Вторая по частоте future-функция, которую я использовал, это абсолютный импорт
from __future__ import absolute_import
Что она делает?
Изменения, которые вносит эта инъекция описаны в PEP328
Покажу простой пример.
Допустим, есть такой пакет:
/my_package
/__init__.py
/main.py
/string.py
Смотрим код в my_package/main.py
# main.py
import string
Простой пример готов) Вопрос в том, какой модуль импортируется в данном случае? Есть два варианта:
1. модуль в моём пакете my_package.string
2. стандартный модуль string
И вот тут вступает в дело приоритет импортов. В Python2 порядок следующий: помимо иных источников, раньше ищется модуль внутри текущего пакета, а потом в стандартных библиотеках. Таким образом мы импортнём my_package.string.
Но в Python3 это поведение изменилось. Если мы указываем просто имя пакета, то ищется именно такой модуль, игнорируя имена в текущем пакете. Если мы хотим импортнуть именно подмодуль из нашего пакета то, мы должны теперь явно это указывать.
from my_package import string
или относительный импорт, но с указанием пути относительно текущего модуля main
from . import string
Еще одной неоднозначностью меньше 😎
Подробней про импорты здесь:
https://docs.python.org/3/tutorial/modules.html
#2to3#pep#basic
Ключевые мысли с воскресной Inner Igloo 🧵
Расширение нашего охвата и потенциала с листингами (в контексте Robinhood)
• Одна из наших главных целей — быть представленными везде. Лишь немногим токенам удалось добиться по-настоящему повсеместного листинга, и PENGU стремится войти в их число.
• Когда рыночные условия изменятся и внимание вновь хлынет в криптосферу, доступность будет ключевым фактором. Наличие на всех крупных платформах позволит нам максимально использовать видимость и массовое принятие.
• ETF-заявки – Участие институциональных игроков, особенно через ETF, открывает совершенно новый путь для роста, добавляя легитимности и потенциальных инвестиций в экосистему. По мере роста сообщества, бренда и культуры нас будет невозможно игнорировать — и это напрямую связано с концепцией «быть везде».
Изучайте Delusional Bulls
Воспитание несокрушимого мышления
Непоколебимая уверенность дает наилучшие перспективы, и мы не должны довольствоваться меньшим. Когда PENGU станет настолько неоспоримым, что нас будет невозможно игнорировать, — вот где проявится настоящая сила. До сих пор этот подход работал для нас, и сейчас самое время применить его осознанно и развивать дальше.
• Crypto Twitter (CT) пропитан медвежьими настроениями— там всегда ищут повод для негатива. PENGU не застрахованы от этого, но мы должны возвыситься над этим. Не поддавайтесь унынию — это отличная возможность выделиться. Нынешняя атмосфера в CT никому не нравится.
• Даже если это кажется «бредовым», устойчивая убежденность и уверенность в нашем видении — вот что отличает нас. Не бойтесь звучать безумно/оторвано от реальности.
• Каждый новый PENGU должен попадать в сообщество, которое так же, если не более, уверено в успехе, как и он сам. Формирование такой культуры — наша общая задача, и мы должны подавать пример.
• XRP Army и Link Marines— яркие примеры сообществ, которые добились долгосрочного успеха благодаря стойкой, безоговорочной вере. Их неугасающий оптимизм и преданность оставили след, и мы можем сделать даже лучше. Культура постоянной, почти «бредовой» уверенности — ключ к успеху.
Определение тезиса PENGU: Какова наша миссия?
Упражнение для размышлений:
- Если BTC заменяет золото, XRP заменяет банки, то PENGU заменяет ____?
- Какова глобальная цель/миссия, способная объединить всех PENGU?
- Что PENGU переопределяет или заменяет в глобальном масштабе?
Обсудим это на следующей встрече Inner Igloo. Оставляйте свои идеи в Discord на канале #Narratives & World Domination (#zone). А пока найдите аспект, который подходит вам больше всего, и транслируйте PENGU-вайбс в твиттере. 🐧
https://x.com/berko_crypto/status/1903871745628774615?s=46
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She spoke of her father’s “defensive racism”, which prompted him to throw a predatory white landlord down the stairs. She spoke of her mother’s insistence on integrating every new movie theatre in town.
She spoke of how when her “pitch-black” great-grandmother had first set eyes on Morrison and her sister, she said the girls had “been tampered with”, which was meant racially:
“We were not pure and she was.”
The dynamics of my mixed-race family didn’t match the norms, either. My black Zambian grandmother, for whom I’m named, initially disapproved of my mother’s decision to marry a white man; my mother’s older sister refused to attend the wedding.
Our moves to the UK and then to the US when I was a kid – with a year back in Zambia when I was a teenager – were punctuated by moments of racial absurdity:
“What are you? Black or white?” (As if I had a choice!) Yet even now, at my grown age, my first response to racism is surprise.
Despite our respective births in disparate times and places (Lorain, Ohio, in 1931; Lusaka, Zambia, in 1980), I think Morrison and I both lucked into the strange privilege of zooming out from or boomeranging around race.
This perhaps explains why neither of us tends to capitalise the word black when referring to people in writing. It concedes too much; it protests too much.
Morrison temperamentally disliked being pigeonholed. She was willing to accept “the labels” of race and gender only because, as she put it in a profile in the New Yorker, “being a black woman writer is not a shallow place but a rich place to write from. It doesn’t limit my imagination; it expands it.”
She often complained that literary criticism was unequipped to read black writing, which gets read as merely representative, in both the tokenistic and identitarian senses:
“Black literature is taught as sociology, as tolerance, not as a serious, rigorous art form,” she said.
Indeed, the ultimate source of Morrison’s renowned difficulty was not, I would submit, her prickly personality, her intersectional identity, or even her sometimes contrarian politics.
It was her commitment to reflecting the range and depth of black aesthetics – as epitomised by jazz, which she called “very complicated, very sophisticated, and very difficult” – in her own writing.
Her close friend, the writer Fran Lebowitz, said upon Morrison’s passing in 2019: “I know it sounds like a crazy thing to say, but I always thought Toni’s writing was underappreciated.
Because people always looked at it through the prism of her being black and being a woman. But Toni was a very experimental writer. There were a lot of things Toni did through her writing that just went unremarked upon.”
Many still dismiss Morrison’s stature as either undeserved or obvious, as if surely so much praise either begs the question or settles it.
They justify their disinclination to engage with the art itself by gesturing to what we might call her DEI-fication or her Oprah‑priation, as if Toni Morrison became Toni Morrison through some kind of literary affirmative action plan.
Morrison incensed all kinds of people. How dare she be a difficult writer and a black woman? How dare she refuse to placate or translate? How dare she demand to be taken seriously?
How dare she be a black artist with real ideas? How dare she ask that we actually read her writing, and on its own terms?
It could not have been easy to be Toni Morrison. Yet I aspire to it. I yearn for that freedom she so beautifully embodied: to feel at ease to be difficult.
#toni#morrison#zambia#nobel#prize#black#narratives
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How Did Toni Morrison Become Our National Archetype?
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There are many ways to be difficult in this world. You can be demanding, inconvenient, stubborn, complicated, troublesome, baffling, illegible.
Black womanhood is one place where all these forms of difficulty overlap. I feel like I have always known this; I have been called difficult more times in my life than I can count.
But I only began to understand – to discover the meanings and uses of – my own difficulty because of Toni Morrison.
Morrison has shaped the way we think about everything from literature to politics, criticism to ethics, to the responsibilities of making art.
In 1993 she became the only black woman ever to win the Nobel prize in literature. But the facts remain: she is difficult to read. She is difficult to teach.
Notwithstanding the voluminous train of profiles, reviews and scholarly analysis that she drags behind her, she is difficult to write about.
More to the point, she is our only truly canonical black female writer – and her work is highly complex.
In a 1981 Vogue profile, Morrison spoke of a reader who had “told her how difficult it was to understand black culture in her books – it was so removed from his experience”.
She had responded: “Boy, you must have had a hell of a time with Beowulf!” The Vogue interviewer, missing the wit in this retort, commented:
“Morrison has no patience with people who plead ignorance; but then, she does not pride herself on being a patient woman. ‘I find myself being more and more difficult,’ she says. ‘It’s something I really relish.’”
Morrison’s literary difficulty was often translated this way into a personal difficulty, a moral failing: How dare she be impatient! Well, wouldn’t you be?
One reason for Morrison’s air of pique was surely the strain of trying to balance the demands of multiple careers simultaneously. She was an editor, a professor, a writer, a critic and a public intellectual.
I have worked in these fields as well, so I know that extending many branches can be a way of distracting yourself from the core vocation.
The commitment to writing over all else is often viewed as selfish; when gender is factored into the equation, the charge can carry the stigma of illegitimacy.
“For a woman to say, ‘I am a writer’ is difficult,” Morrison noted succinctly.
Morrison’s childhood stories read like photo negatives of the standard American race narratives.
She struggled to accommodate these forms of often underpaid literary labour with the unpaid domestic labour of raising two sons as a single mother:
“It was very difficult writing and rearing children because they deserve all your time, and you don’t have it.”
This occupational difficulty was exacerbated not only by the fact that she was unique in her fields but also by the fact that she often wilfully chose to go it alone.
For example, she didn’t tell anyone at her first job in trade publishing that she was writing a novel until The Bluest Eye came out at another house.
As troublesome as difficulty may have been for her professionally, Morrison genuinely delighted in the difficulty of other black women artists, such as the novelist Gayl Jones, whose works she edited and published, and the jazz pianist and composer Mary Lou Williams.
For Morrison, the fact that they were considered difficult was a sign that they had insisted on their art being taken seriously.
To read Morrison herself with the seriousness that she deserves requires that we account for the knot – or bind – of gender and race she shared with them. It is not an easy one to untangle.
As Morrison wrote in a 1971 New York Times op-ed about feminism, “one must look very closely at the black woman herself – a difficult, inevitably doomed proposition, for if anything is true of black women, it is how consistently they have (deliberately, I suspect) defied classification”.
#toni#morrison#zambia#nobel#prize#black#narratives
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