Articles de revues sur le sujet « Trees – psychological aspects »

AbstractLiterally translated as 'wind and water', Fengshui has been used as a special and important tool to harmonize people with their built environment and with the surrounding natural world. By examining some aspects of Fengshui as it was employed in traditional villages in southeast China, this paper aims to explore how Fengshui influences the interactions of Chinese people with their natural world. It focuses on two aspects of the employment of Fengshui in the outer spaces of villages in Southeast China: site selection and the entrance organisation. The methodology employed in the research involved both field investigation and archival study with a special emphasis on the historical records of family trees in the villages of Southeast China. Some modern psychological and architectural principles are borrowed as a frame of reference for analysing the Fengshui models. This analysis concludes that Fengshui satisfies not only physical needs, but also environmental, psychological and aesthetic ones. It demonstrates one of the most distinctive and sensitive treatments to aspects of the natural environment and landscape. It has been able, therefore, to improve the quality of the environment.

Many studies have shown that greenness has beneficial health effects, particularly on psychological and cardiovascular outcomes. In this narrative review, we provide a synthesis of knowledge regarding greenness exposure and respiratory health. The following outcomes were reviewed: respiratory mortality, lung cancer mortality, lung cancer incidence, respiratory hospitalisations, lung function, COPD, and asthma. We identified 174 articles through a literature search in PubMed, of which 42 were eligible for inclusion in this review. The most common marker for greenness exposure was the normalised difference vegetation index (NDVI), which was used in 29 out of 42 papers. Other markers used were tree canopy cover, landcover/land-use, plant diversity, density of tall trees and subjectively perceived greenness. We found beneficial effects of greenness in most studies regarding respiratory mortality, lung cancer incidence, respiratory hospitalisations and lung function. For lung cancer mortality, asthma and COPD, the effects of greenness were less clear cut. While many aspects of greenness are beneficial, some aspects may be harmful, and greenness may have different health effects in different population subgroups. Future studies of greenness and respiratory diseases should focus on asthma and COPD, on effects in different population subgroups and on disentangling the health effects of the various greenness dimensions.

Exposure to outside views creates opportunities to distract and experience feelings of relaxation. To explore the relationship between the environmental qualities of the views with such psychological states, 89 participants from seven Mexican states evaluated the views they contemplated during the confinement due to the COVID-19 pandemic. Items on fascination, cognitive well-being, and how relaxing and helpful the views were to withstand the confinement were answered. Participants took photographs of the views, which were evaluated according to 41 environmental dimensions, considering the built elements, vegetation, and visibility. Based on these dimensions, a classification of the views into categories was realized with multidimensional scaling. The five categories obtained were (a) immersive views of extensive landscapes with vegetation, (b) non-immersive views of landscapes with vegetation, (c) views of courtyards with vegetation, (d) views of commonplace scenes, and (e) views of mostly built elements. The categories generating the highest and lowest relaxation, fascination, and cognitive well-being were identified. The views of extensive landscapes with vegetation and the views of courtyards were the categories presenting the most favorable psychological effects. Furthermore, a partial correlation network found direct relations between the environmental and psychological dimensions. Fascination relates to the observation of distant elements, mountains, and trees. Meanwhile, relaxation correlates with the presence of plants and anticorrelates with car visibility, the quantity of the windows of the visible buildings, and the variety of built elements. Relaxation was the psychological state with the highest direct relation with the environmental dimensions. Meanwhile, the perceived immersion (the feeling of being outdoors), the quantity of plants, and the attractiveness of the built elements were the environmental aspects most directly related to the psychological dimensions. The multiplicity of environmental and architectural qualities considered allowed specific implications for architecture to be obtained. An integrated configuration of the natural and the built elements, and a limited quantity and variation of the built elements were qualities that generated positive outcomes in the observers of the views.

Social media data provide unprecedented access to discussions of active, naturalistic, and often real-time cannabis use in an era of cannabis policy liberalization. The aim of this study was to explore psychological and environmental correlates of cannabis effects by applying computational social science approaches to a large dataset of unprompted reports of naturalistic cannabis use with corresponding self-reported numerical ratings of subjective highness. Post title text was extracted via the Pushshift dataset from N = 328,865 posts to the r/trees Reddit community, where posters self-assess and disclose how high they feel on a scale from 1 to 10 (M = 6.9, SD = 1.8). Structural topic modelling and Linguistic Inquiry and Word Count (LIWC) dictionary-based approaches were applied to identify (1) frequently discussed topics and (2) text indicative of 5 psychological processes (affective, social, cognitive, perceptual, biological), respectively, as well as to examine relationships between subjective highness and (1) topic prevalence and (2) psychological process word counts. A 40-topic model was selected for interpretation based on semantic coherence and exclusivity. The most discussed topics in a 40-topic model were characterized by references to smoking places, social contexts, positive affect, cognitive states, as well as food and media consumed. In LIWC dictionary analyses, words mentioning affective, social, and cognitive processes were referenced more often than perceptual or body processes. Posters reported greater subjective highness when using language that referred to in-person social environments and lower subjective highness when using language that referred to online social environments and positive affect psychological states. This examination of unprompted online reports of naturalistic cannabis use identified textual content referring to affect and to other people as being associated with perceived effects of cannabis. These affective and social aspects of the cannabis use experience were salient to active posters in this online community and should be integrated into experience sampling methods and behavioral pharmacology research, as well as public health messaging.

Abstract The purpose of the research is providing a rationale for the design of special areas aimed at the psychophysical discharge (landscape gardens, special recreation areas in the premises of social adaptation centres) for the people who were imprisoned for crime commitment. To achieve the purpose set, the authors state and implement the following objectives: study of medical and psychological aspects of a person staying in the places of detention, consideration of green area arrangement issues - landscape remedial gardens in terms of botanic, analysis of the existing social adaptation centres, revelation of positive and negative points of their use, suggestion of solutions for the problems identified, analysis of various options of the landscape garden layouts, development of the concept for and suggestion of the arrangement of areas intended for psychophysical discharge in real situation. Basing upon the analysis of the experimental project the authors suggested the fundamental principles for the arrangement of the areas of psychophysical discharge and efficient rehabilitation at the Social adaptation centres intended for the people convicted and released from the places of detention. The authors defined the use of special plants to make the microclimate healthier and create the favorable video environment - using harmonious non-aggressive forms in the interiors, using green planting to reduce human stress, using green planting components for buildings and the functional zoning of plant trees and shrubs. At the uniform architecture&layout and technology space solution multiple scenarios may occur in terms of such space use by means of the application of psychological discharge areas with various green planting. It is necessary to stipulate for the free access to the rehabilitation centre space and landscape garden territory for disabled people.

The impact that classical gardens have on the well-being and quality of life of visitors, especially city dwellers, is an important topic. Scholars have previously focused on landscape aspects, such as water bodies, plants, rocks, chairs, pavilions, and public squares, in various green spaces but have overlooked the road settings that visitors walk on. This study used the Du Fu Thatched Cottage Museum as the subject region and employed a convenience sampling method (n = 730) to analyze the preference and mental restoration of different road settings of Chinese classical gardens. According to the findings, the majority of visitors felt that the road settings in these classical gardens provided psychological recovery, and half of the roads received a preference score of five or above. The regression results indicated that nature, culture, space, refuge, and serene were found to be important predictive dimensions for both mental restoration and preference. Furthermore, this study divides landscape elements in road settings into two major categories (natural and artificial elements) and eight subcategories (trees, shrubs, lawns, roads, fences, walls, decorations, and buildings) to investigate the relationship between various types of specific road setting elements and visitors’ perceived preferences as well as restorability. The correlation results showed that in terms of preference, tree > lawn > path > fence > shrub > wall; in terms of restoration, tree > lawn > shrub > fence > path > decoration > building > wall. Overall, the findings of this research can improve visitor preferences and restoration in a given environmental setting, resulting in a more enjoyable experience.

Abstract Objectives Dental implant treatment (DIT) improves peoples’ oral health-related quality of life (OHQoL). Assessment of longitudinal changes in OHRQoL may be undermined by response shift (RS). RS is the process by which quality of life changes, independent of health status as a result recalibration, reprioritization or reconceptualization. Thus, this study aimed to describe RS in the OHRQoL and perceived oral health of individuals receiving DIT and to compare the then-test, a self-anchored scale and the classification and regression trees (CRT) approaches for assessing RS. Methods OHRQoL was assessed in 100 patients receiving DIT using the OHIP-Edent (n = 100) and a self-anchored scale (n = 45) before placement of the final restoration and 3 to 6 months after treatment was completed. The OHIP-Edent was also used as a retrospective assessment at follow-up. CRT examined changes in the OHIP-Edent total score as a dependent variable with global changes in oral health and each OHIP-Edent subscale score as independent variables. Results OHRQoL and perceived oral health improved after treatment. The OHIP-Edent score decreased from 36.4 at baseline to 12.7 after treatment. On average, participants recalibrated their internal standard downwards (− 4.0 OHIP-Edent points). CRT detected downwards recalibration in 5% of participants and upwards in 15%. Reprioritization was observed in the social disability and psychological discomfort aspects of OHRQoL. Conclusions RS affects longitudinal assessments of OHRQoL in DIT, reducing the apparent magnitude of change. The then-test and CRT are valid and complementary methods to assess RS.

This work presents trends and comparisons that show a change in the consumption and production of video games in times of confinement due to the health emergency. The video game industry has modified its philosophy and adapted its products to the new requirements and trends of consumers who see in this activity a way to appease the psychological and social impact due to quarantine and isolation. There is evidence of a 65% increase in the use of online video games, which has broken a world record. Products that have new aspects and considerations never before proposed by this great industry have been developed and offered, such as thematic games related to the COVID-19 pandemic. Keywords: Video game, pandemic, online games, confinement. References [1]M. Olff, Screening for consequences of trauma–an update on the global collaboration on traumatic stress.European Journal of Psychotraumatology, 2020. [2]Z. Li, China’s Digital Content Publishing Industry: The 2019 Annual Report on Investment Insights and Market Trends. Publishing Research Quarterly, 2020. [3]R. Agis, An event-driven behavior trees extension to facilitate non-player multi-agent coordination in video games, Expert Systems with Applications, 2020. [4]O. Wulansari, Video games and their correlation to empathy: How to teach and experience empathic emotion. Advances in Intelligent Systems and Computing, 2020. [5]C. Bachen, Simulating real lives: Promoting Global Empathy and Interest in Learning Through SimulationGames. Sage Journal, 2012. [6]S. Fowler, Intercultural simulation games: A review (of the united states and beyond). Sage Journals, 2010. [7]G. Chursin, Learning game development with Unity3D engine and Arduino microcontroller. Journal ofPhysics: Conference Series, 2019. [8]K. Hewett, The Acquisition of 21st-Century Skills Through Video Games: Minecraft Design Process Modelsand Their Web of Class Roles. Sage Journal, 2020. [9]R. Bayeck, Exploring video games and learning in South Africa: An integrative review. Educational TechnologyResearch and Development, 2020. [10]K. Hewett, The 21st-Century Classroom Gamer. Games and Culture, 2021.

Background Eating disorders (EDs) are complex mental illnesses with debilitating, pervasive psychological and physiological consequences when left untreated. Unfortunately, patients may face barriers to receiving treatment, such as stereotypes surrounding EDs, denial of illness severity, lack of motivation for treatment, and lack of knowledge about treatment resources. Barriers such as these result in a large treatment gap: only 20% of those with EDs will ever receive treatment. Digital tools like chatbots show potential to disseminate mental health–related interventions to large populations while offering a user-friendly, cost-effective, accessible, and anonymous means of tackling patient concerns. Objective This study developed and evaluated the usability of a chatbot designed for pairing with online ED screening. The tool aimed to promote mental health service utilization by improving motivation for treatment and self-efficacy among individuals with EDs. Methods A chatbot prototype, Alex, was designed using decision trees and theoretically informed components: psychoeducation, motivational interviewing, personalized recommendations, and repeated administration. Usability testing was conducted over 4 iterative cycles, with user feedback informing refinements to the next iteration. Postintervention, participants (N=21) completed the System Usability Scale (SUS), the Usefulness, Satisfaction, and Ease of Use Questionnaire (USE), and a semistructured interview. This process aimed to create an optimized chatbot by the final cycle for use in a randomized trial. Results Interview feedback detailed chatbot aspects participants enjoyed and aspects necessitating improvement. Feedback converged on four themes: user experience, chatbot qualities, chatbot content, and ease of use. Following refinements, users described Alex as humanlike, supportive, and encouraging. Content was perceived as novel and personally relevant. USE scores across domains were generally above average (~5 out of 7), and SUS scores indicated “good” to “excellent” usability across cycles, with the final iteration receiving the highest average SUS score. Conclusions Overall, participants responded well in interactions with Alex, including the initial version. Refinements between cycles further improved user experiences. This study provides preliminary evidence of the feasibility and acceptance of a chatbot designed to promote motivation for and use of services among individuals with EDs. Alex is the first chatbot designed for pairing with an ED or other mental health–related online screen, with the goal of ultimately increasing service utilization. Acknowledgments This research was supported by K08 MH120341 from the National Institute of Mental Health. Availability of Data, Materials, and Code The data will be made available by reasonable request to the corresponding author. Authors’ Contributions EEFC conceptualized and designed the study. OL and BD conducted the investigation process. BD and JS assisted with data curation and conducted formal thematic analyses. JS conducted formal statistical analyses. JS wrote the original manuscript, with contribution from BD. EEFC, CBT, DEW, and SSS designed the data collection instruments, and coordinated and supervised data collection, in addition to reviewing and editing the manuscript with LS, LMF, LAF, and LD. Conflicts of Interest None declared.

The Human Activity Recognition (HAR) system is the hottest research area in clinical research. The HAR plays a vital role in learning about a patient’s abnormal activities; based upon this information, the patient’s psychological state can be estimated. An epileptic seizure is a neurological disorder of the human brain and affects millions of people worldwide. If epilepsy is diagnosed correctly and in an early stage, then up to 70% of people can be seizure-free. There is a need for intelligent automatic HAR systems that help clinicians diagnose neurological disorders accurately. In this research, we proposed a Deep Learning (DL) model that enables the detection of epileptic seizures in an automated way, addressing a need in clinical research. To recognize epileptic seizures from brain activities, EEG is a raw but good source of information. In previous studies, many techniques used raw data from EEG to help recognize epileptic patient activities; however, the applied method of extracting features required much intensive expertise from clinical aspects such as radiology and clinical methods. The image data are also used to diagnose epileptic seizures, but applying Machine Learning (ML) methods could address the overfitting problem. In this research, we mainly focused on classifying epilepsy through physical epileptic activities instead of feature engineering and performed the detection of epileptic seizures in three steps. In the first step, we used the open-source numerical dataset of epilepsy of Bonn university from the UCI Machine Learning repository. In the second step, data were fed to the proposed ELM model for training in different training and testing ratios with a little bit of rescaling because the dataset was already pre-processed, normalized, and restructured. In the third step, epileptic and non-epileptic activity was recognized, and in this step, EEG signal feature extraction was automatically performed by a DL model named ELM; features were selected by a Feature Selection (FS) algorithm based on ELM and the final classification was performed using the ELM classifier. In our presented research, seven different ML algorithms were applied for the binary classification of epileptic activities, including K-Nearest Neighbor (KNN), Naïve Bayes (NB), Logistic Regression (LR), Stochastic Gradient Boosting Classifier (SGDC), Gradient Boosting Classifier (GB), Decision Trees (DT), and three deep learning models named Extreme Learning Machine (ELM), Long Short-Term Memory (LSTM), and Artificial Neural Network (ANN). After deep analysis, it is observed that the best results were obtained by our proposed DL model, Extreme Learning Machine (ELM), with an accuracy of 100% accuracy and a 0.99 AUC. Such high performance has not attained in previous research. The proposed model’s performance was checked with other models in terms of performance parameters, namely confusion matrix, accuracy, precision, recall, F1-score, specificity, sensitivity, and the ROC curve.

One article describes the writings of Uldis Bērziņš, one of the most prominent Latvian poets and translators (and also a dissident) who made his debut in the 1960s. It focuses on the aspect of time and space. The 20th century is a time of re-evaluation of values and of a search for new ways of self-expression. Entrenched mythical notions experience transformation and renaissance. Hystorical myths as a source of instigation for Latvian literature (also in folklore) reach their climax in the 1920-40s and 1960-80s, i.e. in a period when problems of ethnic identity were emphasized more than ever. Uldis Bērziņš in his poetry successfully blends trends of modernism (and some of postmodernism) with mythical reality. He thereby refreshes the message of Latvian life, as well as reinforces particular trends common for whole humankind, which the author accomplishes with the help of cultural signs densely introduced into the texts. The objective of the paper is therefore to identify and emphasize dominant details of mythical time and space in the following anthologies by the Uldis Bērziņš: „Piemineklis kazai” („A Goat’s Monument”, 1980), „Poētisms baltkrievs” („The Poetism Belarussian”, 1984), „Nenotikuši atentāti” („Assassinations which never took place”, 1990), „Laiks” („Time”, together with Juris Kronbergs, 1994) and „Nozagti velosipēdi” („Stolen bicycles”, 1999). For the more detailed description of the peculiarities of the author’s works and for understanding the connection between the linguistic elements and the ethnical specifics of thinking, it was decided to use methods which are new to Latvian literary theory and are not so commonly referred to. Namely, a philological method was used for the in-depth text analysis (Николина 2007), and a linguo-culturological one for researching the connection of language and culture (Хороленко 2006). Speaking about U. Bērziņš’ notion of mythical time and space, it is referred to as an „eternal now” situation, which also includes details of historical and psychological time and space. However, mythical time and space is dominant: texts of the poems contain a very dense layer of mythologems (Odin, Odysseus, Thor), images (trees, mountains, wheels) and mythical concepts. This layer very often merges with the layers of folklore and religion which are introduced into the texts by means of stylization and reminiscences or allusions. The paper is organized according to the three dominant features of myths in the texts of Uldis Bērziņš – dichotomy, cyclicity, and syncretism. These are revealed with the help of particularly rich micro details and cultural signs and the transformation of folklore motives. Dichotomy as a disclosure of two aspects of one whole is carried out in the artistic space within the oppositions here and there, on the top and on the bottom, center and periphery, or insider and alien. These are characterized by symbolic notions of a mountain or a bridge, images of Riga and the Daugava, as well as the introduction of a mediator (a goat, bird or a ghost), which reach over the borders of time and space. Thereby the poet emphasizes fundamental ontological aspects which are concentrated in the semantic meanings of the notions of time, eternity and lifetime. In turn, by means of linguistic elements (not only semes, but also syntactical structure and pragmatic elements) Uldis Bērziņš pays attention to the multifunctionality and uniqueness of a language, and is trying to reach the level of a parent language. Within these dichotomies, the images, motives and signs also actualize a historic time and space. Thereby, a background for the disclosure of subtextual layers is organized, and simultaneously a point of view for several artistic chronotopes is expressed, which is interpreted as a symbiotic process in the poetry of Uldis Bērziņš. The search of oneself in the context of eternity is expressed with the help of the cyclicity principle. This is at the same time a tool for the illustration of different time spaces, which creates a synthesized model of an artistic world with a polyphony of linguistic elements. The cyclicity indicators in the poetry of Uldis Bērziņš are the images of a wheel, mill, and ball, as well as the interaction of the change of cycles of nature and human life. Special attention is paid to the points of intersection of time, thereby marking the Latvian year and the course of human life. In addition, the acknowledgment that the cycle is never-ending and repetitive, makes us look for interconnections with the philosophy of existentialism and a possible fulfillment of the meaning of life. Syncretism, on the contrary, as a combination of several different traditions, allows Uldis Bērziņš to emphasize features of cultural, linguistic and ethnic identity. In the united whole, i.e. in the interpretations of a sign, motive, image or myth, there is an accumulation of a few notions that create a peculiar effect of surrealism in a poetic text. For Bērziņš, syncretism is discovered in an image of a city, a sound, personal names (Peteris, Juris), religious characters (Jesus Christ, Krishna), and myths of the creation of the world. To find features of syncretism in a text, a reader does not only have to have some knowledge of mythology, religion, or culturology, but also needs associative thinking, since the poet often plays with phonemes and facts by linking them in rhythmically symbolic combinations. To sum up Uldis Bērziņš’ notions of mythical time and space, it can be concluded that the poet successfully uses the means of language, its meanings, its peculiar functions and associative nets in order to create a synthesized model of the mythical, historical, and psychological time space. This requires additional attention from a reader, because each poem is a subtextually dense discloser of a cultural heritage and an indicator of the search of oneself.

from different fi elds of art refer to the same topic. Stable repetition of phenomena, the names of which were originally perceived in the poetic and metaphorical way, indicates the formation of a certain genre branch, little developed in scientifi c research. Genre neoformations of this kind include walks, behind the semantic layer of which a certain set of stylistic means shines through. It is not by chance that attempts are made to comprehend this phenomenon in aesthetic and artistic aspects. Objectives. The purpose of the article is to highlight the phenomena of artistic culture with the most vivid signs of promenade elements, to consider a set of musical instruments used by French composers of the late 19th – early 20th century in the music “walks”. Methods. To determine the role of walks in the genre palette of the music of the 20th century, the historical biographical and the comparative research methods were used. Results. The author of the article reveals the role of walks in the French national life and culture. Their characteristic signs are the following: desire for rest, lightness of being, enjoying the moment. From here, the verbal landscapes from the “In Search of Lost Time” novel by M. Proust take their beginning in, which were inspired by his walking in the Bois de Boulogne forest, in the outskirts of Paris, the province of Illiers-Combray, where the writer took care of fl owers, trees and shrubs. A similar passion for walking and studying the fl ora was also experienced by the enlightener J.-J. Rousseau. He was known to spend a long time feasting eyes on plants, collecting herbariums, often recording his observations. This also explains why C. Monet loved wandering in the wilds. The famous artist, known for his landscape paintings, bought from the local farmers a piece of land that bordered with his estate in order to freely wander around the fi elds in search of the right object, favorable angle or necessary lighting. As a result, promenade walking, being a typical national feature, is often embodied in French music and poetry. This phenomenon is common outside of French art as well. In music, we can refer to “The Walk” by S. Prokofi ev and “The Walk” from the “Pictures at an Exhibition” by M. Mussorgsky; in prose - “The Walk” by N. Karamzin, “Walking in Rome” by G. Morton, “Walking with Pushkin” by A. Tertz, “Six Walks in the Fictional Woods” by U. Eco; in painting – “The Walk” by M. Chagall, “An Evening Walk”, “A Man and a Woman on a Walk in the Forest” by A. Toulouse-Lautrec, “A Walk”, “A Walk” by P. Delvaux, “A Walk” by E. Degas. Quite a few works in the genre of walks revealed such areas of public knowledge as lecture sessions, historical excursions and reviews of art. Thus, the art critic, historian, art historian S. Stavitsky organized a lecture session “Walk as a genre of modern art”, which consisted of three meetings: “Walk Aesthetics”, “Walk and Neo-avant-garde”, and “Actionist Walks”. Polish literary critic Z. Kopech published a collection of articles called “Walks in Modern Polish Literature” devoted to the issues of national prose, poetry and drama. E. Kulikova wrote the work called “Walks in the Lyrics of Anna Akhmatova”, where the author reviews several of her poems , including “The Walks”. B. Godard’s piano cycle “Chemin Faisant” (1880–1881) was analyzed, where each of the pieces appears as a sketch, a “photography” of a walking person. The fi rst three items of the cycle – “Going Over”, “Crying” and “Singing”, form a mini-cycle, since they contrast with each other in terms of image and content, although they remain related in terms of the selected means complex. Among them are: fi gures of movement, repetition, dynamic approach of “moving closer-moving away”, staccato technique in outside pieces. The unifying principle is the direction of all stylistic means to visualize a music image. This explains the presence and individual traits, since the character’s image created by the composer is endowed with a unique identity. The distinctness, tangibility of B. Godard’s musical images makes one ponder over the impact of cinema on musical art: its abilities through the details – expressions of eyes, facial expressions, turns of the head – transmit a change of emotional state, moods, put together a special emotional and psychological plot. A different approach to a descriptive music in “The Walks” (1921) by F. Poulenc is revealed, where the composer does not present a character on a walk, and does not tell stories. Instead, he creates the appropriate surrounding, inspires us with the atmosphere of such different and contrasting walks with the help of harmonic colors, tempos, texture, dynamic and articulation means. His music language is far from being simple, it is full of bizarre rhythms and complex chords, thus putting forward serious technical requirements. Above all, the composer’s targeted attitudes when creating the visible realism of his urban plots are evidenced by numerous text remarks, which are designed to guide a musician as accurately as possible towards the required performance character. They are found everywhere and relate to all components of the music: tempo, sound level, mood, articulation, agogics, pedal usage. A set of various sound and visual means help a performer to implement the composer’s instructions. Conclusions. The universal and wide compositional possibilities of walks as a special artistic genre are proved by its relevance in various types of art and scientifi c knowledge. The authors use different means of declaring their idea, and different way to materialize it. This versatile experience opens the way to comprehending the new and the unexplored, steadily and leisurely, as if you are just a curious walking person.

THE LOGIC OF THE BODY: Retrieving Theological Psychology by Matthew A. LaPine. Bellingham, WA: Lexham Press, 2020. 363 pages. Paperback; $26.99. ISBN: 9781683594253. *In this book, the author seeks a theological and biblical response to contemporary neuropsychology, stemming from a need for more effective pastoral care and faith-based counseling.1 LaPine seeks to address a perceived gap between a theological understanding of human agency, and current neuroscience and psychology that leaves pastors and faith-based counselors under-equipped to meet the real mental health and counseling needs they encounter. Although the ultimate purpose is to provide much-needed support for applied pastoral or counseling care, the book is written as a theological reflection to inform a practitioner's theology of practice. *Anchored in the Reformed tradition, LaPine provides an overview of pre-Reformation and Reformed 'theological history in relation to the historical evolution of the field of psychology. Given the scope of these fields, the task of a thorough theology of psychology would take volumes. As a classical Reformed theologian, LaPine uses almost four hundred pages to narrow down the conversation to the theological basis for emotions and neurobiology, specifically through the relationship between the body and mind or spirit. The relationship of will, emotion, biology, spirit, and soul forms the core pieces of this book, around which the chapters revolve. *In his introduction, LaPine presents his "straw man" conflict: the rich spiritual position of faith, against "the modern, reductionist tendency to explain our emotional life exclusively in terms of brain function" (p. xix). At the same time as he points to a distance between (secular) psychology and theology, LaPine also highlights two opposing streams of theology: one that makes the spirit or the spiritual superior to the body or biology, and one that does not. LaPine shows that neuro'psychology values the body and integrates it with the biological facts of emotion and volition (will), whereas mainstream Reformed theology does not, valuing the spiritual in primacy. LaPine notes that this dualism leaves Reformed counselors and pastors without a theology for a more holistic account of human psychology. He states that the Reformed mainstream shows a "lack of psychological nuance" (p. 4), leading to "emotional volunteerism," or the position that people have moral culpability for emotions. In other words, an experience like anxiety becomes a moral sin, to be addressed by prescriptive spiritual re-orientation. The risk here is either a moralistic approach to mental health and human pain, or else abandonment of theology in an attempt to align counseling to contemporary psychological science in practice. Both these options undercut holistic care by undervaluing or ignoring either the body or spirit respectively. *LaPine argues, rightly in my view, that "sufferers simply cannot repent and believe their way out of anxiety" (p. 36); this begs a need for a more robust and nuanced theology, particularly given the current scientific evidence for the neurobiology of emotion. LaPine describes what he calls a "tiered psychology," for which he finds a better grounding in Thomistic theology. The first three chapters of the book are dedicated to a history of theological attempts to account for psychology, in dialogue with the medical scientific understandings of those times. Chapter four explores the theology of Calvin, covering roots in theology for the current Reformed mainstream demotion of the body, as well as nuances of interpretation that LaPine sees as evidence of threads of Reformed theology that instead carried on the earlier holism. In chapter five, he continues the history of Reformed theology in respect of the debate of the seat of the soul, the place of the will, and the 'question of the influence of the body's impulses on moral or cognitive control. *The overall picture in this historical review is of an emerging dualism and hierarchy in which reason is morally obligated to control the inherently sinful impulses of the "flesh." Chapters six to nine alternate between explorations of natural law, science, and biblical reference to show that a more biblical and authentic (to Calvinism) theology comes closer to Thomas Aquinas's views, as well as to contemporary neuroscience (accepting psycho-emotional struggle as a human phenomenon without inherent moral culpability). *LaPine's Reformed-style writing (dense discussion with heavy footnotes, discussion spiraling around the same theme in different ways for several hundred pages) is admirable for its integrity. He has done his homework on both theological history and many aspects of psychology and neuroscience. As well, he is addressing very important issues in the context of a history of inadequacy in faith-based responses to mental health and counseling across Christian denominations. LaPine's work fills a critical gap at a timely moment in history, when the church needs a better response to human needs, and practitioners need tools for a more robust theology of practice. *At the same time, the author's deep dives into highly technical theological language and footnoted minutiae make a commitment to reading the whole book difficult for anyone who is unfamiliar or uncomfortable with the dense writing style of Reformed theology. There are also inconsistencies in the central arguments. For example, LaPine's opening section pits faith approaches against biological materialism as the current mainstream view, but draws on nonmaterialist views and resources in other areas without acknowledging that materialism is only one among the current views, many of which are more inclusive of spirituality. Materialist determinism is more confined to the medical model, which governs only a fraction of the practice of counseling psychology, most of which has embraced either existential, psychodynamic, or humanistic approaches. *LaPine does an interesting job of trying to pry Reformed theology from a particular tradition of Reformed thought, showing this particular tradition to be just one among many options consistent with core Reformed commitments. The book, however, can't quite get unstuck from its initial strategy of attaching its arguments to highly specific and selective theological and psychological parameters. A therapist or pastor wishing to better anchor their counseling approach in their theology might do well to select from the range of neuropsychotherapeutic theories and approaches in the dialogue between their theology and psychology, rather than start with defining the task as a conversation with materialist determinism. *The theological treatment sometimes loses "the forest for the trees." The discussion of interpretive nuances in Jesus's embodied experience of anguish in Matthew 26 (chap. 7) is a nugget. LaPine's arguments ground the issues well in scripture and in the heart of the Christian faith (the life and death of Jesus), as well as in its roots of Jewish understanding. Nonetheless, the reader loses track of the key salient points in the main theology chapters that lay out the "chess pieces" of the debate--Aquinas (chap. 2), Calvin (chap. 4), Reformed tradition (chaps. 7-8)--after slogging through the tangents and lengthy footnotes. Shortening the book by 200 pages would have been a worthwhile editorial exercise and would also have made the book comprehensible to more readers. *LaPine's neuropsychology discussion sometimes gives an impression of romping loosely through a broad field that never shakes the overgeneralized straw-man role set at the beginning, despite some interesting and pertinent references (such as Panksepp's emotional systems). It is difficult to see the precise connection between the theology and contemporary psychology, despite the enduring relevance of the central debate about moral choice, spirituality, and emotional health. Nevertheless, professionals with psychology training will find interesting points and connections. LaPine's book is a worthwhile exercise in wrestling with one's beliefs about the interactions between body, mind, and soul, and with the place of human agency in mental health and moral life. For this, the book provokes a discussion that is much needed. The book is a worthwhile resource for any faith-based Christian (any denomination) student of counseling or chaplaincy, or for clergy or divinity students who want to take their responsibility for counseling and pastoral care seriously. The cost of the book is very reasonable, and well worth it for the segments a reader may find most useful. As well, the questions addressed (relationship of spirit/soul and body, moral choice vs. mental health) are central to the task of counseling. The church is long overdue for supporting practitioners toward a theology of practice in counseling psychology that integrates current science. *Generally, I give the book a thumb's up. I recommend it for therapists, though those who haven't read theology in a while, will find it hard slogging. I also recommend it for counseling and psychology training in faith-based institutions because LaPine addresses many of the core issues and difficult questions of agency and moral responsibility. The structure of the book could provide a nice framework for a course on topics such as the history of "theology of psychology," development of a theology of practice, or theories of change in pastoral counseling. Readers, however, do need to supplement the contemporary psychology references with further reading for a first-hand understanding of the nuances of the field, rather than relying on LaPine's brief and oversimplified summaries. *Note *1This book is available through the ASA Virtual Bookstore at: https://convention.christianbook.com/Christian/Books/easy_find?Ntt=THE+LOGIC+OF+THE+BODY%3A+Retrieving+Theological+Psychology&N=0&Ntk=keywords&action=Search&Ne=0&event=ESRCG&nav_search=1&cms=1&ps_exit=RETURN%7Clegacy&ps_domain=convention. *Reviewed by Heather Sansom, Registered Psychotherapist in private practice, and Professor, Cambrian College, Sudbury, ON P3A 3V8.

This study aimed to identify various hazard risks which are related to children in schools. This study used a quantitative descriptive design. The sampling technique used was four stage stratified random sampling, with 329 elementary schools as the sample. The results identified various dangerous situations which are related to children and schools ranging from infectious diseases, natural disasters, violence against children and the dangers due to the absence of adequate safety at school. Dangers from natural disasters which could be identified were earthquake, volcano, flood, hurricane landslide, and drought as well as potential biological hazards such as contagion and caterpillar outbreak. Additionally, the dangers related to violence against children were fighting, extortion, physical violence, psychological violence, sexual violence, bullying, and stealing. Related to safety aspects at schools, there were dangerous situations caused by the activities of the children themselves which caused injuries, or other technical causes, such as fire, falling buildings/falling trees, food poisoning, and infectious diseases.

AbstractDespite growing interest in psychedelic-assisted therapy (PAT) research, there remains a lack of consensus about key issues relevant to difficulties in predicting acute drug effects, and the role of therapeutic support in clinical trials. In the absence of a clear theoretical model to conceptualize multifaceted components in PAT research, dialogue across contexts (e.g., popular media, peer reviewed journals, conference settings) is becoming increasingly polarized and siloed. This has even contributed to somewhat unusual recommendations by the FDA and others that removing critical aspects of psychological and medical safety could enhance our ability to investigate the impact of these drugs on clinical outcomes. Considering the importance of determining and maximizing safety in ongoing PAT research, this commentary suggests that an ecological systems theory (EST) approach provides a structure to make contextual and practical factors a more explicit and testable component of research. Utilizing systems theory and Bronfenbrenner’s EST approach adapted for healthcare settings, we propose that a more detailed conceptual model in PAT research would enable more explicit consideration of contextual factors informing and influencing outcomes. This commentary is accompanied by a custom figure that illustrates application of this model for psychedelic research and highlights the limitations of current measurement of acute subjective experience.

AbstractMany regions around the world are experiencing an increase in climate-related shocks, such as drought. This poses serious threats to farming activities and has major implications for sustaining rural livelihoods and food security. Farmers’ ability to respond to and withstand the increasing incidence of drought events needs to be strengthened and their resilience enhanced. Implementation of measures to enhance resilience is determined by decisions of farmers and it is important to understand the reasons behind their behavior. We assessed the viability of measures to enhance resilience of farmers to drought, by developing a general framework that covers economic-technical and psychological-cognitive aspects, here summarized under the terms (1) motivation and (2) feasibility. The conceptual framework was applied to cocoa farmers in Ghana and tef farmers in Ethiopia by using questionnaire-based surveys. A portfolio of five specific measures to build resilience (i.e., irrigation, shade trees, fire belts, bookkeeping, mulching, early mature varieties, weather forecast, reduced tillage, improved harvesting) in each country was evaluated with a closed-ended questionnaire that covered the various aspects of motivation and feasibility whereby farmers were asked to (dis)agree on a 5-point Likert scale. The results show that if the motivation mean score is increased by 0.1 units, the probability of implementation increases by 16.9% in Ghana and by 7.7% in Ethiopia. If the feasibility mean score is increased by 0.1 units, the probability of implementation increases by 24.9% in Ghana and by 11.9% in Ethiopia. We can conclude that motivation and feasibility matter, and we improve our understanding of measure implementation if we include both feasibility and motivation into viability assessments.

Introduction Burning Man (BM) is a festival of art and music that materialises for one week each year in the Nevada desert. It is considered by many to be the world’s largest countercultural event. But what is BM, really? With record attendance of 69,613 in 2013 (Griffith) (the original event in 1986 had twenty), and recent event themes that have engaged with mainstream political themes such as “Green Man” (2007) and “American Dream” (2008), can BM still be considered countercultural? Was it ever? In the first part of this article, we define counterculture as a subculture that originates in the hippie movement of 1960s America and the rejection of “mainstream” values associated with post-WWII industrial culture, that aligns itself with environmentalism and ecological consciousness, and that is distinctly anti-consumer (Roszak, Making). Second, we identify BM as an art and music festival that transcends the event to travel with its desert denizens out into the “real world.” In this way, it is also a festival that has countercultural connections. Third, though BM bears some resemblance to counterculture, given that it is founded upon “Radical Self-Reliance”, BM is actually anything but countercultural because it interlocks with the current socioeconomic zeitgeist of neoliberalism, and that reflects a “new individualism” (Elliot & Lemert). BM’s ambition to be a commercial-free zone runs aground against its entanglement with market relations, and BM is also arguably a consumer space. Finally, neoliberal ideology and “new individualism” are encoded in the space of BM at the level of the spectacle (Debord). The Uchronian’s structure from BM 2006 (a cavernous wooden construction nicknamed the “Belgian Waffle”) could be read as one example. However, opportunities for personal transformation and transcendent experience may persist as counterculture moves into a global age. Defining Counterculture To talk about BM as a counterculture, we must first define counterculture. Hebdige provided a useful distinction between subculture and counterculture in an endnote to a discussion of Teds versus Rockers (148). According to Hebdige, what distinguishes counterculture from mere subculture and related styles is its association with a specific era (1967–70), that its adherents tended to hail from educated, middle-class families, and that it is “explicitly political and ideological” and thus more easily “read” by the dominant powers. Finally, it opposes the dominant culture. Counterculture has its roots in “the hippies, the flower children, the yippies” of the 60s. However, perhaps Hebdige’s definition is too narrow; it is more of an instance of counterculture than a definition. A more general definition of counterculture might be a subculture that rejects “mainstream” values, and examples of this have existed throughout time. For example, we might include the 19th century Romantics with their rejection of the Enlightenment and distrust of capitalism (Roszak 1972), or the Beat generation and post-War America (Miller). Perhaps counterculture even requires one to be a criminal: the prominent Beat writer William S. Burroughs shot guns and heroin, was a homosexual, and accidentally shot and killed his wife in a drug haze (Severo). All of these are examples of subcultures that rejected or opposed the mainstream values of the time. But it was Roszak (Making) who originally defined counterculture as the hippie movement of 1960s era college-aged middle-class American youth who revolted against the values and society inherited not only from their parents, but from the “military-industrial complex” itself, which “quite simply was the American political system” (3). Indeed, the 1960s counterculture—what the term “counterculture” has more generally come to mean—was perhaps the most radical expression of humanity ever in its ontological overthrow of industrial culture and all that it implied (and also, Roszak speculates, in so much that it may have been an experiment gone wrong on the part of the American establishment): The Communist and Socialist Left had always been as committed to industrialism as their capitalist foes, never questioning it as an inevitable historical stage. From this viewpoint, all that needed to be debated was the ownership and control of the system. But here was a dissenting movement that yearned for an entirely different quality of life. It was not simply calling the political superstructure into question; with precocious ecological insight, it was challenging the culture of industrial cities on which that superstructure stood. And more troubling still, there were those among the dissenters who questioned the very sanity of that culture. These psychic disaffiliates took off in search of altered states of consciousness that might generate altered states of society. (8) For the purposes of this paper, then, counterculture refers specifically to those cultures that find their roots in the hippie movement of the late 1960s. I embrace both Roszak’s and Hebdige’s definitions of counterculture because they define it as a unique reaction of post-WWII American youth against industrial culture and a rejection of the accompanying values of home, marriage and career. Instead, counterculture embraced ecological awareness, rejected consumption, and even directed itself toward mystical altered states. In the case of the espoused ecological consciousness, that blossomed into the contemporary (increasingly mainstream) environmental movement toward “green” energy. In the case of counterculture, the specific instance really is the definition in this case because the response of postwar youth was so strong and idiosyncratic, and there is overlap between counterculture and the BM community. So what is Burning Man? Defining Burning Man According to the event’s website: Burning Man is an annual event and a thriving year-round culture. The event takes place the week leading up to and including Labor Day, in Nevada’s Black Rock Desert. The Burning Man organization […] creates the infrastructure of Black Rock City, wherein attendees (or “participants”) dedicate themselves to the spirit of community, art, self-expression, and self-reliance. They depart one week later, leaving no trace […] Outside the event, Burning Man’s vibrant year-round culture is growing through the non-profit Burning Man Project, including worldwide Regional Groups and associated non-profits who embody Burning Man’s ethos out in the world. (“What is Burning Man?”) I interpret BM as a massive art festival and party that materialises in the desert once a year to produce one of the largest cities in Nevada, but one with increasingly global reach in which the participants feel compelled to carry the ethos forward into their everyday lives. It is also an event with an increasing number of “regional burns” (Taylor) that have emerged as offshoots of the original. Creator Larry Harvey originally conceived of burning the effigy of a man on San Francisco’s Baker Beach in 1986 in honor of the solstice (“Burning Man Timeline”). Twenty people attended the first BM. That figure rapidly rose to 800 by 1990 when for legal reasons it became necessary to relocate to the remote Black Rock desert in Nevada, the largest expanse of flat land in the United States. In the early 90s, when BM had newly relocated and attendees numbered in the low thousands, it was not uncommon for participants to mix drugs, booze, speeding cars and firearms (Bonin) (reminiscent of the outlaw associations of counterculture). As the Internet became popular in the mid-1990s word spread quickly, leading to a surge in the population. By the early 2000s attendance regularly numbered in the tens of thousands and BM had become a global phenomenon. In 2014 the festival turned 28, but it had already been a corporation for nearly two decades before transitioning to a non-profit (“Burning Man Transitions”). Burning Man as Countercultural Event BM has connections to the counterculture, though the organisation is quick to dispel these connections as myths (“Media Myths”). For example, in response to the notion that BM is a “90s Woodstock”, the organisers point out that BM is for all ages and not a concert. Rather, it is a “noncommercial environment” where the participants come to entertain each other, and thus it is “not limited by the conventions of any subculture.” The idea that BM is a “hippie” festival is also a myth, but one with some truth to it: Hippies helped create environmental ethics, founded communes, wore colorful clothing, courted mysticism, and distrusted the modern industrial economy. In some ways, this counterculture bears a resemblance to aspects of Burning Man. Hippie society was also a youth movement that often revolved around drugs, music, and checks from home. Burning Man is about “radical self-reliance”–it is not a youth movement, and it is definitely not a subculture (“Media Myths”). There are some familiar aspects of counterculture here, particularly environmental consciousness, anti-consumer tendencies and mysticism. Yet, looking at the high attendance numbers and the progression of themes in recent years one might speculate that BM is no longer as countercultural as it once was. For instance, psychedelic themes such as “Vault of Heaven” (2004) and “Psyche” (2005) gave way to “The Green Man” (2007) and “American Dream” (2008). Although “Green Man” was an environmental theme it debuted the year after Vice President Al Gore’s “An Inconvenient Truth” (2006) brought the issue of climate change to a mainstream audience. Indeed, as a global, leaderless event with a strong participatory ethos in many respects BM followed suit with the business world, particularly given it was a Limited Liability Corporation (LLC) for many years (though it was ahead of the curve): “Capitalism has learned from the counter culture. But this is not news” (Rojek 355). Similarly, just in time for the 2008 U.S. Presidential election the organisational committee decided to juxtapose “the Man” with the American flag. Therefore, there has been an arguable shift toward engagement with mainstream issues and politics in recent years (and away from mysticism). Recent themes are really re-appropriations of mainstream discourses; hence they are “agonistic” readings (Mouffe). Take for example the VoterDrive Bus, an early example of political talk at BM that engaged with mainstream politics. The driver was seven-time BM veteran Corey Mervis (also known as “Misty Mocracy”) (“Jack Rabbit Speaks”). Beginning on 22 July 2004, the VoterDrive Bus wrote the word VOTE in script across the continental United States in the months before the election, stopping in the Black Rock City (BRC) for one week during the BM festival. Four years later the theme “American Dream” would reflect this countercultural re-appropriation of mainstream political themes in the final months leading up to the 2008 Presidential election. In that year, “the Man,” a massive wooden effigy that burns on the last night of the event, stood atop a platform of windows, each inscribed with the flag of a different country. “American Dream” was as politically as it was poetically inspired. Note the agonistic appeal: “This year's art theme is about patriotism—not that kind which freights the nation state with the collective weight of ego, but a patriotism that is based upon a love of country and culture. Leave ideology at home…Ask yourself, instead…What can postmodern America, this stumbling, roused, half-conscious giant, yet give to the world?” (“2008 Art Theme: American Dream”). BM has arguably retained its countercultural authenticity despite engagement with mainstream political themes by virtue of such agonistic appeals to “American Dream”, and to “Green Man” which promoted environmental awareness, and which after all started out in the counterculture. I attended BM twice in 2006 and 2007 with “The Zombie Hotel”, one among a thousand camps in the BRC, Nevada (oddly, there were numerous zombie-themed camps). The last year I attended, the festival seemed to have come of age, and 2007 was the first in its history that BM invited corporate presence in the form of green energy companies (and informational kiosks, courtesy of Google) (Taylor). Midway through the week, as I stumbled through the haphazard common area that was The Zombie Hotel hiding from the infernal heat of the desert sun, two twin fighter jets, their paths intertwining, disturbed the sanctity of the clear, blue afternoon sky followed by a collective roar from the city. One can imagine my dismay at rumours that the fighter jets—which I had initially assumed to be some sort of military reconnaissance—were in fact hired by the BM Organizational Committee to trace the event’s symbol in the sky. Speculation would later abound on Tribe.net (“What was up with the fighter jets?”). What had BM become after all? Figure 1: Misty Mocracy & the VoterDrive Bus. Photo: Erick Leskinen (2004). Reproduced with permission. “Radical Self-Reliance”, Neoliberalism and the “New Individualism” Despite overlap with elements of counterculture, there is something quite normative about BM from the standpoint of ideology, and thus “mainstream” in the sense of favouring values associated with what Roszak calls “industrial society”, namely consumption and capitalist labor relations. To understand this, let us examine “The Ten Principles of BM”. These include: Radical Inclusion, Gifting, Decommodification, Radical Self-Reliance, Radical Self-Expression, Communal Effort, Civic Responsibility, Leaving No Trace, Participation and Immediacy (“Ten Principles of Burning Man”). These categories speak to BM’s strong connection to the counterculture. For example, “Decommodification” is a rejection of consumerism in favour of a culture of giving; “Immediacy” rejects mediation, and “Participation” stresses transformative change. Many of these categories also evoke political agonism, for example “Radical Inclusion” requires that “anyone may be a part of Burning Man”, and “Radical Self-Expression”, which suggests that no one other than the gift-giver can determine the content of the message. Finally, there are categories that also engage with concepts associated with traditional civil society and democracy, such as “Civic Responsibility”, which refers to the “public welfare”, “Participation”, and “Communal Effort.” Though at first it may seem to connect with countercultural values, upon closer inspection “Radical Self-Reliance” aligns BM with the larger socioeconomic zeitgeist under late-capitalism, subverting its message of “Decommodification.” Here is what it says: “Burning Man encourages the individual to discover, exercise and rely on his or her inner resources.” That message is transformative, even mystical, but it aligns well with a neoliberal ideology and uncertain labor relations under late capitalism. Indeed, Elliot and Lemert explore the psychological impact of a “new individualism”, setting the self in opposition to the incoming forces of globalisation. They address the question of how individuals respond to globalisation, perhaps pathologically. Elliot and Lemert clarify the socio-psychological ramifications of economic fragmentation. They envision this as inextricably caught up with the erosion of personal identity and the necessity to please “self-absorbed others” in a multiplicity of incommensurate realities (20, 21). Individuals are not merely atomised socially but fragmented psychologically, while at the macroscopic level privatisation of the economy spawns this colonisation of the personal Lifeworld, as social things move into the realm of individualised dilemmas (42). It is interesting to note how BM’s principles (in particular “Radical Self-Reliance”) evoke this fracturing of identity as identities and realities multiply in the BRC. Furthermore, the spectre of neoliberal labour conditions on “the Playa” kicks down the door for consumer culture’s entrée. Consumer society “technicises” the project of the self as a series of problems having consumer solutions with reference to expert advice (Slater 86), BM provides that solution in the form of a transformative experience through “Participation”, and acolytes of the BM festival can be said to be deeply invested in the “experience economy” (Pine & Gilmore): “We believe that transformative change, whether in the individual or in society, can occur only through the medium of deeply personal participation” (“Ten Principles”). Yet, while BM rejects consumption as part of “Decommodification”, the event has become something of a playground for new technological elites (with a taste for pink fur and glow tape rather than wine and cheese) with some camps charging as much as US $25,000 in fees per person for the week (most charge $300) (Bilton). BM is gentrifying, or as veteran attendee Tyler Hanson put it, “Burning Man is no longer a counterculture revolution. It’s now become a mirror of society” (quoted in Bilton). Neoliberalism and “new individualism” are all around at BM, and a reading of space and spectacle in the Uchronian structure reveals this encoding. Figure 2: “Message Out of the Future by Night” (also known as “the Belgian Waffle). Photo: Laurent Chavanne (2006). Reproduced with permission. “Long Gone Hippies” Republican tax reformist Grover Norquist made his way to BM for the first time this year, joining the tech elites. He subsequently proclaimed that America had a lot to learn from BM: “The story of Burning Man is one of radical self-reliance” (Norquist). As the population of the BRC surges toward seventy thousand, it may be difficult to call BM a countercultural event any longer. Given parallels between the BM ethos and neoliberal market relations and a “new individualism”, it is hard to deny that BM is deeply intertwined with counterposing forces of globalisation. However, if you ask the participants (and Norquist) they will have a different story: After you buy your ticket to Burning Man to help pay for the infrastructure, and after you pay for your own transportation, food and water, and if you optionally decide to pay to join a camp that provides some services THEN you never have to take your wallet out while at Burning Man. Folks share food, massages, alcohol, swimming pools, trampolines, many experiences. The expenses that occur prior to the festival are very reasonable and it is wonderful to walk around free from shopping or purchasing. Pockets are unnecessary. So are clothes. (Alex & Allyson Grey) Consumerism is a means to an end in an environment where the meanings of civic participation and “giving back” to the counterculture take many forms. Moreover, Thornton argued that the varied definitions of what is “mainstream” among subcultures point more to a complex and multifaceted landscape of subculture than to any coherent agreement as to what “mainstream” actually means (101), and so perhaps our entire discussion of the counterculture/mainstream binary is moot. Perhaps there is something yet to be salvaged in the spaces of participation at BM, some agonistic activity to be harnessed. The fluid spaces of the desert are the loci of community action. Jan Kriekels, founder of the Uchronia Community, holds out some hope. The Belgian based art collective hauled 150 kilometres of lumber to the BRC in the summer of 2006 to construct a freestanding, cavernous structure with a floor space of 60 by 30 metres at its center and a height of 15 metres (they promised a reforestation of the equivalent amount of trees) (Figure 1). “Don’t mistake us for long gone hippies in the desert”, wrote Kriekels in Message Out of the Future: Uchronia Community, “we are trying to build a bridge between materialism and spiritualism” (102). The Uchronians announced themselves as not only desert nomads but nomads in time (“U” signifying “nothing” and “chronos” or “time”), their time-traveller personas designed to subvert commodification, their mysterious structure (nicknamed the “Belgian Waffle” by the burners, a painful misnomer in the eyes of the Uchronians) evoking a sense of timelessness. I remember standing within that “cathedral-like” (60) structure and feeling exhilarated and lonely and cold all at once for the chill of the desert at night, and later, much later, away from the Playa in conversations with a friend we recalled Guy Debord’s “Thesis 30”: “The spectator feels at home nowhere, for the spectacle is everywhere.” The message of the Uchronians provokes a comparison with Virilio’s conceptualisations of “world time” and “simultaneity” that emerge from globalisation and digital technologies (13), part of the rise of a “globalitarianism” (15)—“world time (‘live’) takes over from the ancient, immemorial supremacy of the local time of regions” (113). A fragmented sense of time, after all, accompanies unstable labour conditions in the 21st century. Still, I hold out hope for the “resistance” inherent in counterculture as it fosters humanity’s “bothersomely unfulfilled potentialities” (Roszak, Making 16). I wonder in closing if I have damaged the trust of burners in attempting to write about what is a transcendent experience for many. It may be argued that the space of the BRC is not merely a spectacle—rather, it contains the urban “forests of gestures” (de Certeau 102). These are the secret perambulations—physical and mental—at risk of betrayal. References An Inconvenient Truth. Dir. Davis Guggenheim. Perf. Al Gore. Paramount Pictures, 2006. Bilton, Nick. “At Burning Man, the Tech Elite One-Up One Another.” The New York Times: Fashion & Style, 20 Aug. 2014. 10 Oct. 2014 ‹http://www.nytimes.com/2014/08/21/fashion/at-burning-man-the-tech-elite-one-up-one-another.html› “Burning Man Timeline.” Burningman. 10 Oct. 2014 ‹http://burningman.org/timeline/›. “Burning Man Transitions to Non-Profit Organization.” Burningman 3 Mar. 2014. 10 Oct. 2014 ‹http://blog.burningman.com/2014/03/news/burning-man-transitions-to-non-profit-organization/›. De Bord, Guy. The Society of the Spectacle. New York: Zone, 1994. De Certeau, Michel. The Practice of Everyday Life. Berkeley, Calif.: U of California P, 1984. Dust & Illusions: 30 Years of History of Burning Man. Dir. Oliver Bonin. Perf. Jerry James, Larry Harvey, John Law. Imagine, 2009. Elliot, Anthony, and Charles Lemert. The New Individualism. New York: Routledge, 2006. Grey, Alex, and Alyson Grey. “Ticket 4066, Burning Man Study.” Message to the author. 30 Nov. 2007. E-mail. Griffith, Martin. “Burning Man Draws 66,000 People to the Nevada Desert.” The Huffington Post 2 Sep. 2014. 10 Oct. 2014 ‹http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2014/09/02/burning-man-2014_n_5751648.html›. Hebdige, Dick. Subculture: The Meaning of Style. New York: Methuen, 1979. “Jack Rabbit Speaks.” JRS 8.32 (2004). 10 Oct. 2014 ‹http://www.burningman.com/blackrockcity_yearround/jrs/vol08/jrs_v08_i32.html›. Kriekels, Jan. Message Out of the Future: Uchronia Community. 2006. 10 Oct. 2014 ‹http://issuu.com/harmenvdw/docs/uchronia-book-low#›. “Media Myths.” Burningman. 6 Nov. 2014 ‹http://www.burningman.com/press/myths.html›. Miller, Timothy. The Hippies and American Values. Knoxville: U of Tennessee P, 1999. Mouffe, Chantal. On the Political. London: Routledge, 2005. Norquist, Grover. “My First Burning Man: Confessions of a Conservative from Washington.” The Guardian 2 Sep. 2014. 10 Oct. 2014 ‹http://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2014/sep/02/my-first-burning-man-grover-norquist›. Pine, B. Joseph, and James H. Gilmore. The Experience Economy. Boston: Harvard Business School P, 1999. Rojek, Chris. "Leaderless Organization, World Historical Events and Their Contradictions: The ‘Burning Man’ City Case.” Cultural Sociology 8.3 (2014): 351–364. Roszak, Theodore. The Making of a Counter Culture. Oakiland, Calif.: U of California P, 1995 [1968]. Roszak, Theodore. Where the Wasteland Ends. Charlottesville, Va.: U of Virginia P, 1972. Severo, Richard. “William S. Burroughs Dies at 83.” New York Times 3 Aug. 1997. 6 Nov. 2014 ‹http://www.nytimes.com/1997/08/03/nyregion/william-s-burroughs-dies-at-83-member-of-the-beat-generation-wrote-naked-lunch.html›. Slater, Don. Consumer Culture and Modernity. Cambridge, U.K.: Polity, 1997. Taylor, Chris. “Burning Man Grows Up.” CNN: Money. 10 Oct. 2014 ‹http://money.cnn.com/magazines/business2/business2_archive/2007/07/01/100117064›. “Ten Principles of Burning Man.” Burningman. 10 Oct. 2014 ‹http://burningman.org/culture/philosophical-center/10-principles/›. Thornton, Sarah. Club Cultures: Music, Media and Subcultural Capital. Hanover, NH: Wesleyan UP, 1996. Virilio, Paul. The Information Bomb. London: Verso, 2000. “What Was Up with the Fighter Jets?” Tribe 7 Sep. 2007. 10 Oct. 2014 ‹http://bm.tribe.net/thread/84f762e0-2160-4e6e-b5af-1e35ce81a1b7›. “2008 Art Theme: American Dream.” Tribe 3 Sep. 2007. 10 Oct. 2014 ‹http://bm.tribe.net/thread/60b9b69c-001a-401f-b69f-25e9bdef95ce›.

1909–22: Turkey exterminated over 1.5 million of its ethnically Armenian, and hundreds of thousands of its ethnically Greek and Assyrian, citizens. Most died in 1915. This period of decimation in now widely called the Armenian Genocide (Balakian 179-80).1910: Siamanto first published his poem, The Dance: “The corpses were piled as trees, / and from the springs, from the streams and the road, / the blood was a stubborn murmur.” When springs run red, when the dead are stacked tree-high, when “everything that could happen has already happened,” then time is nothing: “there is no future [and] the language of civilised humanity is not our language” (Nichanian 142).2007: In my novel The Edge of the World a ceramic bowl, luminous blue, recurs as motif. Imagine you are tiny: the bowl is broken but you don’t remember breaking it. You’re awash with tears. You sit on the floor, gather shards but, no matter how you try, you can’t fix it. Imagine, now, that the bowl is the sky, huge and upturned above your head. You have always known, through every wash of your blood, that life is shockingly precarious. Silence—between heartbeats, between the words your parents speak—tells you: something inside you is terribly wrong; home is not home but there is no other home; you “can never be fully grounded in a community which does not share or empathise with the experience of persecution” (Wajnryb 130). This is the stubborn murmur of your body.Because time is nothing, this essay is fragmented, non-linear. Its main characters: my mother, grandmother (Hovsanna), grandfather (Benyamin), some of my mother’s older siblings (Krikor, Maree, Hovsep, Arusiak), and Mustafa Kemal Ataturk (Ottoman military officer, Young Turk leader, first president of Turkey). 1915–2013: Turkey invests much energy in genocide denial, minimisation and deflection of responsibility. 24 April 2012: Barack Obama refers to the Medz Yeghern (Great Calamity). The use of this term is decried as appeasement, privileging political alliance with Turkey over human rights. 2003: Between Genocide and Catastrophe, letters between Armenian-American theorist David Kazanjian and Armenian-French theorist Marc Nichanian, contest the naming of the “event” (126). Nichanian says those who call it the Genocide are:repeating every day, everywhere, in all places, the original denial of the Catastrophe. But this is part of the catastrophic structure of the survivor. By using the word “Genocide”, we survivors are only repeating […] the denial of the loss. We probably cannot help it. We are doing what the executioner wanted us to do […] we claim all over the world that we have been “genocided;” we relentlessly need to prove our own death. We are still in the claws of the executioner. We still belong to the logic of the executioner. (127)1992: In Revolution and Genocide, historian Robert Melson identifies the Armenian Genocide as “total” because it was public policy intended to exterminate a large fraction of Armenian society, “including the families of its members, and the destruction of its social and cultural identity in most or all aspects” (26).1986: Boyajian and Grigorian assert that the Genocide “is still operative” because, without full acknowledgement, “the ghosts won’t go away” (qtd. in Hovannisian 183). They rise up from earth, silence, water, dreams: Armenian literature, Armenian homes haunted by them. 2013: My heart pounds: Medz Yeghern, Aksor (Exile), Anashmaneli (Indefinable), Darakrutiun (Deportation), Chart (Massacre), Brnagaght (Forced migration), Aghed (Catastrophe), Genocide. I am awash. Time is nothing.1909–15: Mustafa Kemal Ataturk was both a serving Ottoman officer and a leader of the revolutionary Young Turks. He led Ottoman troops in the repulsion of the Allied invasion before dawn on 25 April at Gallipoli and other sites. Many troops died in a series of battles that eventually saw the Ottomans triumph. Out of this was born one of Australia’s founding myths: Australian and New Zealand Army Corps (ANZACs), courageous in the face of certain defeat. They are commemorated yearly on 25 April, ANZAC Day. To question this myth is to risk being labelled traitor.1919–23: Ataturk began a nationalist revolution against the occupying Allies, the nascent neighbouring Republic of Armenia, and others. The Allies withdrew two years later. Ataturk was installed as unofficial leader, becoming President in 1923. 1920–1922: The last waves of the Genocide. 2007: Robert Manne published A Turkish Tale: Gallipoli and the Armenian Genocide, calling for a recontextualisation of the cultural view of the Gallipoli landings in light of the concurrence of the Armenian Genocide, which had taken place just over the rise, had been witnessed by many military personnel and widely reported by international media at the time. Armenian networks across Australia were abuzz. There were media discussions. I listened, stared out of my office window at the horizon, imagined Armenian communities in Sydney and Melbourne. Did they feel like me—like they were holding their breath?Then it all went quiet. Manne wrote: “It is a wonderful thing when, at the end of warfare, hatred dies. But I struggle to understand why Gallipoli and the Armenian Genocide continue to exist for Australians in parallel moral universes.” 1992: I bought an old house to make a home for me and my two small children. The rooms were large, the ceilings high, and behind it was a jacaranda with a sturdy tree house built high up in its fork. One of my mother’s Armenian friends kindly offered to help with repairs. He and my mother would spend Saturdays with us, working, looking after the kids. Mum would stay the night; her friend would go home. But one night he took a sleeping bag up the ladder to the tree house, saying it reminded him of growing up in Lebanon. The following morning he was subdued; I suspect there were not as many mosquitoes in Lebanon as we had in our garden. But at dinner the previous night he had been in high spirits. The conversation had turned, as always, to politics. He and my mother had argued about Turkey and Russia, Britain’s role in the development of the Middle East conflict, the USA’s roughshod foreign policy and its effect on the world—and, of course, the Armenian Genocide, and the killingof Turkish governmental representatives by Armenians, in Australia and across the world, during the 1980s. He had intimated he knew the attackers and had materially supported them. But surely it was the beer talking. Later, when I asked my mother, she looked at me with round eyes and shrugged, uncharacteristically silent. 2002: Greek-American diva Diamanda Galas performed Dexifiones: Will and Testament at the Perth Concert Hall, her operatic work for “the forgotten victims of the Armenian and Anatolian Greek Genocide” (Galas).Her voice is so powerful it alters me.1925: My grandmother, Hovsanna, and my grandfather, Benyamin, had twice been separated in the Genocide (1915 and 1922) and twice reunited. But in early 1925, she had buried him, once a prosperous businessman, in a swamp. Armenians were not permitted burial in cemeteries. Once they had lived together in a big house with their dozen children; now there were only three with her. Maree, half-mad and 18 years old, and quiet Hovsep, aged seven,walked. Then five-year-old aunt, Arusiak—small, hungry, tired—had been carried by Hovsanna for months. They were walking from Cilicia to Jerusalem and its Armenian Quarter. Someone had said they had seen Krikor, her eldest son, there. Hovsanna was pregnant for the last time. Together the four reached Aleppo in Syria, found a Christian orphanage for girls, and Hovsanna, her pregnancy near its end, could carry Arusiak no further. She left her, promising to return. Hovsanna’s pains began in Beirut’s busy streets. She found privacy in the only place she could, under a house, crawled in. Whenever my mother spoke of her birth she described it like this: I was born under a stranger’s house like a dog.1975: My friend and I travelled to Albany by bus. After six hours we were looking down York Street, between Mount Clarence and Mount Melville, and beyond to Princess Royal Harbour, sapphire blue, and against which the town’s prosperous life—its shopfronts, hotels, cars, tourists, historic buildings—played out. It took away my breath: the deep harbour, whaling history, fishing boats. Rain and sun and scudding cloud; cliffs and swells; rocky points and the white curves of bays. It was from Albany that young Western Australian men, volunteers for World War I, embarked on ships for the Middle East, Gallipoli, sailing out of Princess Royal Harbour.1985: The Australian Government announced that Turkey had agreed to have the site of the 1915 Gallipoli landings renamed Anzac Cove. Commentators and politicians acknowledged it as historic praised Turkey for her generosity, expressed satisfaction that, 70 years on, former foes were able to embrace the shared human experience of war. We were justifiably proud of ourselves.2005: Turkey made her own requests. The entrance to Albany’s Princess Royal Harbour was renamed Ataturk Channel. A large bronze statue of Ataturk was erected on the headland overlooking the Harbour entrance. 24 April 1915: In the town of Hasan Beyli, in Cilicia, southwest Turkey, my great grandfather, a successful and respected businessman in his 50s, was asleep in his bed beside his wife. He had been born in that house, as had his father, grandfather, and all his children. His brother, my great uncle, had bought the house next door as a young man, brought his bride home to it, lived there ever since; between the two households there had been one child after another. All the cousins grew up together. My great grandfather and great uncle had gone to work that morning, despite their wives’ concerns, but had returned home early. The women had been relieved to see them. They made coffee, talked. Everyone had heard the rumours. Enemy ships were massing off the coast. 1978: The second time in Albany was my honeymoon. We had driven into the Goldfields then headed south. Such distance, such beautiful strangeness: red earth, red rocks; scant forests of low trees, thin arms outstretched; the dry, pale, flat land of Norseman. Shimmering heat. Then the big, wild coast.On our second morning—a cool, overcast day—we took our handline to a jetty. The ocean was mercury; a line of cormorants settled and bobbed. Suddenly fish bit; we reeled them in. I leaned over the jetty’s side, looked down into the deep. The water was clear and undisturbed save the twirling of a pike that looked like it had reversed gravity and was shooting straight up to me. Its scales flashed silver as itbroke the surface.1982: How could I concentrate on splicing a film with this story in my head? Besides the desk, the only other furniture in the editing suite was a whiteboard. I took a marker and divided the board into three columns for the three generations: my grandparents, Hovsanna and Benyamin; my mother; someone like me. There was a lot in the first column, some in the second, nothing in the third. I stared at the blankness of my then-young life.A teacher came in to check my editing. I tried to explain what I had been doing. “I think,” he said, stony-faced, “that should be your third film, not your first.”When he had gone I stared at the reels of film, the white board blankness, the wall. It took 25 years to find the form, the words to say it: a novel not a film, prose not pictures.2007: Ten minutes before the launch of The Edge of the World, the venue was empty. I made myself busy, told myself: what do you expect? Your research has shown, over and over, this is a story about which few know or very much care, an inconvenient, unfashionable story; it is perfectly in keeping that no-one will come. When I stepped onto the rostrum to speak, there were so many people that they crowded the doorway, spilled onto the pavement. “I want to thank my mother,” I said, “who, pretending to do her homework, listened instead to the story her mother told other Armenian survivor-women, kept that story for 50 years, and then passed it on to me.” 2013: There is a section of The Edge of the World I needed to find because it had really happened and, when it happened, I knew, there in my living room, that Boyajian and Grigorian (183) were right about the Armenian Genocide being “still operative.” But I knew even more than that: I knew that the Diaspora triggered by genocide is both rescue and weapon, the new life in this host nation both sanctuary and betrayal. I picked up a copy, paced, flicked, followed my nose, found it:On 25 April, the day after Genocide memorial-day, I am watching television. The Prime Minister stands at the ANZAC memorial in western Turkey and delivers a poetic and moving speech. My eyes fill with tears, and I moan a little and cover them. In his speech he talks about the heroism of the Turkish soldiers in their defence of their homeland, about the extent of their losses – sixty thousand men. I glance at my son. He raises his eyebrows at me. I lose count of how many times Kemal Ataturk is mentioned as the Father of Modern Turkey. I think of my grandmother and grandfather, and all my baby aunts and uncles […] I curl over like a mollusc; the ache in my chest draws me in. I feel small and very tired; I feel like I need to wash.Is it true that if we repeat something often enough and loud enough it becomes the truth? The Prime Minister quotes Kemal Ataturk: the ANZACS who died and are buried on that western coast are deemed ‘sons of Turkey’. My son turns my grandfather’s, my mother’s, my eyes to me and says, It is amazing they can be so friendly after we attacked them.I draw up my knees to my chest, lay my head and arms down. My limbs feel weak and useless. My throat hurts. I look at my Australian son with his Armenian face (325-6).24 April 1915 cont: There had been trouble all my great grandfather’s life: pogrom here, massacre there. But this land was accustomed to colonisers: the Mongols, the Persians, latterly the Ottomans. They invade, conquer, rise, fall; Armenians stay. This had been Armenian homeland for thousands of years.No-one masses ships off a coast unless planning an invasion. So be it. These Europeans could not be worse than the Ottomans. That night, were my great grandfather and great uncle awoken by the pounding at each door, or by the horses and gendarmes’ boots? They were seized, each family herded at gunpoint into its garden, and made to watch. Hanging is slow. There could be no mistakes. The gendarmes used the stoutest branches, stayed until they were sure the men weredead. This happened to hundreds of prominent Armenian men all over Turkey that night.Before dawn, the Allies made landfall.Each year those lost in the Genocide are remembered on 24 April, the day before ANZAC Day.1969: I asked my mother if she had any brothers and sisters. She froze, her hands in the sink. I stared at her, then slipped from the room.1915: The Ottoman government decreed: all Armenians were to surrender their documents and report to authorities. Able-bodied men were taken away, my grandfather among them. Women and children, the elderly and disabled, were told to prepare to walk to a safe camp where they would stay for the duration of the war. They would be accompanied by armed soldiers for their protection. They were permitted to take with them what they could carry (Bryce 1916).It began immediately, pretty young women and children first. There are so many ways to kill. Months later, a few dazed, starved survivors stumbled into the Syrian desert, were driven into lakes, or herded into churches and set alight.Most husbands and fathers were never seen again. 2003: I arrived early at my son’s school, parked in the shade, opened The Silence: How Tragedy Shapes Talk, and began to read. Soon I was annotating furiously. Ruth Wajnryb writes of “growing up among innocent peers in an innocent landscape” and also that the notion of “freedom of speech” in Australia “seems often, to derive from that innocent landscape where reside people who have no personal scars or who have little relevant historical knowledge” (141).1984: I travelled to Vancouver, Canada, and knocked on Arusiak’s door. Afraid she would not agree to meet me, I hadn’t told her I was coming. She was welcoming and gracious. This was my first experience of extended family and I felt loved in a new and important way, a way I had read about, had observed in my friends, had longed for. One afternoon she said, “You know our mother left me in an orphanage…When I saw her again, it was too late. I didn’t know who they were, what a family was. I felt nothing.” “Yes, I know,” I replied, my heart full and hurting. The next morning, over breakfast, she quietly asked me to leave. 1926: When my mother was a baby, her 18 year-old sister, Maree, tried to drown her in the sea. My mother clearly recalled Maree’s face had been disfigured by a sword. Hovsanna, would ask my mother to forgive Maree’s constant abuse and bad behaviour, saying, “She is only half a person.”1930: Someone gave Hovsanna the money to travel to Aleppo and reclaim Arusiak, by then 10 years old. My mother was intrigued by the appearance of this sister but Arusiak was watchful and withdrawn. When she finally did speak to my then five-year-old mother, she hissed: “Why did she leave me behind and keep you?”Soon after Arusiak appeared, Maree, “only half a person,” disappeared. My mother was happy about that.1935: At 15, Arusiak found a live-in job and left. My mother was 10 years old; her brother Hovsep, who cared for her before and after school every day while their mother worked, and always had, was seventeen. She adored him. He had just finished high school and was going to study medicine. One day he fell ill. He died within a week.1980: My mother told me she never saw her mother laugh or, once Hovsep died, in anything other than black. Two or three times before Hovsep died, she saw her smile a little, and twice she heard her singing when she thought she was alone: “A very sad song,” my mother would say, “that made me cry.”1942: At seventeen, my mother had been working as a live-in nanny for three years. Every week on her only half-day off she had caught the bus home. But now Hovsanna was in hospital, so my mother had been visiting her there. One day her employer told her she must go to the hospital immediately. She ran. Hovsanna was lying alone and very still. Something wasn’t right. My mother searched the hospital corridors but found no-one. She picked up a phone. When someone answered she told them to send help. Then she ran all the way home, grabbed Arusiak’s photograph and ran all the way back. She laid it on her mother’s chest, said, “It’s all right, Mama, Arusiak’s here.”1976: My mother said she didn’t like my boyfriend; I was not to go out with him. She said she never disobeyed her own mother because she really loved her mother. I went out with my boyfriend. When I came home, my belongings were on the front porch. The door was bolted. I was seventeen.2003: I read Wajnryb who identifies violent eruptions of anger and frozen silences as some of the behaviours consistent in families with a genocidal history (126). 1970: My father had been dead over a year. My brothers and I were, all under 12, made too much noise. My mother picked up the phone: she can’t stand us, she screamed; she will call an orphanage to take us away. We begged.I fled to my room. I couldn’t sit down. I couldn’t keep still. I paced, pressed my face into a corner; shook and cried, knowing (because she had always told us so) that she didn’t make idle threats, knowing that this was what I had sometimes glimpsed on her face when she looked at us.2012: The Internet reveals images of Ataturk’s bronze statue overlooking Princess Royal Harbour. Of course, it’s outsized, imposing. The inscription on its plinth reads: "Peace at Home/ Peace in the World." He wears a suit, looks like a scholar, is moving towards us, a scroll in his hand. The look in his eyes is all intensity. Something distant has arrested him – a receding or re-emerging vision. Perhaps a murmur that builds, subsides, builds again. (Medz Yeghern, Aksor, Aghed, Genocide). And what is written on that scroll?2013: My partner suggested we go to Albany, escape Perth’s brutal summer. I tried to explain why it’s impossible. There is no memorial in Albany, or anywhere else in Western Australia, to the 1.5 million victims of the Armenian Genocide. ReferencesAkcam, Taner. “The Politics of Genocide.” Online Video Clip. YouTube. YouTube, 11 Dec. 2011. 6 Mar. 2013 ‹http://www.youtube.com/watchv=OxAJaaw81eU&noredirect=1genocide›.Balakian, Peter. The Burning Tigress: The Armenian Genocide. London: William Heinemann, 2004.BBC. “Kemal Ataturk (1881–1938).” BBC History. 2013. 6 Mar. 2013 ‹http://www.bbc.co.uk/history/historic_figures/ataturk_kemal.shtml›.Boyajian, Levon, and Haigaz Grigorian. “Psychological Sequelae of the Armenian Genocide.”The Armenian Genocide in Perspective. Ed. Richard Hovannisian. New Brunswick: Transaction, 1987. 177–85.Bryce, Viscount. The Treatment of the Armenians in the Ottoman Empire. London: Hodder and Stoughton, 1916.Galas, Diamanda. Program Notes. Dexifiones: Will and Testament. Perth Concert Hall, Perth, Australia. 2001.———.“Dexifiones: Will and Testament FULL Live Lisboa 2001 Part 1.” Online Video Clip. YouTube, 5 Nov. 2011. Web. 6 Mar. 2013 ‹http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mvVnYbxWArM›.Kazanjian, David, and Marc Nichanian. “Between Genocide and Catastrophe.” Loss. Eds. David Eng and David Kazanjian. Los Angeles: U of California P, 2003. 125–47.Manne, Robert. “A Turkish Tale: Gallipoli and the Armenian Genocide.” The Monthly Feb. 2007. 6 Mar. 2013 ‹http://www.themonthly.com.au/turkish-tale-gallipoli-and-armenian-genocide-robert-manne-459›.Matiossian, Vartan. “When Dictionaries Are Left Unopened: How ‘Medz Yeghern’ Turned into a Terminology of Denial.” The Armenian Weekly 27 Nov. 2012. 6 Mar. 2013 ‹http://www.armenianweekly.com/2012/11/27/when-dictionaries-are-left-unopened-how-medz-yeghern-turned-into-terminology-of-denial/›.Melson, Robert. Revolution and Genocide. Chicago: U of Chicago P, 1996.Nicholson, Brendan. “ASIO Detected Bomb Plot by Armenian Terrorists.” The Australian 2 Jan. 2012. 6 Mar. 2013 ‹http://www.theaustralian.com.au/in-depth/cabinet-papers/asio-detected-bomb-plot-by-armenian-terrorists/story-fnbkqb54-1226234411154›.“President Obama Issues Statement on Armenian Remembrance Day.” The Armenian Weekly 24 Apr. 2012. 5 Mar. 2013 ‹http://www.armenianweekly.com/2012/04/24/president-obama-issues-statement-on-armenian-remembrance-day/›.Polain, Marcella. The Edge of the World. Fremantle: Fremantle Press, 2007.Siamanto. “The Dance.” Trans. Peter Balakian and Nervart Yaghlian. Adonias Dalgas Memorial Page 5 Mar. 2013 ‹http://www.terezakis.com/dalgas.html›.Stockings, Craig. “Let’s Have a Truce in the Battle of the Anzac Myth.” The Australian 25 Apr. 2012. 6 Mar. 2013 ‹http://www.theaustralian.com.au/national-affairs/opinion/lets-have-a-truce-in-the-battle-of-the-anzac-myth/story-e6frgd0x-1226337486382›.Wajnryb, Ruth. The Silence: How Tragedy Shapes Talk. Crows Nest: Allen and Unwin, 2001.