Mardi Gras is 47 days before Easter, since Easter can be from March 22nd to April 25th , Mardi Grad can be from February 3rd to March 9th. 
Mardi Gras is February 25th in the year 2020. I ask you to make a journal of your day in New Orleans during mardi using photos from wherever you like to paruse  
Story 1 :  https://aalbc.com/tc/blogs/entry/261-eostre-art-or-text-craft-parade-good-news-blog/?do=findComment&comment=885  
Story 2 : https://aalbc.com/tc/blogs/entry/261-eostre-art-or-text-craft-parade-good-news-blog/?do=findComment&comment=886  
 
STORY 1
 
ba-bedee-debede-doo Bonjou Nouveau Orleans, I have returned. The morning is bright or magical, as I step from the shore into the city. The sound of horns audible even from this distance. I wonder if anyone will remember when I was here last. If anyone will remember what I did. Well, I have to step forward to find out. Just follow the sounds, as they get deeper. ba-bedee-debede-doo-boo-badoboop-ba Some people are celebrating, and I see a krewe coming like a grass from a storm. Suddenly a woman pops out.
She is on a mobile float like a little island, floating between the streets. A lovely glaze from her skin is given no interference from the sunlight, the latter choosing to shine away rather than muddy her complexion with its cloudy difference. I am in new orleans. I wonder if I can get to the old bar, I wonder if it will be there. I awe at the spirit bird going away on her magical island, like all the other men, and as the island turns, I turn back onto the road north, to the Treme, to the storyville, to my old grounds.  
I wonder about the families of my friends and I, what happened from then to now. Could our stories have ended? I see, a family dressed up.  
I Want to ask them their names, one looks familiar, but I see no men. It is ungentlemanly to speak to women unaccompanied. They may take great offense. so, I decide to keep it moving, let’s not get startled.
In my pocket is an old daguerreotype. I take it out and shed a tear.  
Suddenly the beautiful collage of horns is no longer interesting. All I can recall are the chants of yore, when instruments were too expensive, when the priestesses still roamed the noir streets of the city. Gens de magique femme . I am amazed it survived the passage through time but I hope it will not be a memory discontinued.  
It takes hours to get back to my home, ici le tempeste, no longer here, nowhere, I remember when a storm passed through the city. Everyone’s shanty was destroyed but mine, mine remained, mine survived the storm. But that is cause it was a storm itself, shaking uncontrollably absent proper supports, leaking wildly absent a proper roof, a collisions of sounds, made it an orchestra for any who lived in it for any time. It taught me more than any human ever could about sound. I see this small storefront where its porch stood and go to it. The cover over the window has a small gap and i see a woman dancing inside.
An angel, like the one on the floating island before, but this one is in a room of cotton, gently cushioning her every move. Her face… her face look like my fofo,  I love her most of all. I wish the ancestors allowed me to take her too. I need to speak to this woman. I go inside, the woman pays me no mind, entranced in her own routine. I ask her, can she tell me where to find the descendants of Madame Fofo, my fofo. She does a pirouette and stops facing me. She seems startled by my old-style clothes, the first in these future times, but tells me to go to a party at the beach, where her cousin is. She is the best historian she knows.
So, I travel back out and go back from whence I came, back to the waters about my city, back to the waters that can take you anywhere. And, a party existed where I stepped out of. People drinking, partying, listening to music. I recall the description of the cotton angel and look about, even get a free sausage from finely ground meat that is put in between a fluffy bread shaped similar. I imagine to myself, i may never find the historian but then I notice a woman from afar who may be her. I keep walking toward and I am certain she fit the description. I face the potential historian standing next to her friend I assume. The friend, like an Incan princess, notice me first and realize my stare. I approach and the historian turns to me.
I ask the historian her name and it matches what the cotton angel told me. I explain to her I am looking for Madame Fofo, my fofo. The historian looks to me in disbelief, and pulls a letter out of her pocket, telling me she found it in the archives and keep it for inspiration. She tells me, to read it.  
I read the letter and it says: Mon amour, mon corniste, mon Tontton, j'ai fait ce dont tu avais besoin. J'espère que vous trouverez notre avenir sûr. Je veux vous demander, vous dire, beaucoup de choses. Mais, je ne peux même pas savoir si vous lirez ceci. En l'état, je dirai ce que vous devez entendre. Où est ta corne? C'est là que nous nous sommes embrassés pour la première fois. la touche tape sur la perle blanche. La mélodie que nous avons faite ensemble.
I comprehend instantly, hand the letter back to the young lady and go to Bienville street, and to where we kissed for the first time. The lamp is still there and I see at the base the bumpy surface and a white bump exists. Then I tap on the it with my shoe. ba-bedee-debede-doo-boo-badoboop-ba-ba-badoboop-badoboop-bedee-debede-bedee-debede and a latch open. My horn! I play our melody on our horn and I can see it is all worth it, as the world reverse before my eyes, like an old movie, Bienville street is going to the way it was in the past.
Past I do not know, but past looking closer to my own. Now I know it is worth it, now I know I was right to risk this. The priestess said the Cardinal’s spell on our child needed someone to risk their life, where only love can succeed. I trusted in my Fofo and she trusted in me, and I am coming back. Better keep playing my horn. ba-bedee-debede-doo-boo-badoboop-ba-ba-badoboop-badoboop-bedee-debede-bedee-debede and on and on and on, I see her. STOP! It is the evening, and My Fofo run to me, and embrace me. But she isn’t alone, someone is in a carriage next to her. Someone who look a little like us both.  Ancestres!  
“Mon amour, voici notre fils. L'annee est” I kiss my wife. I do not need to know that. We have all the time in the world.
 
STORY 2
 
I am walking alone, far from bourbon street. Far from the sound of beads hitting bare breast, drunken stammers acapella through the krewes horns, just a man alone with the moonlight looking down upon me. I see a small shop, too small to have a sign, only the merchandise in the window provide any clue to the innards. Nothing particular I notice: masks/cloaks/old horns with stories to tell. But wait, a small figurine catch my eye. A simple figurine ready for Mardi Gras in an appropriate outfit.
I hear a sound in my ear as I look upon the figurine. But I cannot decipher it. "venez ici": I hear clear while subtely. I shake my head wondering why I am hearing french. "come here": I comprehend but I do not know from who. Again, the voice repeat and I notice my attention to the figurine. She is not moving, she does not seem mechanical, and yet I seem to know the voice is from here. I enter the shop. "Bonjour": is the shopkeeper courtesy. I am surprised he think I know a lick of french. I ask about the figurine in the window. He say, she is very old, made for a gens de colour libre woman. I ask him the price, a gentle fifteen dollars. I accept, and he gathers the figurine and place her in a box with bubble pop for cushion. I leave thinking, I have no wife or daughter and I am getting a cute figurine. Well, at least I can tell people she is old. "trouver ma peinture": I sense from the figurine but I keep on walking. "find my painting!": and I face the unchanged figurine, holding it high above my head, and ask a silly question: "where is your painting?" I wait but no reply. I continue to walk finally satisfied this nocturnal magic is finished with me. "North roman entre Beinville et Iberville" I recall the two streets, I think I know where she mean. I take out my map and recall I passed that location and I begin to walk there. My companion stay muted even as I approach the methodist church at the locale. I look down to the figurine and wonder if this is alright. A light is on, inside. I walk to the door and knock. A cleaning man open the door. "Why aren": he stop speaking and seem in a daze. I wave my hand in his face. No change. I decide to go inside foolishly, not knowing if the magic I did not use will come again if more strangers find a stranger in their church. But I look about the nave or the walls and see no painting. I look behind a column and see her.
Somehow I know the figurine is happy. But then a question occur to me. This painting is you. I thought you were given to a gens de colour libre girl, not that you are a gens de colour libre woman. The painting then wink at me. I look up and she speak. "Bon soir anglo, I... need your help": she speak simply. I ask her, what can I do to help you. "You need to face the woman who did this to me and then face me to her, i can do the rest": she speak surely. I have many doubts. "Whomever did this to you is way beyond me, I am no sorcerer": I say escapingly. "Y do not need to know how to wield the magic, just know I need your actions to aidez moi... and the woman in question is located in La Fourche, you will find here where three tree intertwine": and then the painting became still. I look at the figurine and nothing. I go to the door of the church and the cleaning man is still quiet, so I slip past him and close the door behind me. It can be unwise walking around new orleans or around cajun country at night, even during mardi gras but I figure the figurine will help. I buy a sandwich from a local deli and a pack of cigarettes. I eat while I walk, figurine safely in her box, and I keep walking. By the time I get to La fourche I am smoking cigarettes. A car with a confederate sign, fill to the rim with white men who are looking at me, drive but do not stop. I know I need to make this quick. I go by homes, some literally at the river edge, and look for the three entwined tree. I hear a scream. I see a man violently moving and decide to hide behind a bush. I creep near the window and see a dangerous sight.
I look down at the figurine and wonder if this little magic will not get me killed. "Sud, sud!": I hear in my head. Clearly my wavering got the attention to my master. I leave the scene, and hope I can find this tree before I end up in a horror movie. I walk south and finally I see the tree. But no one else is there. "Speak these words anglo...Je te donne mon cœur, tu me donnes un objectif, personne ne doit le savoir": the figurine speak hurriedly in my soul. I am hesitant but finally I decide, all well what the hell. And, after speaking the words, nothing. "PUT ME AWAY QUICK": the figurine speak, I can hear her ceramic heart beating, the black priestess soul underneath determined. Suddenly, a half of a mask appear on one side of the three twined tree. The eye behind one half of the mask seem to be a fluid blue. I hear a loud sniff. and, a woman appear from behind the tree. A forked tongue hiss whisper from the mask: "You are pretty fonce to be down here, anglo...now what is your goal, if your coeur is not heavy enough, I get the rest of the deal". I reply firmly: "alright ma'am, though I already gave my heart to another, though I cannot comprehend exactly why": and I pull out the figurine quickly, facing the masked woman straight away. A hiss is heard from all angles and I hear the figurine in my head:"Vous devez m'avoir oublié, imbécile. Joséphine vous l'a toujours dit, pour faire attention aux vieux sorts que vous lancez." The masked woman, writhing, spit out in french:"Anacaona, mais je connais le sang de ta famille, tu n'avais pas de descendants, pas de clan pour t'entendre." The figurine spoke again:"Imbecillia, vous avez oublié que le membre du clan peut avoir n'importe quelle distance, et l'esclavage de votre côté de notre famille a profité d'éclats faits dans mon clan il y a longtemps." And, a flash. Something knocked me down but someone not present helped me up. "LEve! anglo, leve!": said a woman, a black woman in the gown from the tree woman. Her hair pure white. She kneeled down and looked at a figurine on the ground.  Suddenly, I realized where is my fifteen-dollar figurine. I hear a giggle from the stranger masked woman:"it is me, the figurine" I am amazed. And then I realize the figurine on the ground is the woman formerly behind the mask. My figurine, pick up her nemesis, and say:"retourne, go back to new orleans, and thank you". My honesty perk up. I did not do anything. She smile and say:"This magic was not really of spells but circumstance, will a descendent of mine find me, me living in a porcelain figurine in a small shop in new orleans, but you found me, pure chance and that was the magic that tipped the scales, no spells, no incantations". I stand up and offer a hand, and I notice her hand has age. "aucun problem anglo, I have been dormir a while": she lift up and give me a hug and continue:" I will be alright, I think I know where I can help myself around here, and I thank you for that". Before I can speak, a sole horn player, standing aside a wall is playing, while the rest of bourbon is empty. It is very late. I think to go back to the three entwined tree, but I am tired, and I need to get rest. For some reason, I need to get rest, and I do. ... Back in New York City, I wonder if I had a dream induced by someone planting something in a drink or spraying me with something. I think on that for weeks. And then I get a postcard.
I turn to the back and I see Anacaona Liber's name attached to that old churches address. Her message is:" Figure I needed a new painting with a new style, I will wait for you to decide about listening to your heart"
I realize, what may have happened but hesitate to confirm and when I turn the postcard back around, the image wink at me.   ART https://aalbc.com/tc/events/event/655-black-history-month-mardi-gras-2026/   CELEBRATIONS   Salvador, Bahia, Carnival 2026 https://aalbc.com/tc/topic/12468-salvadaor-bahia-carnival-2026/

Event details

PREFACE
Enjoy this speech on tolerance to the Stranger, commonly called the immigrant today,  with the argument that one who does not tolerate or treat positively the stranger if a stranger themselves would cry inhumanity at being treated as said one treats the stranger.   
 
IAN MCKELLAN AS THOMAS MORE
 

Video transcript
20:51 Um 20:53 Shakespeare uh wrote many plays, 37 of 20:56 them by himself, but he also contributed 20:58 to other people's shows. uh and uh one 21:02 of the speeches he wrote for a play 21:04 called Thomas Moore 21:06 uh has been preserved and it's the only 21:10 sample of his actual handwriting of some 21:13 of the words of a play by him and it's 21:16 not in the Fulier Library. It's in the 21:18 British Library. You can see it. It's on 21:21 display there in London. And it happened 21:23 that the play was never performed during 21:25 Shakespeare's lifetime because it was 21:26 thought to be a bit sedicious. 21:29 It had its actual premiere on stage in 21:34 1964 was the 400th anniversary of 21:36 Shakespeare's birth and I played Thomas 21:39 Moore. So you are looking at a man 21:43 [applause] 21:45 who uh who created a part by William 21:48 Shakespeare. 21:48 So this is handwritten. They know this 21:50 is his handwriting of this monologue 21:52 that you did 21:53 of a of a speech you probably don't know 21:56 but you ought to because it's a 21:57 wonderful 21:58 I don't know that. Would you mind? Would 22:00 you mind doing it for us? 22:03 [cheering] 22:05 [applause] 22:05 No, I wouldn't. I I wouldn't mind 22:07 because you'll enjoy it. 22:11 All right. Live theater. 22:13 Yes. 22:14 What's it [cheering] what's what's 22:14 what's the setting? What's it take place 22:16 in the play? 22:17 Uh it it this it's all happening 400 22:20 years ago. Uh and in London, there's a 22:22 there's a riot happening. There's a mob 22:24 out in the streets and they're 22:26 complaining about the the presence of 22:29 strangers in London, by which they mean 22:32 the recent uh immigrants who've arrived 22:36 there. And they're shouting the odds and 22:39 complaining and saying that the 22:41 immigrants should be sent back home 22:43 wherever they came from. And uh the 22:47 authorities send out this young lawyer, 22:49 Thomas Moore, to put down the riot, 22:50 which he does in two ways. one by saying 22:54 that you can't riot like this. It's 22:56 against the law. So, shut up, be quiet. 22:59 Uh and also being by Shakespeare with an 23:01 appeal uh to their humanity. 23:05 So, in order to set it up, we really 23:07 need somebody to shout that the 23:08 strangers should be removed. Could 23:11 someone do that? 23:14 Grant them removed. 23:19 And grant that this your noise hath chid 23:22 down all the majesty of England. Imagine 23:24 that you see the wretched strangers, 23:26 their babies at their backs, with their 23:29 poor luggage, plotting to the ports and 23:31 coasts for transportation, 23:34 and that you sit as kings in your 23:36 desires, authority quite silenced by 23:38 your brawl, and you in rough of your 23:41 opinions clothed. What had you got? 23:46 I'll tell you, 23:48 you had taught how insulence and strong 23:50 hands should prevail, how order should 23:52 be quelled. 23:54 And by this pattern, not one of you 23:55 should live an aged man. For other 23:57 ruffians, as their fancies wrought with 23:59 self-same hands, self-reason, and 24:02 self-right, 24:04 would shark on you, and men like 24:06 ravenous fishes feed on one another. 24:10 You'll put down strangers, kill them. 24:16 Cut their throats, 24:19 possess their houses. 24:22 Oh, desperate as you are, wash your foul 24:24 minds with tears. 24:26 And those same hands that you, like 24:28 rebels, lift against the peace, lift up 24:30 for peace. And your unreverent knees, 24:32 make them your feet to kneel to be 24:34 forgiven. 24:37 And say now the king, 24:40 as he is clement, if the offender mourn, 24:42 should so much come too short of your 24:44 great trespasses but to banish you 24:48 with thee would you go? 24:52 What country by the nature of your error 24:54 should give you harbor? Go you to France 24:57 or Fllanders, to any German province, 25:00 Spain or Portugal, anywhere that not 25:02 adheres to England. Why? 25:07 You must needs be strangers. 25:11 Would you be pleased 25:14 to find a nation of such barbarous 25:16 temper that breaking out in hideous 25:18 violence would not afford you an abroad 25:21 on earth? 25:23 Quet their detested knives against your 25:25 throats. 25:27 spurn you like dogs, and like as if that 25:30 God owned not, nor made not you, nor 25:33 that the elements were not all 25:35 appropriate to your comforts, but 25:38 chartered unto them. 25:42 What would you think 25:44 to be thus used? 25:49 This 25:50 is the strangest case and this your 25:56 mountedness 25:57 in humanity. 26:02 William Shakespeare 400 years ago. 26:05 [cheering] 26:10 [cheering and applause] 26:12 Thank you. 26:15 Tickets [cheering] to an art are 26:16 available now in the town. Everybody, 26:19 we'll be right back with a performance 26:21 by Earth. 26:25 [music] 26:34 [music] 26:37 [cheering]
 
Monolog official
"Grant them removed, and grant that this your noise Hath chid down all the majesty of England; Imagine that you see the wretched strangers, Their babies at their backs with their poor luggage, Plodding to the ports and coasts for transportation, And that you sit as kings in your desires, Authority quite silenced by your brawl, And you in rough of your opinions clothed; What had you got? I'll tell you: you had taught How insolence and strong hand should prevail, How order should be quelled; and by this pattern Not one of you should live an aged man, For other ruffians, as their fancies wrought, With self same hand, self reasons, and self right, Would shark on you, and men like ravenous fishes Would feed on one another. O, desperate as you are, Wash your foul minds with tears, and those same hands, That you like rebels lift against the peace, Lift up for peace, and your unreverent knees, Make them your feet to kneel to be forgiven! You'll put down strangers, Kill them, cut their throats, possess their houses, And lead the majesty of law in liom, To slip him like a hound. Say now the king (As he is clement, if th' offender mourn) Should so much come to short of your great trespass As but to banish you, whether would you go? What country, by the nature of your error, Should give you harbor? go you to France or Flanders, To any German province, to Spain or Portugal, Nay, any where that not adheres to England,— Why, you must needs be strangers: Would you be pleased To find a nation of such barbarous temper, That, breaking out in hideous violence, Would not afford you an abode on earth, Whet their detested knives against your throats, Spurn you like dogs, and like as if that God Owed not nor made not you, nor that the claimants Were not all appropriate to your comforts, But chartered unto them, what would you think To be thus used? this is the strangers case; And this your mountainish inhumanity."
 
referral
https://www.out.com/gay-tv-shows/sir-ian-mckellen-shakespeare-stephen-colbert#rebelltitem3
 
BACKGROUND
Thomas More wasn't recorded as being staged during shakespeares life. The earliest recordings of it being staged are as follows.
1922 a three-night student production by the Birkbeck College, University of London, in December 1938  40 students at the King's School, Canterbury, 4–6 November , with P. D. V. Strallen in the title role.  1954 22–29 June at the London Theatre Centre for the Advance Players Association. It was first performed in Elizabethan costumes and then in modern dress, with Michael Beint as More 1964 McKellen also played the role at the Nottingham Playhouse 10 June–4 July   
Shakespeare's only surviving playscript now online The Booke of Sir Thomas Moore does not immediately spring to mind as among Shakespeare's masterpieces. So what do we know about it? 8 July 2020 Blog series Medieval manuscripts blog Author Julian Harrison, British Library The Booke of Sir Thomas Moore does not immediately spring to mind as among Shakespeare's masterpieces. This late 16th or early 17th-century play is not always included among the Shakespearean canon, and it was not until the 1800s that it was even associated with the Bard of Avon. So what is the connection with William Shakespeare, the author of the more distinguished Hamlet, Macbeth and Romeo and Juliet? A page of The Booke of Sir Thomas Moore, arguably in Shakespeare's handwriting In 1871, William Shakespeare's handwriting was identified on this page of The Booke of Sir Thomas Moore: Harley MS 7368, f. 9r. A clue is presented by the handwriting of the surviving manuscript (Harley MS 7368). There are 22 leaves in question, 13 of which are original, 7 are inserted leaves, and 2 are pasted slips. What is immediately apparent is that Thomas Moore was the work of several dramatists. The primary hand is that of Anthony Munday (d. 1633), and he was possibly assisted by the printer, Henry Chettle (d. 1603–07), with further contributions by Thomas Dekker (d. 1632), and perhaps by Thomas Heywood (d. 1641). The handwriting of yet another scribe in the manuscript, known by scholars as the unspectacularly named 'Hand D', is possibly none other than Shakespeare himself. Finally, the manuscript is known to have been censored in turn by Edmund Tilney (d. 1610), Master of the Revels. The division of the handwriting can be set out as follows. 'Hand D' (probably Shakespeare) contributed an addition on ff. 8r–9v, supplying lines 1–165 of Scene 6. ‘Hand S’: Anthony Munday ‘Hand A’: probably Henry Chettle ‘Hand B’: probably Thomas Heywood ‘Hand C’: an unidentified professional scribe ‘Hand D’: probably William Shakespeare ‘Hand E’: probably Thomas Dekker It was not at all unusual for early modern dramatists to collaborate in this way. William Shakespeare is known to have written in partnership with John Fletcher (d. 1625) and others, and it would have been logical for Munday to have turned to his fellow playwrights to advise and assist him when revising his play about Sir Thomas More (1478–1535), the early Tudor Lord Chancellor, humanist and martyr. What is exceptional here, of course, is that Harley MS 7368 is the only identifiable example of Shakespeare's contribution to a playscript surviving in manuscript. None of his other plays have been transmitted to us in this way. What is more, in these pages we can perhaps see the master playwright at work, musing, composing and correcting his text: a window into Shakespeare's dramatic art, as it were. Text on brown paper. Harley MS 7368, f. 8v.jpg Another page from Shakespeare's probable contribution to The Booke of Sir Thomas Moore: Harley MS 7368, f. 8v. Harley MS 7368, f. 8v.jpg There is a remarkable sub-text to William Shakespeare's contribution to Thomas Moore. Andrew Dickson, in an article ('Wretched Strangers') for the British Library's Discovering Literature site, has noted how William Shakespeare was presumably called upon by Munday to write the most emotional passage in the play, known as the 'insurrection scene'. Drawing upon events in 1517, when rioting Londoners demanded that immigrants be expelled from England, Shakespeare portrayed Sir Thomas More, as mayor of London, pleading with the crowd to accept the asylum seekers. Imagine that you see the wretched strangers, Their babies at their backs, with their poor luggage, Plodding to th’ ports and coasts for transportation, And that you sit as kings in your desires, Authority quite silenced by your brawl ... This was all the more remarkable when one realises that similar xenophobic riots had occurred in London in the 1590s and 1600s. Was Shakespeare making a case in The Book of Thomas Moore for racial tolerance? By putting words into Thomas More's mouth, was he making a barbed attack upon the prejudice of his own day? The Book of Thomas Moore was probably never performed in the time of its authors. The Elizabethan censor, Edmund Tilney, took serious dislike to the playscript, and it seems to have been banned from public performance. The manuscript instead passed into the Harley library and was then sold to the British nation in 1753; it might have remained in oblivion were it not that Shakespeare's style, and hence his own handwriting, was first recognised in the 'insurrection scene' in 1871.
referral
https://www.bl.uk/stories/blogs/posts/shakespeares-only-surviving-playscript
 
Photos of shaekspeare's script, aka don't give your child guff about their handwriting again

 

 
MORE ABOUT THE PLAY
 
Referral
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sir_Thomas_More_(play)

Event details

looking for folk
https://www.facebook.com/groups/723403334749559
 
 
 

Event details