Academic literature on the topic 'Max Huggler'

Focusing on the May 2013 anti-government demonstrations in Turkey, widely known as the “Gezi Park Resistance”, this chapter uses Deleuze and Guattari’s “becoming-animal” and Freud’s “Wolfman” case study to explore the damaged memories of all its participants. During and after the protests, independent from being in denial or in defence, both the protesters and the police often claimed that they did not remember what actually happened. In some cases, they had a difficult time acknowledging that they committed certain acts despite seeing themselves in videos and pictures. This reminds us of fict

It is a Friday morning in May 2013 and Dan has risen very early. I hear the front door slam at around 5:30. I gradually fall asleep, trying to ignore the rats running through the walls and in the bathroom next door. I know that Dan is on his way to London to pick up someone from Victoria coach station in London because, about two weeks ago, I went with Cristina to Western Union to transfer money to an address in Moldavia. She told me it was to pay the coach fare for a lady to come to the house. When I asked exactly who, she replied a lady who was Dan’s sister but only ‘half-half’ (pash pash). At around 11 o’clock Dan returns accompanied by Dinni, a small lady who looks as though she could be around 50. Her face is tanned and rough as though she had been working outdoors for a long time and she is wearing a headscarf. She looks visibly tired and after being hugged by Cristina with “Peace, my sister” (...

It was Labor Day, September 2, a Monday, five years ago, and I was twenty-seven years old and about to bring my forty-four-year-old mother and my forty-four-year-old father together for the first time in my adult life. All my life I had daydreamed about this moment, wondered if it would ever happen, and now that it was about to happen, I was so emotional, I was almost out of control. The night before, my father had flown into Chicago from Boston, where he worked as a real estate broker. I drove down to his mother’s on Fifty-fifth and Indiana Avenue to pick him up. Mother Zoe—that’s what I call his mother, my grandmother—was sitting at the kitchen table with her cup of coffee when I knocked on the back door; and there was my father—whom I hadn’t seen but once before—two years earlier when he came back to Chicago, that time, I think, because a brokers’ convention was being held in Chicago. He was slender and brown and handsome and wore a beard and was smiling at me as I came in. Apparently ready to go, he was already holding a tan summer jacket across his arm. I blushed and felt something like a current of electricity shoot through my body as I simply lowered my head, hiding my joy, and walked straight over to him and slid my arms under his and around his body—which fitted mine nicely—and hugged him for all I was worth. I knew I was going to cry. Tears were already rimming my eyes. All it would take was a blink. And I wanted my face over his shoulder, so I’d be looking out the kitchen window, my back to Mother Zoe, when the tears came. But it didn’t help and finally it didn’t matter. I not only cried but, also, I sobbed, sobbed with joy and pain and love for this man I’d dreamed of and fearfully wondered about all my life. And here he was. Two years before, I had expected him to appear suddenly bigger than life, but when I came into Mother Zoe’s house that time and saw him sitting at the dining room table with his mother, with his elbows on the table, he seemed so small, so fragile, so frail, compared to the giant I’d imagined. He was just a flesh and blood human being, a man, and one not especially imposing, just an ordinary man. But this time I didn’t rush to him and hug him. I was too confused, too scared. He stood up and came to me and hugged me, put his arms around me and kissed my forehead. And, yes, this time, too, I cried. I cried but I pulled ...

He was the father of a large family. On the arrival of the Europeans, he cast looks of disdain at them, showing neither astonishment, fright, nor curiosity. They came up to him: he turned his back on them and retired into his cabin. His silence and his anxiety revealed his thoughts too well. He groaned within himself over the happy days of his country, now for ever eclipsed. On the departure of Bougainville, as the inhabitants rushed in a crowd on to the beach, attached themselves to his clothing, hugged his comrades in their arms and wept, this old man advanced, severe in mien, and said: “Weep, luckless Tahitiens weep, but for the arrival not for the departure of these ambitious and wicked men. One day you will know them better. One day they will return, holding in one hand the morsel of wood you see attached to this man’s belt, in the other, the iron which hangs from that man’s side: they will return to throw you into chains, to cut your throats, or to subject you to their extravagance and vices: one day you will serve under them, as corrupted, as vile, as luckless as they.

Patients with each of the 150 distinct rheumatic disorders frequently have overlapping muscle and joint complaints. Weakness, myalgias, arthralgias, spasm, lack of endurance, and stiffness are prominent features of fibromyalgia that may be difficult to differentiate from other conditions. The prominence of complaints in this area is what frequently brings patients to a musculoskeletal specialist such as a rheumatologist, as opposed to an infectious disease expert, general internist, or endocrinologist. Abigail was devastated after the unexpected death of her younger brother at age 30. Her physical and mental health had seemed tenuous, but she managed to pull herself together for the funeral and the visits of relatives from the Midwest. When it was over, Abigail’s coping skills began to fray. First, she began experiencing left-sided upper back pain and thought it was from lifting Aunt Minnie’s suitcase when taking her to the airport. Abigail saw the chiropractor she had consulted three or four times over a five-year period for similar backaches. However, this time the pain did not go away and spread to the right side. Dr. Johnson’s manipulations usually “snapped things back into place,” but this time they made her worse. Abigail became very concerned when her fiancée tried to take her to Myrtle Beach for a relaxing weekend and found that she was in agony whenever he hugged her. Although she had been an aerobics instructor, Abigail found it very difficult to do her morning exercise routine and after several weeks gave up. Trying to exercise was extremely painful. Innocent movements such as washing her back in the shower caused her muscles to tighten up and go into spasm. Dr. Johnson referred her to a rheumatologist, who diagnosed fibromyalgia and instituted a medication, education, and rehabilitation program. Over 80 percent of fibromyalgia patients have muscular symptoms or signs. Aching in the muscles, or myalgias, is common in the upper or lower back and neck area. Myalgias are usually present on both the right and left sides and present as a dull, throbbing discomfort. Spasm, defined as an involuntary muscular contraction, is less common than the sense of tightness in muscles that seems like spasm.