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In a long read, meanwhile, Marcus de Brun contemplated The Algorithm of Evil<\/a><\/span> that advertising uses to increase our consumption of products we often don\u2019t need.<\/p>\n What role does the Algorithm play in the election of a President? In taking to the streets in Dublin because a black man is murdered in America? What role does it play in hatred? In being afraid of a virus, or in wearing a face mask? In taking a vaccine, or in taking one\u2019s own life? The darkness in our world may not be the workings of conspiracy \u2013 nor the consequence of irrational political allegiance \u2013 it might just be a consequence of sublimation: of a gullible embrace of the thoughts of others.<\/em><\/p>\n In December Frank Armstrong turned his attention to penal reform<\/a><\/span> as an estimated one-in-every-two prisoners re-offend within three years of release. He also revealed a poignant episode in his own family history regarding a great-grandfather Luke Armstrong (1853-1910) of Tubbercurry, Co. Sligo who \u2018was arrested in April, 1884 and charged with his fellow conspirators with being a member of the Fenian Society, and conspiring to murder a land agent.\u2019<\/p>\n Thankfully, given the gravity of the charges, all the accused were acquitted based on the unreliability of the Crown informant\u2019s evidence.<\/em><\/p>\n That month David Langwallner turned his attention to the U.K.-based, German writer W. G. Sebald<\/a><\/span>:<\/p>\n The attention in W. G. Sebald\u2019s writing to the fascist era in European history anticipates many of the controlling measures of our time. Images abound throughout his work, leading to observations and recollections both of historical incidents, literary tradition and the lives of friends and immigrants, as well digressions on nature. We find a unique blend of memoir, historical and philosophical disquisitions, and a form of narrative storytelling based on fact with the occasional intrusion of fiction.<\/em><\/p>\n Boidurjo Rick Mukhopadhyay turned his attention to Cross-Cultural Branding: \u2018Glocalisation.\u2019<\/a><\/span> He recalled a social experiment conducted by Enrique Iglesias. A performance at a packed auditorium where \u2018even the cheap seats went for about $100 a pop\u2019 was greeted by ecstatic applause. Later on, however:<\/p>\n he decides to go into a subway station in New York city (which had great acoustics). He dresses up as a busker, posing as a random musician on the street trying to earn a crust.<\/em><\/p>\n Iglesias sang the same hits with the same gust one weekday morning. There is security around, nonetheless. You can imagine what happened next. A crowd gathered and everybody was hushed and mesmerized, and it all ended with a big applause at the end.<\/em><\/p>\n No, it didn\u2019t go that way.<\/em><\/p>\n In the run up to the festive season, Andrea Reynell considered Christmas traditions old and new<\/a><\/span>, tracing many of our practices to a pre-Christian era:<\/p>\n The practice of putting up and decorating a so-called \u2018Christmas\u2019 trees \u2013 usually an evergreen conifer \u2013 can be traced to the pagan worship of Ancient Rome. Evergreen wreaths were brought into Roman homes during the Saturnalia celebrations (a festival for the god Saturn).<\/em><\/p>\n In this month\u2019s underwater episode Daniel Mc Auley took us on a journey to Hook Head<\/a><\/span> in County Wexford. There:<\/p>\n The sedimentary rocks of the peninsula are festooned with fossils of long departed sea creatures, which creates a very special ambience. These soft rocks have been pounded by violent waves, where the Irish Sea meets the mighty Atlantic.<\/em><\/p>\n The Ocean swells have sculpted a labyrinth of gullies and rock walls, encrusted with a cornucopia of multi-coloured sponges and anomies. This unique topography, mixed with the clear waters around the Hook, gives the diver an impression of being on a flight through a surreal landscape.<\/em><\/p>\n Musician of the Month for December Matthew Noone<\/span><\/a>\u2019s musical journey began with rock\u2019n\u2019roll in the Northern Melbourne suburbs before following in the footsteps of the historical Buddha to India, before settling in Clare in the West of Ireland:<\/p>\n While living in Ireland, I became aware of the idea that there was some sort of connection between Irish traditional music and Indian culture. I wanted to explore how Irish music might sound on the sarode but I also wanted to avoid it becoming a gimmick relying on cliches. So, I undertook a four-year structured PhD (Arts Practice) in the Irish World Academy at the University of Limerick. During these four years, I apprenticed myself to a number of traditional musicians in an attempt to learn Irish music in somewhat of an authentic manner. Through Ged Foley I began to learn tunes on the fiddle and learnt how to behave at a session. Steve Cooney put me in touch with something deep and ancestral and Martin Hayes guided me into a world of feeling.<\/em><\/p>\n Also in music, Greg Clifford<\/a><\/span> announced his latest release:<\/p>\n Brontide, which is defined as the sound of distant thunder (created by seismic activity), is a song and video about isolation, alienation, confusion and fading memories. According to Clifford, \u2018this is an emotionally layered and charged production. Brontide, for me, symbolises impending doom and gloom. Dementia, in this case, is the suggested source of sadness\u2019.<\/em><\/p>\n The Featured Artist in December was Kim Wallis<\/a><\/span>, who has been photographing her daily commute for the past eight years:<\/p>\n using windows, doorways and reflections to frame the people and their stories. It started as a way to bring some art creation back into my life. I had learnt photography from my father who taught me how to work a darkroom, film cameras and the joy that comes from capturing an image. I went on to study photography after school and fell completely in love. The years went on and the need for enough money to live, and then life pulled me away from the practice. But once I hit my thirties I realised how much I was missing, and it was time to make it happen once more. So I challenged myself to capture images on the way to and from my work. My obsession with commuters had begun.<\/em><\/p>\n There was also fiction, Open Mike by Yona Shiryan Caffrey<\/a><\/span> that explored the frailties of jobbing musicians in the South of France.<\/p>\n There was plentiful poetry in the month of December, as Kevin Higgins<\/a><\/span> berated \u2018Our Posh Liberal Friends.\u2019<\/p>\n I ask the barman for more finger food,<\/em> Edward Clarke<\/span><\/a> meanwhile recalls, \u2018One morning during the first week of Advent,\/ When I was possessed, \/ After a birthday\u2019s dark exhilarations,\u2019<\/p>\n And finally James Harpur<\/a><\/span> brought us a poetic white Christmas:<\/p>\n Christmas Snow<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n Never came that year, and yet It fell from lamps in Henry Street It fell as stars above the Sugar Loaf (continues)<\/a><\/span><\/p>\n Unforgettable Year: January 2020<\/a><\/span><\/p>\n Unforgettable Year: February 2020<\/a><\/span><\/p>\n Unforgettable Year: March 2020<\/a><\/span><\/p>\n Unforgettable Year: April 2020<\/a><\/span><\/p>\n Unforgettable Year: May 2020<\/a><\/span><\/p>\n Unforgettable Year: June 2020<\/a><\/span><\/p>\n Unforgettable Year: July 2020<\/a><\/span><\/p>\n Unforgettable Year: August 2020<\/a><\/span><\/p>\n Unforgettable Year: September 2020<\/a><\/span><\/p>\n![\"\"](\"https:\/\/cassandravoices.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/01\/KilmainhamGaol-300x226.jpg\")
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<\/p>\n
\npicture the ocean raging into the restaurant,<\/em>
\nand them still sat there muttering at the chicken goujons:<\/em>
\nthe people we talk to won\u2019t vote for<\/em>
\nsuch extreme solutions. No one wants to live in Cuba,<\/em>
\none of them says, as she\u2019s washed out the door.<\/em><\/p>\n![\"\"](\"https:\/\/cassandravoices.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/01\/Seraphim-300x169.jpg\")
\nIt came in other ways, remembering the Light;
\nAs suds frothing in the Garavogue
\nAround bridge arches, a scuttled trolley;<\/em><\/p>\n
\nIlluminating tracer-lines of sleet
\nAnd shoppers gripping rods of sleek umbrellas
\nAs if playing giant straining fish;<\/em><\/p>\n
\nLit up as cats\u2019 eyes by the gaze
\nOf a farmer standing by a gate
\nAbove Wicklow and its mercury lanes.<\/em><\/p>\n