Rudolph von Laban

laban thumbDance as a place of attuning one's relation­ship to bio­physical life.
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dvdp: 141214 (dear tumblr, I cry each time when I see that you…



dvdp:

141214 (dear tumblr, I cry each time when I see that you are downscaling uploaded images to 500px, to stretching them up again to 540px on the dashboard. lot’s of valuable pixels of sharpness are killed that way each day. 

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December 14, 2014



December 14, 2014

The quiet is deafening.  Starting today, I lose contact with the one I love.   I usually use the phone app “Line” to stay in touch with her, but she is in a location where she doesn’t either have a cell phone or access to the Internet.   All quiet on the Western Front.   All quiet in the house.  To make the room more lively, I have been playing music by Spike Jones and his City Slickers.   The way he looks and sounds is so far removed from my world, that playing this album, is like a foreign presence in my life.  I eventually lose track of my reality, and enter into his world.   My favorite recording by him is “Cocktails for Two, ” which was originally a romantic song, but in his possession it becomes a mockery of romance and love.   Yet, when I hear the lyrics: “Most any afternoon at five/ We’ll be so glad we’re both alive / Then maybe fortune will complete her plan/ That all began / With cocktails for two” - I find myself in misery, because around that time it is cocktail time, and there is only a reservation for a table for one.



“No live organism can continue for long to exist sanely under conditions of absolute reality.” I obtain a faint memory of a life that I feel rather nostalgic now, thinking of it.  The ritual of getting up in the morning, and here I worked on the living room table, and she comes out of the bedroom into my arms, for a good morning.  We open the window shutters to let the sunshine bath us with its rays, but since she’s gone, either by design or fortune, there is nothing but clouds.



I shop, I look, I pretend to do stuff, but I’m not here or there.  I look at my cell phone as it sits on the desk attached to a cord to a wall-socket.  I keep it there in fear that I will lose power or battery the moment she calls - but alas, I know this is only a fantasy on my part.  “Am I walking toward something I should be running away from?” Who knows?  I taste my loneliness as if it was the most expensive bottle of wine.  I savor the memory as I let the taste roam around my tongue.   She made me a bag to keep all my loose ends - I am sort of like a woman who needs her bag more than anything else in life.  But since she’s gone, I don’t feel compelled to bring the few objects I need when I leave our house.  I feel empty, so I want to become empty-handed as well.

“I delight in what I fear.” It’s the only thing, that keeps me fully alive.   The separation could be visualized as a vanishing point.  I look in the distance, thinking I may see her.  But what I see are the things by the side of my vision.   It’s a tunnel that I want to run into - but I know I’ll never reach the other side.  But yes, one can still imagine that there is a destination in that tunnel, where eventually I’ll reach the one I love.



“Her head falls asleep in my hands / Where are we / Together inseparable / Alive alive / He alive she alive / and my head rolls through her dreams.” - Paul Éluard
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The High Wire (7)

the-high-wireHe was thorough as well as ruthless.
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Stewart Brand

brandSince the ’60s, a grain-traversing thinker-doer.
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Sweetness and light

Paris was amazing partly just because walking around and thinking about past and present and looking at things is so amazing. About the only thing I did my last day there was lunch with a friend and Columbia colleague near the beautiful Reid Hall (conversation included exploring the possibility that I might teach there in some future semester).

I do not have the gift of assiduous museum-going, and really my only goal was to hit this one, which quite lived up to my expectations. I am not a good photographer, but this gives a little bit of a taste of the wares on offer:




Afterwards, a cupcake from Bertie's Cupcakery! (The proprietor is ""The Girl" of DC Rainmaker fame, and also made some custom-designed cookies to celebrate my brother and sister-in-law's acquisition of their first boat, a Nimble Nomad named Gunny.)

No discredit to an excellent cupcake, but the best dessert I had in Paris was with A. at Le Stella (after a dinner that started with a green bean and parmesan salad, then scallops and sole): a vacherin glace of utter deliciousness!

I had another very good dessert that involved a sort of almond and pistachio foam with raspberries in it, and the other thing I ate several times and most enjoyed was the "filets de dorade" (sea bream), in one case with anchovy butter and in another with sauteed fennel....
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Small houses

A short history of the doll's house (FT site registration required). I wish I'd gone to see that shop while I was in Paris (though truthfully I already did about as much as I can manage): but it does seem as though I should see the exhibition when I am in England next summer....
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December 13, 2014



December 13, 2014

I have heard of the band “Television” and was an immediate fan, even though I never heard their music at the time.  I remember seeing there was a photograph of Tom Verlaine and Richard Hell, around 1974, in Andy Warhol’s magazine “Interview.” I was struck at first by their haircut, and second, their clothing.   I also liked how they posed themselves in what looks like a couch.  There appeared to be something intimate between them, but I didn’t feel it was sexual, but more of a common interest in one’s beauty.   History has indicated that they would not remain together, but alas, those series of moments were blissful.  Along with Interview magazine, my father also had a subscription to The Village Voice, which at the time was a mirror to anything that was interesting in the world.  Which in two words was: New. York.



Just by looking at a series of images of the band over the ensuing months, made me make-up my own soundtrack to what they may sound like.  I presume they were loud, with a lot of guitars.  By reading the various reviews in The Voice, I couldn’t get a realistic idea of what they actually sounded like - all the descriptions were quite poetic and there was no clear reference to other types of music.  I figured they were on the avant-garde side with melody.   Once my father was finished with the issue, I would take it and cut out the pictures of Television, or specifically Tom Verlaine.   I was (and still am) a huge Richard Hell fan, but Verlaine was (and still, to this day) a mystery to me.   Numerous people I have met over the years have commented that he’s a strange man.  They never use the word ‘eccentric’ but that he was very ghost-like, and very much in his own manner, a perfectionist.  He was likewise a poet, and the fact he changed his name from Miller to Verlaine, while the other brother-in-arms, had his name changed to Hell.  Since I read French poetry, I immediately got the connection between them and Paul Verlaine/ Arthur Rimbaud.  At the time, I thought that was such a perfect thing to be done in a rock n’ roll context.   The other thing I liked about them was their song titles - specifically “Blank Generation, ” and “Little Johnny Jewel.” I tried to imagine what it sounded like just by reading the two song titles over and over again.  As the poet Heinrich Heine commented: “Where words leave off, music begins. ”



It may have been in 1976, that I purchased the 45 rpm single of “Little Johnny Jewel: Parts 1 & 2” on Ork Records.   Seven minutes or so of perfect bliss.  I have never taken heroin, but what I have heard is that once you shoot up, especially the first time, you get a sense of warmth.  I get that by just hearing his voice, and the scratching guitars building to an intense final.  At the time, I thought it was the greatest piece of music ever on vinyl.  It was cinematic, in that it placed images in my head.   The song itself is sketchy, in that it reminds me how Thelonious Monk played with a melody. Just by outlining it, like it was a pencil drawing on a piece of paper.  Or maybe by tracing the melody through tracing paper.  It’s transparent, and the opening words: “Little Johnny Jewel/he’s really cool/ had no decisions,” kicked the door down, and I’m wondering if I’m on the same landscape as Verlaine and company.   I’m in another world.  That is exactly what i like about art in general.  I want to remove myself to a place that is on another plane, but I want to view my body down below.



At first, “all I really want is enough to live on, a little house in the country … and a tree in the garden with seven of my enemies hanging in it.” But that all changed when I heard Tom Verlaine, Richard Lloyd, Billy Ficca, and Fred Smith (who replaced Hell).   Around the same time, I also purchased Richard Hell’s EP, which was magnificent as well.  So in 1977, my life tragically changed, but I now have the soundtrack to the road to hell (no pun intended) and back.
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Stuffed (4): Caveat Condimentor

originalDid its condiment monoculture bring down the Roman Empire?
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A Review of “The Death Instinct” in THE PARIS REVIEW

A review of Jacques Mesrine's "The Death Instinct" translated by Catherine Texier and Robert Greene in The Paris Review.  You can read it down below:
http://www.theparisreview.org/blog/2014/12/12/the-death-instinct/
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A Mimi sandwich

Life is full of good things just now, only so many good things that I don't have time and leisure to appreciate them fully!

I thoroughly enjoyed reading on Wednesday night with Mimi and Jenny O., but stayed out much later than was really advisable.

The St. Thomas Messiah on Thursday was extremely good: while the soloists are capable though nothing extraordinary (sparkly soprano!), the sound of the boys of the choir is truly the most amazing thing you will ever hear!

After being stuck on a subway platform for almost an hour yesterday on the way to doctor for allergy shots and flu vaccine (high frazzle factor), and also just being out late two nights in a row, I got up at an ungodly hour and then couldn't get into the dreaded RAPS to read files - very stressful couple hours as I developed a few workarounds with the help of a colleague and an office computer - but at some point I had a sad epiphany that really I should not go to my old friends' holiday party in Brooklyn this evening, it was going to prompt a minor nervous breakdown to have another night out given that I also need to be in Prospect Park tomorrow morning at 9am to run 10K for a good cause (and flying out of the country again on Monday).

Much light reading and other Paris catch-up to do still, but not sure how much I will get through this evening. Bed may be on the agenda SOON!
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One of those days

I am not super-prone to having "one of those days," as I am (though a victim to mood swings and melancholy like the rest of the world) of a relatively even temper, but I have to say that today started very badly - I got up shortly after 6 (that's never good!) to read electronic files for a 10am meeting, only to find I was locked out of the system. Spent almost an hour frenetically waiting/re-attempting password on two different devices, neither of which wanted to accommodate me - Facebook complaint garnered help from an extremely kind colleague, and by 8:30 I was at the office reading legitimately on a desktop there, but it was certainly not a good start to a long day!

The day ended well, though, with a meeting for my smallish group of eighteenth-century students and associates who need to think about job talks and how to prepare for them; and then I came home and was handed an absolutely delightful package by doorman Felix. It was clearly from its shape a tin of something delicious (hahaha, if it had been something like bicycle cleats instead it truly would have been devastating!), and as he knows I love sweets we were possibly equally excited; I came upstairs and tore it open and it was a really lovely present from my dear friend Helen's mother Becky Lewis, selector of treats par excellence!

With a nice note, too; it is Becky and my dear sister-in-law Jessi who read my style book and responded by sending me amazing boxes of chocolates! Thank you, Becky - what a lovely treat - THIS WILL AID MY PASSAGE THROUGH COMING DAYS!
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One of those days

I am not super-prone to having "one of those days," as I am (though a victim to mood swings and melancholy like the rest of the world) of a relatively even temper, but I have to say that today started very badly - I got up shortly after 6 (that's never good!) to read electronic files for a 10am meeting, only to find I was locked out of the system. Spent almost an hour frenetically waiting/re-attempting password on two different devices, neither of which wanted to accommodate me - Facebook complaint garnered help from an extremely kind colleague, and by 8:30 I was at the office reading legitimately on a desktop there, but it was certainly not a good start to a long day!

The day ended well, though, with a meeting for my smallish group of eighteenth-century students and associates who need to think about job talks and how to prepare for them; and then I came home and was handed an absolutely delightful package by doorman Felix. It was clearly from its shape a tin of something delicious (hahaha, if it had been something like bicycle cleats instead it truly would have been devastating!), and as he knows I love sweets we were possibly equally excited; I came upstairs and tore it open and it was a really lovely present from my dear friend Helen's mother Becky Lewis, selector of treats par excellence!

With a nice note, too; it is Becky and my dear sister-in-law Jessi who read my style book and responded by sending me amazing boxes of chocolates! Thank you, Becky - what a lovely treat - THIS WILL AID MY PASSAGE THROUGH COMING DAYS!
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December 12, 2014



December 12, 2014

“I go dreaming into the future, where I see nothing, nothing.  I have no plans, no idea, no project, and, what is worse, no ambition.” The emptiness I try to transform it into something of “vague” just so I can see its form in some fashion or another.  The fear I have is that I will only see a blank canvas in front of me, and I wouldn’t have the slightest idea how to fill that void.  It is not merely the object that’s in front of me, but also what it says about myself.   Nothing.  When I do die, and I will, I plan to put the Japanese kanji 無 on my tombstone, which means “nothingness. ”



“Go on - but don’t think you can kill my confidence.  I’ve had experts doing it for years.” Sometimes that is all I think I have, surely not talent.  Asking me as a working writer (ha!) “what I think about critics is like asking a lamp-post what it feels about dogs.” The hardest part in my life is waking up in the morning and facing the day knowing that more likely it will be a form of failure in some way.  A British playwright once was quoted as saying “There’s no such thing as failure - just waiting for success.” If that’s the case, I have been waiting for a long time.  It is difficult to continue to tell people that you’re working on a project, yet, no one sees it.  Therefore it doesn’t exist.  Yet, I swear it does exist because it is right here in front of me.  What will take courage on my part is realizing that the work won’t change my life, nor my lack of fortune.  I will always be at the mercy of kindness - but that is only dished out a few times of the year.  The rest of the time is preparing oneself for bed, knowing the next day will bring no fresh fruit, but rotten food to the table.



“I wanted things that I couldn’t at times articulate.” Bread, butter and a piece of fruit - perhaps a glass of wine or two.  “Basically, I’m for anything that gets you through the night - be it prayer, tranquilizers or a bottle of Jack Daniels.” I want to travel gently into the night, but the way my world is made-up, it is more likely a series of car accidents.  The broken romances, are painful, because they represent a sense of hope - but alas, it turns into someone’s cigarette smoke.   As you watch the smoke, it is like a staircase going up to the ceiling, and then noticing it that it will disappear into the air.   The point of no return is when I notice that there is nothing in the back of me, and in front, is that void.  All my senses tell me to jump ahead and to take the chance that is in front of me.  “The one way of tolerating existence is to lose oneself in literature as in a perpetual orgy.” My only hope is that salvation or a series of moments where I will shine.  Otherwise it is being grateful for the rotten food on my table.


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fuckyeahsavagesistas: Danielle Brooks as Tasha in the TV series…



fuckyeahsavagesistas:

Danielle Brooks as Tasha in the TV series ORANGE IS THE NEW BLACK – 2013 – 2015

Source: imdb.com

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Radium Age: Context (20)

KörperbildungGerman body-building manual (1929)
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Unbored Games Event!

From left: Catherine Newman (contributor), Heather Kasunick and Chris Piascik (illustrators), Tony Leone (designer and art director), Joshua Glenn (co-author). Not pictured: Elizabeth Foy Larsen (co-author), Mister Reusch (illustrator), other contributors.12/13 at 2pm: Whit & Whimsy in Marblehead
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December 11, 2014



December 11, 2014

When it comes to the difference of disgust and the awe of beauty, I usually find disgust only skin deep.  Even the worst of the worst, there is some quality of ‘something’ that can make a person attractive.  Ugliness is something one can take for granted.  It will more likely be there forever, till the person’s death.  There is never anything sad about ugliness.   On the other hand, seeing someone of remarkable beauty turning slowly, either by age or illness, into ugliness is truly horrifying.   To be ugly from the very beginning is an indication of good character.  Beauty to me is always suspect to hide something that is truly vile.



For me, personally I have never ever seen an ugly woman. I don’t think they exist!  On the other hand, I have seen horrendous looking men, either by their looks or their design.  I, for instance, am border-line beautiful and … ugly.  When I was younger, I was truly handsome.  I even noticed the woman would turn my way when I walked down a busy avenue.   Now, that I’m older, I only notice middle-aged men looking at me over as I walk the lonely street of Glendale Boulevard.   As I get older, I feel strongly attracted to women who are younger than me. Yet, I barely get a glance from them these days.  In their eyes, I’m somewhat pathetic looking, or a rose that existed too long in the garden.  I obviously need to be clipped from the rose branch and placed in a book as a marker for a bitter love poem.  Or perhaps a lyric from the great tango singer and songwriter Carlos Gardel.   Even he, who died young, was aware of the lessening powers of male beauty fading into a black hole.  “The snows of time/ they whitened my temples/feel/That is a breath of life’That twenty years is nothing…”



“Life is unfair.  I got nothing but the best.” Till now.  Life has reclaimed me as truly a skin deep beauty.   I first realized the moment when I caught my reflection from a mirror in the hallway.   I have statuette hands attached to the wall all along the hallway, which each contains a mirror, mostly for only decorative purposes, but I have to admit I do look, as I walk down the hall from my work space to living room.  I shouldn’t have looked back, because the reflection can be seen as me in another life, or is it from the underworld?



Age and poverty are taking its toll on me, and I’m barely holding on to a life that I once imagined.  I can barely go out, not due to health, but more with the thought of beautiful people surrounding the public areas that I normally go to.  A world without ugly is not a life at all.
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kiameku: Daniel Eatock 2010 Book Shelf MDF 1220mm long x 300mm…



kiameku:

Daniel Eatock
2010
Book Shelf
MDF 1220mm long x 300mm deep x 18mm thick, two metal brackets, 75 books

– The Book On The Book Shelf ISBN 0-375-70639-9
– Dear Lulu
– Books and Bibliography ISBN 0 86473 429 8
– The Unimaginable Mathematics of Borges’ Library of Babel ISBN 978-0-19-533457-9
– Connections: The Work of Charles and Ray Eames
– Counterpunch ISBN 0 907259 06 5
– The Future Of The Printed Word ISBN 0-313-22693-8
– Writing Space ISBN 0-8058-2919-9
– Dieter Roth In Print ISBN 0-9790321-0-5
– The Birth of Codex ISBN 0-19-726061-6
– Information Storage and Retrieval: tools, elements, theories
– Reading Matters ISBN 978-0-300-12729-4
– The Scholar and the Future of the Research Library
– The Care of Books ISBN 978-1-108-00508-1
– Library Bureau Catalog 1900
– Ron Arad talks to Matthew Collings ISBN 0 7148 4310 5
– Every Colour By Itself ISBN 978-0-9561885-0-2
– Put About: A Critical Anthology On Independent Publishing ISBN 1 870699 70 X
– Serendipity ISBN 978-90-77459-29-4
– Mark Manders Isolated Rooms ISBN 90-77459-09-X
– Donald Judd selected works 1960-1991
– Gerhard Richter Overpainted Photographs ISBN 978-3-7757-2243-8
– Giovanni Anselmo ISBN 1-904864-07-4
– Witte de With Cahier #2 1994 ISBN 3-928762-25-7
– Starting With The Universe ISBN 978-0-300-12620-4
– Gary Hume American Tan ISBN 978-1-906072-06-3
– If/Then ISBN 90-72007-52-2
– Dad’s Office Nigel Shafran ISBN 0-9536289-0-6
– Frances Stark Collected Writing: 1993-2003 ISBN 1 870699 68 8
– Imagination Perception in Art ISBN 3-88375-758-6
– The most beautiful Swiss books ISBN 978-3-9522700-4-2
– Voids ISBN 978-3-03764-017-3
– Active Literature; Jan Tschichold and New Typography ISBN 978-0-907259-32-9
– Lawrence Weiner Books 1968 - 1989 ISBN 3-88375-111-1
– Le Corbusier Architect of Books ISBN 978-3-03778-034-3
– Coleridge’s Library ISBN 0-8161-8101-2
– On Book Design ISBN 978-0-300-07570-0
– Andro Wekua If There Ever Was One ISBN 978-3-905701-86-9
– Fabrice Gygi ISBN 3-905701-26-X
– Nina Fischer & Maroan el Sani Blind Spots ISBN 978-3-905829-18-1
– Underground ISBN 0 00 195850 X
– The Smithsonian Book of Books ISBN 0-89599-030-X
– Typography, advertising, book design ISBN 3-7212-0341-0
– Dutch Type ISBN 90 6450 460 1
– Fluxus ISBN 0-500-97422-5
– Typography: Formation + Transformation ISBN 3-7212-0495-6
– Donald Judd Complete Writings 1959 - 1975 ISBN 0-919616-42-9
– The Oxford Companion to the Book ISBN 978-0-19-860653-6
– Fragments of Utopia ISBN 0 907259 10 3
– The ABCs of: The Bauhaus Design Theory ISBN 0-500-27714-1
– The Printed Picture ISBN 978-0-87070-721-6
– Visual Explanations ISBN 0-9613921-2-6
– 21 Bilder ISBN 978-3-86560-387-6
– The Making Of Art ISBN 978-3-86560-586-3
– Spaces of Experience ISBN 978-0-300-15196-1
– Books As History ISBN 978-0-7123-4923-9
– Designing books ISBN 0-907259-08-1
– John Baskerville ISBN 0-584-10354-9
– The Look of Reading ISBN 978-0-226-77294-0
– The Power of Display ISBN 0-262-19402-3
– The Book Encompassed ISBN 1-873040-49-0
– Beauty and the Book ISBN 3-7212-0540-5
– Used Books ISBN 978-0-8122-4043-6
– This Book Like A Book ISBN 9-789053-492925
– Marginalia ISBN 9778-0-300-09720-7
– The Form of the Book Book ISBN 978-0-9562605-1-2
– Paratexts ISBN 0-521-41350-8
– Peter Pan and the Only Children ISBN 0-333-43968-6
– Informal Meetings ISBN 978-1-907414-07-7
– Six Years: The dematerialization of the art object ISBN 978-0-520-21013-4
– The Book Nobody Read ISBN 0-434-01315-3
– The Future of the Research Library
– On Books
– Double Fold: Libraries and the Assault on Paper ISBN 0-375-72621-7
– Inside the White Cube ISBN 978-0-520-22040-9

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skunkbear: I’m not very good at catching flies, but dragonflies…







skunkbear:

I’m not very good at catching flies, but dragonflies really, really are.

A new study (just published in Nature) shows that dragonflies don’t just react to their prey’s movements - they actually predict where they will be in the future. That’s a trick humans use all the time, but it hasn’t been shown in invertebrates before.

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The Unconquerable (24)

macinnesAmbush
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Thomas McGuane

mcguaneLife lessons and manhood-tutorials.
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December 10, 2014



December 10, 2014

   I live on Waverly Drive, and there is a location on the corner of my street and at Glendale Bouvelard that's a total mystery to me.  But due to its mystery, I find myself attached to this location.  I often wander around my life without asking questions.  I find things by chance, and I feel the nature of chance-taking is what leads me to another place.  Even now, when I reach the location, I try to imagine what was there, which is often not based on fact.  Or is it?



The location is on the corner of Waverly Drive and Glendale Bouvelard.  It is now a building condo complex, but for years it was a vacant property.  I never knew who owned it, but there were the remains of a staircase leading towards the lot, and then nothing.  At first I thought there may have been a mansion built on this property, but many years later I discovered it was once an osteopathic hospital called Monte Sano.  It was built 1931 and it closed during the 1970s.   When you research the hospital on the internet, there is so very little information about the hospital and the location.  One never gets a narration, but just snips of the story - that is a great deal like memory itself.  There seems to be births that took place in this hospital, and I have read that it was a location that un-wed mothers would go to, to have their child delivered to this world.  Also there was also a very vague report that an African-American serial killer by the name of Robert Nixon, threw a brick at either a nurse or a fellow patient at the hospital sometime in the 1930s.  I read on a blog “Red Car Property” that Monte Sano was California’s first osteopathic hospital, and was founded by Dr. Brigham.  He had a son, Dr. Creighton Brigham, who was also a doctor at the premise.  According to a resident whose family lived on Waverly Drive, claims that the Doctor and his family had a home on Waverly Drive; that was the first house built on that street.  He remembers a huge cage unit on their property that was concrete and wire.  His initial impression was that it was an aviary “although it always seemed large for that. ”



It also appears that at one time, there was a red-car station called “Monte Sano” but there are no longer any traces of either the station or the sign.   I often walk by this property, and I always think about what was there, and why is such a structure, a medium sized hospital, and yet there is no real record of it existing - except from people’s memories and the few photographs that are found on the Internet.   What is intriguing is that young people used to go into the deserted building, hoping to find the morgue.  Perhaps they did find it, God knows that there must have been a lot of deaths at this location.  Also there is not any record of why the building was torn down, and what happened to the hospital itself?   Some may feel that this location is haunted with ghosts who went to the hospital and not make it back alive.  For me, the ghost is not the people, but the building itself.



I had a vision one night, while I walked by the empty lot, and I imagined that there was the building - and at the time, I thought to myself, “that’s funny, I never noticed that structure before.” When I took another walk, about a week later, the property was vacant again.  At the time, it was late at night, and was very dark. Perhaps I mistaken the structure for some of the trees that were on the lot at the time.  Although I clearly have a memory of an entrance way, and maybe even a large window.  As I have mentioned before in another blog, I find buildings more profound than humans.  Even though humans build the structures, it is what is left on this world - often way past a human’s life span.  So it always seems cruel to me, to destroy a building because it is not being utilized or nature taking over the structure.   Even though the new condos are built on that property, when I go in the middle of the night, I see not the condos, but the original building.   I know it is not actually there, but for whatever reasons, that is what I see.

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un-gif-dans-ta-gueule: Colors of life



un-gif-dans-ta-gueule:

Colors of life

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Squamous!

Paris was absolutely lovely, but I am very happy to be back at home with two funny cats and a real computer (the technology conspired against "real" blogging - there is a very complex and roundabout way to post pictures taken on my iPad in entries here, but the device kept crashing and I gave up and posted to Facebook instead - will put some of that stuff up here later on at a quiet moment, though life re-entry is now slightly daunting).

I really might have to read this book, though it's a minor splurge (and too new to be available yet at the library) - have pasted in the bizarrely steampunk (of course colonialism really did produce this kind of effect, it's not a novel observation) photograph of a nineteenth-century New Zealander with pet tuatara.

Jonathan Losos' Anole Annals blog is one of my great internet pleasures. I cannot really say that in another life I am an anole specialist, as really I do not have the eye or temperament for a natural historian (in a near alternate life, I am writing about Melville and Dickinson, and in a further-away but still plausible one I am an epidemiologist!), but I do really love 'em, and I like the styles of looking and writing on display here - makes me think of another book I very much liked, Richard Fortey's Dry Storeroom No. 1.

My morning's first meeting has been rescheduled from 10:45 to 12:45, buying me an extra hour before I need to be on campus at 11:30: that is good, I must just now try not to waste it all delightfully on the internet....
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Hi-Lo Americana (10)

hilothumb10Hi-Lo Lounge — Athens, Georgia.
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wakest: I think of my landlord as a funny cartoon character,…





wakest:

I think of my landlord as a funny cartoon character, and when he left me a note this morning I instantly knew I had to make a font from it. Now I just have to figure out a way to get him to leave me a note with the letters FGJQUVXZ and of corse 0 through 9!?$

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Emily Dickinson

Emily DickinsonHer slant rhymes were radically proto-modernist.
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December 9, 2014



December 9, 2014

60.  Why?  There is no reason why I should have reached 60.  Yet, technically I’m not a senior citizen.  Yet.   Most experts say that the age 65 is when you become a senior citizen.  Sadly I can’t officially get a discount at a movie theater nor one for a public bus pass - but at both times, the middle-aged person asked me if I’m asking for a senior citizen’s discount or pass.  I could lie and tell them that I’m 65, but the truth is I’m 60.   This is exactly how I felt when I was 14 or 15 and wanted to get a license to drive. I had the talents of a driver, but I couldn’t obtain a license due to my age.  So once again, like a teenager, I’m waiting till I reach a certain number (65) before I cash in for the discounts and etc.



Emotionally and intellectually, I feel exactly the same as when I was 35.   Basically there is no real difference between the ages of 35 and 60.  The one thing I do notice when I’m 60 is that people around you begin to die off.  Famous people, as well as friends.  And especially friends of your parents or other older family members.   35 strikes me as the age when you’re an adult.  Not legally, that happens when you’re either 18 or 21.  But I find most people in their 20s are still trying to figure out what to be done in their life.   Basically, the 20s is very much like being a teenager, but you have the ability to move out of your family home (for some) or make financial decisions.  Otherwise you’re very much still a teenager.   Some people get married in their 20s, but if they asked me for advice I would tell them to wait till they are in their 30s.   Unless they have grown up in a certain culture, I think getting married in their 20s is OK, but for most Americans who live in America today, I would strongly suggest holding off on marriage and major decisions on career moves.  It is not till you’re 35, when life becomes much clearer than when you’re a teenager or in your 20s.



The worst fear of being in your 60s, is the fact that one’s looks starts to fade or change, and you will of course be facing death - either as a subject matter or someone close to you will eventually die.   That in three words: Is. A. Bummer.   As for me, I like to be attractive to the opposite sex as much as possible.  When I was young, I was quite handsome, but now, staring at the mirror I realized age has changed me.  The worst is the stomach area got bigger, and that is a very fragile emotional point for me.  I used to be so skinny or slim, but now, I look very much like a 60 year-old man, who doesn’t exercise on a regular basis.  Me, doing exercises, would just remind me that I’m 60 and that is kind of depressing.  Women don’t look at me like they used to - especially women in their 20s or 30s.   That is quite painful.  The only thing I have in my favor is charm, but that is like fine wine in a bottle that is placed in the garage or wine cellar.  It becomes an object to admire, but no one wishes to taste its flavor.



As I got older two artists that I adore much more as a “senior citizen” is the filmmaker John Cassavetes and the composer Pierre Henry.   I feel that they make art for older people.  I never got Musique concréte as a raving youth, but now, that I’m an adult, I appreciate the aesthetics of sound that is around me.  For instance as I write in my wife’s studio, I can hear the morning traffic, which has a consistent rhythm that is very suitable for writing.   The one surprise is to hear the sound of car crashes on the No. 5 freeway (which is directly behind our house).   But normally it is just one long purr - it’s fantastic.  Some of Pierre Henry’s work reminds me of the beauty of hearing traffic out of one’s window.  As for Cassavaetes, it is middle-age angst.  I can identify with that!  “Opening Night” is the film that I like the best from all his other films. I think it’s a masterpiece, with a brilliant performance from Gina Rowlands.   An aging actress dealing with a theater role that in turns makes her think of aging, relationships changing, and the need for love.  Or to give love.   Although it has a strong point-of-view from a female’s perspective on the subject matter of aging, I too can identify with her, as well as with the other cast members in that film.



At this point, I’m still too young at 60, to really understand the full meaning of aging.  I’m hoping that when I reach 65, and receive the official discounts one deserves for a ‘long’ life, I will finally understand what it means to be an old person.  Till then, it’s a paradise of my own making.

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postgraduategoth: ohdarlingdankeschoen: http://www.pinterest.co…



postgraduategoth:

ohdarlingdankeschoen:

http://www.pinterest.com/pin/396809417142548555/

Magnolia - James Jebusa Shannon

PostGraduteGoth

Is this a pre-Raphaelite artist?

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Hi-Lo Americana (9)

hilothumbHi-Lo Market — Albuquerque, New Mexico
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John Cassavetes

cassavetesPerformances congruent with camera.
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Roy DeCarava

SweetFlypaper-DeCarava"We must get to the painting of ourselves, our history…"
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Photo



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December 8, 2014



December 8, 2014

I had a hard time sleeping last night.  “I woke up at 4 A.M. and start sneezing, sometimes for five hours.  I tried to find what sort of allergy I had but finally came to the conclusion that it must be an allergy to consciousness.” Not only that, but I keep hearing noises around the house.   I was deeply concerned about a noise coming from my bed last night, and I realized it was my stomach digesting the vegetarian sausage I had before I went to bed.  Which lead me to thoughts about why I ate such a thing before going to sleep.  It made me so angry, because I wasn’t really hungry at the time.  Why do I eat when I’m not hungry?  I remember many years ago, when I was having sex with a girl that I greatly desired in school, I started to think about having pasta.   That whole day was thinking of nothing but getting this girl in bed with me, and yet, when the moment arrives, I started to crave penne.   When I climaxed inside her, I thought of tomato sauce being spread all over the pasta.   That happened many years ago, and to this day I still think of it - but mostly when I’m in bed trying to fall asleep.



I got up in a rather bad mood and decided to start writing my daily post for the day.  Since John Lennon was killed on this date, I considered it would be appropriate to write a memorial of some sort.  Lennon was very much a figure of my generation, specifically my youth.   I loved him.   What I found the most disturbing about his death is that I was shocked when it happened, but also quite disturbed that I didn’t like the album he released that year.  For me, the Plastic Ono Band album was his masterpiece.  Also the singles he released before that specific album were magnificant.  “Imagine” I think is pretty dull and forever what reason, his music became a sort of wallpaper in my life.  After that, he disappeared in the city that one can disappear like Fantomas.  He avoided the spotlight for five years, not even a photograph of him was made available in the media, and then all of a sudden he came back.  My excitement to hear a new Solo Beatle song or album was pretty great.  Yet, when I heard it, it sounded dated, and someone just coasting on their talent.  I knew there must be a great album within him, and it will be the next one.  Then his death took place which robbed me the “in theory” the perfect Lennon album.   Since then, my life became an illusion of sorts.  Soon after December 8, 1980, I gave up pop music and listened to only classical music.  Since punk was turning into a product, I decided to jump into another decade of music, or something as far as I can get from my once favorite three words: Rock. N. Roll.



I’m attracted to Jean Sibelius’ music, because he once “justified the austerity of his old age by saying that while other composers were engaged in manufacturing cocktails he offered the public pure cold water.” I understand that.  Sometimes, even I, have a hard time to make something of value, or worth.  When I can’t sleep at night, I have a 16mm projector and the only film on a roll is a series of works by Georges Méliès.  I set the projector up in my bedroom to project the film on the white wall above my bed.  My favorite film of his is “The Impossible Voyage” which is about a group of scientists who go on a trip to the interior of the Sun.   The film was made in 1904, and I often play music by Sibelius as a soundtrack to the images projected on my bedroom wall.  Sibelius is from Finland, and I never been to Finland, but in my imagination I think of it as a magical part of the world.   I often lay on the corner of my bed and think of worlds that I have never been to, but imagined.



“Cold water” is not bullshit.  It is exactly what it is, and therefore I can’t worry what people will say about me or my writing.  I “pay no attention to what the critics say.  A statue had never been erected in honor of a critic.” The clarity that I desire in my life, is that I find that “the longer you look at an object, the more abstract it becomes, and ironically, the more real.” With that in mind, I face this afternoon with great delight for the adventure that surely will happen.
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Photo



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blackfashion: http://www.thedaileigh.com/ fierce



blackfashion:

http://www.thedaileigh.com/

fierce

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Hi-Lo Americana (8)

hilothumb8Hi-Lo Convenience — Kalamazoo, Michigan.
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Loudly and bravely

Wallace Shawn:

As I write these words, in New York City in 1985, more and more people who grew up around me are making this decision; they are throwing away their moral chains and learning to enjoy their true situation:  Yes, they are admitting loudly and bravely, We live in beautiful homes, we’re surrounded by beautiful gardens, our children are playing with wonderful toys, and our kitchen shelves are filled with wonderful food.  And if there are people out there who are envious of us and who might even be tempted to break into our homes and take what we have, well then, part of our good fortune is that we can afford to pay guards to protect us.  And if those who protect us need to hit people in the face with the butts of their rifles, or if they need perhaps even to turn around and shoot, they have our permission, and we only hope they’ll do what they do with diligence and skill.

The amazing thing I’ve noticed about these friends of mine who’ve made that choice is that as soon as they’ve made it, they begin to blossom, to flower, because they are no longer hiding, from themselves or anyone else, the true facts about their own lives.


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“Empire” by Andy Warhol and John Palmer. Photographed by Jonas Mekas. 1964. 16mm black & white, silent



Just had an extraordinary screening experience of seeing Andy Warhol and John Palmer’s “Empire.” The film is 8 hours and five minutes, and I saw 3 hours of it.  I was there from the beginning when it's daylight and slowly turns into nighttime.  “Empire” works on different levels, and is probably is one of the most complex films I have ever seen. On one level, it deals with the Empire State Building, which is the subject of the camera just being focused on the top of the iconic building.  The grainy and textural aspect of the film adds a definite layer of beauty to its subject matter.   When it becomes night, and all of sudden the building's lighting goes on, you can hear the audience swoon.  There is nothing for a long time, and then… something happens.  After awhile, I can’t tell if the camera is moving or it is just my eyes adjusting to the lights - or maybe just starring at one object for such a long time.   I started to see a face - something of a mid-evil armory mask.  Illusion for sure, but one has plenty of time for inventorying their brain while watching this film.  Which comes to the other layer, which is time.



Time going by, or time passing.  It became obvious to me after watching it for an hour that the building is not really the topic, but more how one spends time viewing something.  Especially when you’re in a theater watching this film.   One can say it’s non-narrative, but that is not correct.  If you’re in the beginning of the film, you gradually see the building emerging from the whiteness of the screen.   As it emerges you then see the skyline of New York, but not fully.  Almost ghost like, till it gets darker, and then one can only see the building - and once in a while you see a light here and there from other structures, but they’re way in the background.   So the narrative is basically watching this building for a period of time, and therefore it tells a story.  The fact that day turns to night is narrative enough.   And then when it gets dark, the lights go on the building.  So things are happening, and there are things we don’t know about.  For instance what are the people in the building doing while Empire is being filmed?  I thought about that as I watched the film, and I also started to daydream about my life - thinking of past pleasures.  



“Empire” becomes an entrance way to one’s imagination and thinking.   Jonas Mekas did the filming.  He captured such beautiful images as the day is turned into night.  Also the relationship between audience and film is an interesting one as well.  When I went in, I turned off my phone, not only because you should in a theater, but I also wanted to destroy my version of time.  I didn’t wish to be aware of my time, but just focus on the time being expressed in the film.   After awhile I totally got lost - and I wasn’t sure if one hour passed or even six hours.  There had the feeling of comfort watching a film knowing how it will end - and therefore you are just there for the journey itself.


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madbriar: Jean Ramey, Judith and the Head of Holofernes, 1585



madbriar:

Jean Ramey, Judith and the Head of Holofernes, 1585

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maudelynn: Medieval Skull Clasp, made in 1500, it was designed…







maudelynn:

Medieval Skull Clasp, made in 1500, it was designed for the road: it concerns a portable Book of Hours (or prayer book) that was carried around by a pilgrim on his religious pilgrimage. The clasp holds the book closed, which is decorated with a skull carved out of bone – Source

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mom: what are you gonna bring to christmas dinner

mom: what are you gonna bring to christmas dinner
me: my negative attitude and sparkling personality
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Seasonal Inspired Names









Seasonal Inspired Names

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130186: Michaela Kocianova for Christian Dior Haute Couture…



130186:

Michaela Kocianova for Christian Dior Haute Couture Fall 2008

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