransızca’da hizmet, görev gibi anlamları olan ‘menistere’ o da Latince ‘bir başka otoritenin emrinde görev yapan’ anlamındaki ‘ministerium’dan geliyor. Britanya devleti 1916’dan beri Başbakanın altındaki devlet departmanlarına ‘minister’ demeye başladı. Jester(soytarı) ile bakanın(minister) birleştiği yer de burası. Jester, Kral’ın dar kabinesinin bir üyesiydi. Sadece üyesi değil en imtiyazlı üyesiydi. Elbette ki kralı eğlendirmek, keyiflendirmek gibi bir görevi vardı. Ama bununla sınırlı değildi. Soytarı, Kral’ın gittiği her yere giderdi. Asla yanından ayrılmazdı. Hatta yatak odasına bile girebilirdi. Düzenle kaos arasındaki çok ince bir çizgide görev yapardı. Çünkü en önemli görevi, kimsenin yüzüne karşı gerçekleri konuşamayacağı kişiye (kral, derebey, hükümdar vs) sürekli doğruyu söylemekti. Etrafları yağcı ve yalakayla çevrili krallar, kendilerine doğruyu söyleyebilsin diye etraflarında bir soytarıyı mutlaka tutardı. Soytarının becerisi, krala, rahatsız edici gerçeği, mizahi bir tarzda kralı rencide etmeden, küçük düşürmeden söyleyebilmekti. Bunu da çoğunlukla bir dörtlükle, bir halk şarkısı şeklinde ozanca, dans, kıyafet ve mimikleriyle komikçe dile getirirlerdi. Hükümdarlığın üst düzey yetkililerini, piskoposların veya hükümdarın yozluğunu, tembelliğini, yönetimle ilgili dokunulmaz görülen herşeydeki yanlışı hicvedebilirdi. Örneğin bütün gece sabaha kadar içip, akşama kadar sızması nedeniyle bir çok devlet işini aksatan İkinci Charles’ın soytarısı, bir sabah Kral daha yeni uyumaya hazırlanırken odasına girmiş ve onu uyutmamıştı. ‘Peki tamam, duyayım hatamı, söyle’ diyen krala, ‘bütün ülkenin diline düşen hatanızı burada söyleyerek başımı derde sokacak değilim’ diyerek zekice bir karşılık vermişti. Soytarılar, ciddi politik kararlarda bile kimsenin konuşmak istemediği gerçeği dile getirebilirdi. 1386 yılında Avusturya Dükü, İsviçre’ye saldırma kararını özel savaş konseyinde tartışmaya açtı. Bütün konsey üyeleri kararın ne kadar isabetli olduğunu söyleyerek alkışlıyor ve İsviçre’ye girmenin yolları üzerine kafa yoruyordu. Gerçeği konuşmak Dük’ün yanı başında oturan soytarıya düştü: ‘’Sizi ahmaklar, hepiniz İsviçre’ye nasıl gireceğinizi biliyorsunuz da, bir taneniz bile geri nasıl çıkabileceğimizi söylemiyor..!’’ Yani Shakespeare’in ‘King Lear’ oyununda, krala doğruları söyleyebilen tek bilgi karakterin ‘The Fool’ olması boşuna değil. ‘The Fool, Kral Lear’in sadece iyi zamanında değil kötü zamanında da yanında kalan tek kişidir. Shakespeare'in ‘Twelfth Night’ oyununda ise ‘soytarı Feste’, ‘’deliyi oynayacak kadar bilge’’ diye tanımlanıyordu. Kağıt oyunlarındaki her derde deva ‘joker’ de, soytarıdan başkası değildir. Polonya’nın 16’ncı yüzyılın ilk y

In his very first encyclical Pius X had uttered a warning: ...We shall take the greatest care to see that the members of the clergy do not allow themselves to be taken in by the insidious maneuvers of a certain new science which dons the mask of truth and from which one does not discern the fragrance of Jesus Christ; it is a mendacious science which, using fallacious and perfidious arguments, tries to beat a path to the errors of rationalism and semi-rationalism, and against which the Apostle was already warning his beloved Timothy when he wrote: “Guard the deposit, avoiding profane novelties in language as well as in the arguments of a knowledge falsely so-called, whose enthusiasts, with all their promises, have failed in the faith.19

When the Ku Klux Klan burns a cross in a black family's yard, prominent Christians aren't required to explain how it isn't really a Christian act. Most people realize that the KKK doesn't represent Christian teachings. That's what I and other Muslims long for--the day when these terrorists praising Muhammad or Allah's name as they debase their actual teachings are instantly recognized as thugs disguising themselves as Muslims. It's like bank robbers who wear masks of Presidents; we don't really think Jimmy Carter and George W. Bush hit the Bank of America during their downtime.

In short, the political/media treatment of these events seeks to systematically mask the attacks’ social and geopolitical causes. Moreover, it reproduces the structural conditions that were their feeding ground. The trajectories of Mohammed Merah, the Kouachi brothers, and Amedy Coulibaly are rooted in a context of social breakdown and structural racism. They embody the “boomerang effect” violence about which Frantz Fanon and Jean-Paul Sartre warned. Moreover, they can only be understood in connection to the wars in the Middle East, linking France’s structural racism to imperialism, the global “colonial” order, and the sociopolitical conflicts taking place in Arab societies. In this sense, the extreme violence of “peripheral” contexts is now returning from whence it came.

I have hidden myself beneath a mask: I am a black and terrible God. With courage conquering fear shall ye approach me: ye shall lay down your heads upon mine altar, expecting the sweep of the sword. But the first kiss of love shall be radiant on your lips; and all my darkness and terror shall turn to light and joy. Only those who fear shall fail. Those who have bent their backs to the yoke of slavery until they can no longer stand upright; them will I despise. But you who have defied the law; you who have conquered by subtlety or force; you will I take unto me, even I will take you unto me. I ask you to sacrifice nothing at mine altar; I am the God who giveth all.

cynicism is simply hope masked with fear

I ring up the rope, coveralls, masking tape, and cable ties at the till.

Despite all the coddling, Jobs at times almost went crazy. He chafed at not being in control, and he sometimes hallucinated or became angry. Even when he was barely conscious, his strong personality came through. At one point the pulmonologist tried to put a mask over his face when he was deeply sedated. Jobs ripped it off and mumbled that he hated the design and refused to wear it. Though barely able to speak, he ordered them to bring five different options for the mask and he would pick a design he liked. The doctors looked at Powell, puzzled. She was finally able to distract him so they could put on the mask. He also hated the oxygen monitor they put on his finger. He told them it was ugly and too complex. He suggested ways it could be designed more simply.

This is what they say: Secure your own mask before helping others. And I think of us, all the people, and the masks we wear, the masks we hide behind and the masks that reveal. I imagine people pretending to be what they truly are, and discovering that other people are so much more and so much less than they imagined themselves to be or present themselves as. And then, I think about the need to help others, and how we mask ourselves to do it, and how unmasking makes us vulnerable . . . We are all wearing masks. That is what makes us interesting.

For far too long economists have sought to define themselves in terms of their supposedly scientific methods. In fact, those methods rely on an immoderate use of mathematical models, which are frequently no more than an excuse for occupying the terrain and masking the vacuity of the content.

As medicine operates a pseudo neutral ‘scientific’ language which is not explicitly related to the power of the State, it seems to be objective and politically neutral. Moreover, medicine presents itself as acting for people’s good and thus masks the real—political—dimension of its interventions. And it has managed to succeed: most people do not see it as a form of dominance, surveillance and as a threat to their freedom. They do not see the coercive and hazardous dimension of medical practices. On the contrary, as they are performed in the name of health, they are perceived as something natural and sought after

The participants in the study had no qualms about being research subjects, Lisak told me, “because they share this common idea that a rapist is a guy in a ski mask, wielding a knife, who drags women into the bushes. But these undetected rapists don’t wear masks or wield knives or drag women into the bushes. So they had absolutely no sense of themselves as rapists and were only too happy to talk about their sexual behaviors.” Most of the student rapists interviewed by Lisak were regarded by their peers as nice guys who would never rape anyone, and regarded themselves the same way.

He glanced at his wife, still sound asleep with her black satin eye mask and earplugs snugly in place. Dave used to think that only people in movies slept that way, and then he met Beth. She had more requirements for a good night’s sleep than anyone in The Princess and the Pea. It used to annoy him, but he was starting to find it endearing.

Wall Street and corporate American know there is no deal considered beneath the Clintons. If they will, as reported, wheel and deal off the human tragedy of the Haitian disaster, then they will indeed do anything. If they are willing to defame and destroy women abused by Bill Clinton, they will not only do that, but proclaim themselves feminists. They have created a huge shakedown conglomerate in the Clinton Foundation in Machiavellian fashion: the philanthropy brilliantly masks the cynical tapping of such funds for personal aggrandizement. Quid pro quos go through the foundation to “help” the helpless while providing the family the moral veneer to moonlight and rake in huge fees from foundation donors, who do not give such largess for nothing. Hitting up corporate finaglers for $70 million in tag-along private jet travel would be burdensome; but creating a tax-free “philanthropy” to provide such corporate one-percent travel for the three Clintons (whether to lecture on global warming or the unfair tax policies of the one-percent) is brilliant in the Medieval sense.

The farmer pulled up to the mews at the back of the hospital. The first inkling Longmore had that it was going to be a long night was when Thompson, the head porter, called him. 'Mr Longmore, is that pig in a Land Rover in the mews anything to do with you?' 'Yes, it is.' 'Well, it has just got out and turned left along Wimpole Street.' Reluctant to make its own valuable contribution to medical progress, the pig had escaped. It is surprising how fast a pig can run, especially when its life is at stake. Still dressed in their operating theatre gowns, caps, masks and boots, the entire surgical team gave chase. The pig ran as fast as its little legs could carry it, but was no match for London's finest heart surgeons, who eventually caught it halfway up the road.

For decades, the CIA and the military have tried to fix intelligence problems by relying on National Security Agency surveillance. But the jihadists have gone to school on the leaks about U.S. capabilities and learned to mask their operations.

Clara wore a dress of brown and cream velvet, and her feathered mask, in comparison, made her look like a sparrow.

There is an anonymous saying, “Of all the masks of freedom, discipline (limits) is the hardest to understand.” We cannot be truly free without having limits.

Our anger is the energy that gives us strength. The Incredible Hulk becomes the huge, powerful hulk when he needs the energy and power to take care of others. Our sadness is an energy we discharge in order to heal. As we discharge the energy over the losses relating to our basic needs, we can integrate the shock of those losses and adapt to reality. Sadness is painful. We try to avoid it. Discharging sadness releases the energy involved in our emotional pain. To hold it in is to freeze the pain within us. The therapeutic slogan is that grieving is the “healing feeling.” Fear releases an energy that warns us of danger to our basic needs. Fear is an energy leading to our discernment and wisdom. Guilt is our morality shame and guards our conscience. It tells us we have transgressed our values. It moves us to take action and change. Shame warns us not to try to be more or less than human. Shame signals our essential limitations. Shame limits our desire for pleasure and our interest and curiosity. We could not really be free without our shame. There is an anonymous saying, “Of all the masks of freedom, discipline (limits) is the hardest to understand.” We cannot be truly free without having limits. Joy is the exhilarating energy that emerges when all our needs are being met. We want to sing, run and jump with joy. The energy of joy signals that all is well. Dissmell is the affect that monitors our drive for hunger. It was primarily developed as a survival mechanism. As we’ve become more complex, its use has extended interpersonally. Prejudice and rage against strangers (the ones who are not like us) have terrible consequences. Dissmell is a major sexuality factor. Disgust follows the same pattern as dissmell. Originally a hunger drive auxiliary, it has been extended to interpersonal relations. Divorces are often dominated by disgust. Victims of abuse carry various degrees of anger and disgust. Rapists who kill operate on disgust, anger and sex fused together.

TOPOPHOBIA The Fear of Situations – Stagefright The average man has a pretty good opinion of himself. Lost in the anonymity of the crowd, protected by the mask he habitually wears against the scrutiny of the outside world, he performs his duties, does his work, fulfills his social obligations, and rests secure in his belief that he is equal to the ordinary emergencies of ordinary life. But take him away from this familiar environment, cut him off from the protective influence of his fellows, set him apart from the crowd, and however agreeable and flattering he may find his momentary distinction, he will miss the familiar devices that adorned his everyday life, the little tricks by which he “got by.” Set on a stage, he is viewed, as it were, naked, and in every gesture he reveals his incompetence. His erstwhile friends gaze at him across an empty space; their expectant air strips him of every studied platitude and leaves him stammering like an idiot. These people, whom he knows so well, are transformed into master-intellects, superior beings to whom he is as the anthropoid ape. Their merciless eyes penetrate to his soul, he feels their scorn as a whip on his back. His naked limbs knock together in terror, his teeth chatter, he feels icy hands clutching at his throat. The fond hopes that lured him to this traitorous pre-eminence desert him, and he babbles incoherencies in place of the golden words that were to win him applause. Back in the days when he was a child and the world was compassed by the walls of his house, he strutted before proud parents, gratifying his need for a stage on which to exhibit himself. Now his old love for personal display brings with it a concentrated fear that is the social punishment for his vanity.

Sometimes it's not the people who change, it's the mask that falls off.

The concept of the deep vernacular web can be understood as a heuristic intended to historicize these online antagonistic communities as antecedent to social media and even to the web itself. The deep vernacular web is characterized by anonymous or pseudonymous subcultures that largely see themselves as standing in opposition to the dominant culture of the surface web. Identified to an extent with the anonymous 4chan image board—which hosts one million posts per day, three quarters of which are made by visitors from English-speaking countries—these subcultures tend to imagine themselves as a faceless mass. In direct contrast to the individualized culture of the selfies associated with social media, we might thus characterize the deep vernacular web as a mask culture in which individual identity is effaced by the totemic deployment of memes. Insofar as this mask culture constructs an image of itself as an autochthonous culture whose integrity is under threat, we can perhaps begin to understand how grievances of the deep vernacular web have been capitalized upon by those espousing a far-right ideology. Conversely we can also see how the vernacular innovations of these often bizarre subcultures, such as Pepe the Frog, have themselves been absorbed in the service of far-right populism.

But the modern masquerade—precisely because the participants were masked—guaranteed anonymity,

the men and women anonymous behind pollution masks. Beijing seemed vast and impersonal, and Isabella felt the stirrings of disquiet.

It's mind over matter, I don't mind and you don't matter." "Successful people have two things on their lips, SILENCE & SMILE." "Sometimes it's not the people that change, it's the MASK that falls off." “Sometimes people think they know you. They know a few facts about you, and they piece you together in a way that makes sense to them. And if you don’t know yourself very well, you might even believe that they are right. But the truth is, that isn’t you. That isn’t you at all.

Listen to the mask.

Though Shakespear remained anonymous as “Diana Vernon” in The Man and the Masks,

titular superhero team that fights crime at night to keep it from ruining people's days. Their catchphrase when planning to go fight their enemies is "PJ Masks, we're on our way. Into the night, to save the day!" Their base is hidden in a totem-like structure in the park, called their "HQ", which also houses a crystal that grants them their abilities. When the villains are defeated, their victory catchphrase is "PJ Masks, all shout hooray, 'cause in the night, we saved the day!

letting the A/C run, and using PanScan—one of several competing apps in the anonymized contact tracing space—to check his immunological status versus that of everyone currently in the house. Since Willem was the interloper, he was the most likely to be bringing new viral strains in to this household. Eventually the app produced a little map of the property, showing icons for everyone there, color-coded based on epidemiological risk. The upshot was that Willem could get by without a mask provided he kept his distance from Hendrik. Oh, and if he ventured upstairs he should put a mask on because there was a Kuok in the second bedroom on the left whose recent exposure history was almost as colorful as Willem’s. Accordingly he and his father sat two meters apart in a gazebo in the snatch of mowed lawn between the house and the bank where the property plunged into the bayou.

In later times, its growth has continued at an accelerated pace, and its extension has brought a corresponding extension of war. And now we no longer understand the process. We no longer protest, we no longer react. The quiescence of ours is a new thing for which power has to thank the smokescreen in which it has wrapped itself. Formally, it could be seen manifest in the person of the king, who did not disclaim being the matter he was, and in whom human passions were discernible. Now masked in anonymity, it claims to have no existence of its own, and to be but the impersonal and passionless instrument of the general will.

In later times, Power's growth has continued at an accelerated pace, and its extension has brought a corresponding extension of war. And now we no longer understand the process. We no longer protest, we no longer react. The quiescence of ours is a new thing for which Power has to thank the smokescreen in which it has wrapped itself. Formally, it could be seen manifest in the person of the king, who did not disclaim being the matter he was, and in whom human passions were discernible. Now masked in anonymity, it claims to have no existence of its own, and to be but the impersonal and passionless instrument of the general will.

If the family is where we first learn about ourselves and others, it is also often the cradle of misidentity and isolation. Our false fronts, the insincere roles we adopt to survive, the ways the "victims" of loss endure and recover, combined with our interpretations (affecting both the images that appear to us and how we ourselves are perceived), the early influences that give shape to sexuality--these are the shards that each of sorts and reassembles and, finally, must pour our lives from.

Sometimes, years later, while going about your ordinary business, thinking you’re okay and that you’ve left it all behind, a random scent, a snatch of music, a certain color, will slash a broken shard of memory through your brain. You’ll stop dead in your tracks, feel confused as all your neural circuits waken fight-or-flight hormones into your body—the same neurochemicals that were associated with that night, because as neuroscience will tell you, what fires together, wires together. So while your mind won’t hold the whole picture, you realize your body does. Your body knows. But your body is not communicating properly with your brain in a way that will give you a narrative around that trauma, something you can understand. And you need that narrative in order to become whole again. In desperation you reach for a bottle of wine, or pills, or you doggedly escape into some other addictive behavior, whether it’s long-distance running, or kickboxing, or dieting, or excelling at work, or dangerous snooping, or hiding behind masks and makeup and theatrical roles, becoming an Anonymous Girl.

would keep Wilson going, always reaching out for unattainable goals, for only by so reaching would he attain what — hidden from him — were God’s goals. This acceptance that his dissatisfaction, that his very “thirst,” could be divine was one of Dowling’s great gifts to Bill Wilson and through him to Alcoholics Anonymous. Another was to prove less happy from the Jesuit’s own point of view. Bill spoke of his own difficulties in prayer and his continuing problem in conveying the meaning of his “spiritual experience” to other alcoholics. There was a move afoot within the fellowship just then, he told Dowling, to change that phrase in the Twelfth Step to “spiritual awakening” — it seemed to Bill an attempt to mask rather than to clarify the role of the divine in the alcoholic’s salvation. Tartly, Father Ed offered a succinct response: “If you can name it, it’s not God.” Years later, Wilson would paraphrase the expression back to Dowling as a partial explanation of his difficulties in accepting the Catholic faith.43 +

Many of those who possess more resources and economic or political power seem mostly to be concerned with masking the problems or concealing their symptoms, simply making efforts to reduce some of the negative impacts of climate change. However, many of these symptoms indicate that such effects will continue to worsen if we continue with current models of production and consumption.

We do not have the tools or the wealth of the state. We cannot beat it at its own game. We cannot ferret out infiltrators. The legal system is almost always on the state’s side. If we attempt to replicate the elaborate security apparatuses of our oppressors, even on a small scale, we unleash paranoia and fracture those who build movements. If we retreat into anonymity, hiding behind masks, then we provide an opening for agents provocateurs who deny their identities while disrupting the movement. If we fight pitched battles in the streets, we give authorities an excuse to fire their weapons and demonize the movement to the public. All we have, as Vaclav Havel wrote, is our powerlessness. And that powerlessness is our strength. The ability of the movement to overthrow the corporate state depends on two of our most important assets—utter and complete transparency, and a rigid adherence to nonviolence, including respect for private property. These assets permit us, as Havel puts it in his classic 1978 essay “The Power of the Powerless”, to live in truth. And by living in truth, we expose a corrupt corporate state that perpetuates lies and functions by deceit.

Do they LOVE you, or the MASK you put on everyday?

Hamilton seldom published under his own name and drew on a bewildering array of pseudonyms. Such pen names were sometimes transparent masks through which the public readily identified prominent politicians. The fashion of allowing anonymous attacks permitted extraordinary bile to seep into political discourse, and savage remarks that might not otherwise have surfaced appeared regularly in the press.

Take off your mask Show your colours Speak your heart Share your mind Reveal yourself Be vulnerable Love hard Play hard Be open Laugh Dance Be

people, however, were marked and could not avoid being seen even if their deepest wish, as Fanon would write in Black Skin, White Masks, was “to be anonymous, to be forgotten.” Under the white gaze, they were simultaneously hypervisible (as members of a stigmatized collective) and invisible (as individuals).