Masked Man (10)

Tenth in a series of fifteen posts dedicated to evocative images of masked men from John Hilgart’s cornucopia of comics details 4CP.

medium_BlackMaskGuySmaller

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MORE HILOBROW/4CP SERIES: BLOW UP YOUR COMICS — John Hilgart glosses 30 favorite 4CP images | The Art of 4CP | SUBSUPERMEN — Golden Age heroes who didn’t make the grade | MEET THE L.I.S. — Implicit superheroes, concealed within comic-book mastheads | 4CP FRIDAY — themed comic-book detail galleries, curated by 4CP fans

MORE COMICS-RELATED SERIES: KIRB YOUR ENTHUSIASM — 25 writers on 25 Jack Kirby panels | ANNOTATED GIF — Kerry Callen brings comic book covers to life | COMICALLY VINTAGE — that’s-what-she-said vintage comic panels | DC — THE NEW 52 — an 11-year-old reviews DC’s new lineup | SECRET PANEL — Silver Age comics’ double entendres | SKRULLICISM — they lurk among us

CLICK HERE for more comics and cartoon-related posts on HiLobrow.

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Photo



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likeafieldmouse: Costica Acsinte “It all began the city of…





















likeafieldmouse:

Costica Acsinte

"It all began the city of Slobozia, Romania, in the 1920s. World War I photographer Costica Acsinte had just returned from the war. To further his experience, he decided to open his own commercial studio, the Foto Splendid C. Acsinte, and welcomed everyone and anyone who needed their photo taken.

Within two decades, he had accumulated photographs in the thousands, being possibly the only professional photographer in Romania at that time, so that by the time of his death in 1984, he had some 5,000 negatives, preserved in glass plates, collected.

In all those years, Acsinte had photographed hundreds – men, women, children, families, lovers – and captured many important moments – weddings, friendship, love, even deaths – in those people’s lives.

But his collection had deteriorated considerably as time passed. Bidding the end of their lives in wooden crates, most of the negatives, which were acquired by a small regional history museum, were succumbing to the elements – cracking, shrinking, peeling, molding, and fast becoming next to nothing.

And so lawyer-turned-photographer Cezar Popescu, whose father – also a photographer – had once worked with Acsinte’s son, is now racing against time to save the photographs before they disappear completely. He has undertaken this massive project, painstakingly cleaning and scanning every single glass-plate negative in the collection, to digitalize and preserve Acsinte’s life’s work.”

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raptorific: Nia and I found this book in the library. There is…









raptorific:

Nia and I found this book in the library. There is no context, description, or listed author. Every page is a picture of Humphrey Bogart. The only words we could find were the title and the dedication.

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March 1, 2014 (Tokyo)



March 1, 2014

Tokyo is very much of a city that I can feel by my fingertips.  If it has a logic, it is sort of beyond my understanding, because in a sense it reminds me of Paris, in that you use a location as a set piece, and then from there the roads becomes a spider’s web covering the rest of the city.  Tokyo is like this as well, because nothing really connects to each other.  In a way it makes me think of Los Angeles in that it is a city full of villages.  Each area has its distinct identity and purpose.  I tried to explain this to Justin Bieber, because I took him out for his birthday and I always want to show him a good time.  But it's hard, because his standards are quite high.  

He is interested in Noh and Kabuki theater, which may surprise certain people, but he bases (at least in his mind) Kabuki practices in his latest stage show.  His manager talked him out of wearing a formal Kabuki wig and make-up, because he felt it may be too radical for his teenage fans.  Justin has a great admiration for the theater and its practices and therefore wanted to see some Noh while he was in Tokyo. 



Noh was first performed in the thirteenth century, and Justin loves the thought of being involved in that tradition.  He also loves the idea that a typical or traditional Noh play can last all day.  His one dream is to do a performance that will start at 10: AM and end sometime in the early evening.  There will be lunch breaks, but more likely he will invite the audience to bring food into the arena.  The play he wishes to base his new show on is “Aoi no Ue (Lady Aoi) which is a Heian period Japanese Noh play that is inspired by the ancient Japanese novel “Tale of the Genji.” In this Noh piece, there are three characters.  Prince Genji, his wife Lady Aoi, and the Prince’s mistress Lady Rokujo.  The conflict of the narration is that Lady Aoi becomes pregnant with her husband’s child, which causes Lady Rokujo to be jealous and seeks revenge.  Her living spirit leaves the body and possesses Lady Aoi. 




Justin wants to portray Lady Aoi, and feels he can write some new songs for this theater piece slash concept album.   Justin and I became tight after I was hired to write some lyrics for his music, but it didn’t turn out that great.  Nevertheless he asked me to adopt “Aoi no Ue” to the modern era but using the techniques of classic Noh theater.  Justin is one of those artists that has a natural instinct for what will work and I never doubt him or his talent.  I’m very excited to work together on this project with him.  Now that I’m in Tokyo I can fully focus on this project, and also at the same time I can celebrate Justin’s birthday and talent in one place and in one time. 


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Yes, newspapers, you need us!

The story so far:  New York Times columnist Nicholas Kristof wrote a piece called “Professors, we need you!” in which he mourned the loss of the public intellectual of yonderyear:

SOME of the smartest thinkers on problems at home and around the world are university professors, but most of them just don’t matter in today’s great debates.

And so on from there.  You’ve heard this song — we speak in our own jargon, we’re obsessed with meaningless turf wars, there’s too much math, “academics seeking tenure must encode their insights into turgid prose” (must we?)

Lots of pushback on this, as you can imagine.  But the predominant tone, from professor-defenders like Josh Marshall at Talking Points Memo or  Joshua Rothman in the New Yorker and Ezra Klein in Bloomberg View, is that it’s not really academics’ fault our writing is so bad and unreadable and sealed off from the world.  It’s our bad incentives — the public intellectualizing we’d like to be doing isn’t rewarded by our tenure committees and our academic publishing system!

I’d put it a different way.  I think our incentives are fine, because our incentive is to be right about things, which is our job.  Newspapers have different incentives.  I’ve been writing for general-audience publications for years, and I can tell you what editors mean when they say a piece is “too academic.”  They don’t mean “there’s too much jargon” or “the subject isn’t of wide interest.”  They mean “you didn’t take a strong enough position.”  When I write about a matter of current controversy, I often get asked:  ”What’s the takeaway?  Who’s right here and who’s wrong?”  In real life there are no takeaways.  In real life one person’s sort of right about one thing and the other person’s sort of right about another thing and understanding the nature of the controversy may require a somewhat technical unraveling of those two different things which are thoughtlessly being referred to as one thing.  Most editors hate this stuff.  That’s why they don’t print it.  But it’s the work you have to do if you want to say things that are true.

I’ve been lucky to have done a lot of my journalism for Slate.  A lot of other academics write for them, too, and you know why?  Because they might tell you “this is too complicated, can you say the same thing but clearer?” but they’ll never tell you “this is too complicated, can you say something simpler and more bullshitty instead?”


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Yes, newspapers, you need us!

The story so far:  New York Times columnist Nicholas Kristof wrote a piece called “Professors, we need you!” in which he mourned the loss of the public intellectual of yonderyear:

SOME of the smartest thinkers on problems at home and around the world are university professors, but most of them just don’t matter in today’s great debates.

And so on from there.  You’ve heard this song — we speak in our own jargon, we’re obsessed with meaningless turf wars, there’s too much math, “academics seeking tenure must encode their insights into turgid prose” (must we?)

Lots of pushback on this, as you can imagine.  But the predominant tone, from professor-defenders like Josh Marshall at Talking Points Memo or  Joshua Rothman in the New Yorker and Ezra Klein in Bloomberg View, is that it’s not really academics’ fault our writing is so bad and unreadable and sealed off from the world.  It’s our bad incentives — the public intellectualizing we’d like to be doing isn’t rewarded by our tenure committees and our academic publishing system!

I’d put it a different way.  I think our incentives are fine, because our incentive is to be right about things, which is our job.  Newspapers have different incentives.  I’ve been writing for general-audience publications for years, and I can tell you what editors mean when they say a piece is “too academic.”  They don’t mean “there’s too much jargon” or “the subject isn’t of wide interest.”  They mean “you didn’t take a strong enough position.”  When I write about a matter of current controversy, I often get asked:  “What’s the takeaway?  Who’s right here and who’s wrong?”  In real life there are no takeaways.  In real life one person’s sort of right about one thing and the other person’s sort of right about another thing and understanding the nature of the controversy may require a somewhat technical unraveling of those two different things which are thoughtlessly being referred to as one thing.  Most editors hate this stuff.  That’s why they don’t print it.  But it’s the work you have to do if you want to say things that are true.

I’ve been lucky to have done a lot of my journalism for Slate.  A lot of other academics write for them, too, and you know why?  Because they might tell you “this is too complicated, can you say the same thing but clearer?” but they’ll never tell you “this is too complicated, can you say something simpler and more bullshitty instead?”


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“It gave focus to their work”

An oral history of Ghostbusters.
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fyblackwomenart: Luka Basyrov’s fantastic realism: “1652 °F” I…



fyblackwomenart:

Luka Basyrov’s fantastic realism: “1652 °F”

I finished this artwork yesterday)

Cardboard, acrylic relief, tempera.

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Density.io Density is a device and iOS app. The sensor is about…



Density.io

Density is a device and iOS app. The sensor is about the size of a deck of cards. Once plugged into an outlet, it will immediately count the number of people in a room. Installation takes fewer than 5 minutes.

Density is a MAC address sniffing device, akin to the London spy bins, according to its pitch video. Other cases of MAC address sniffing:

For discussion, see this Hacker News thread. SpoofMAC is an OSX, Windows, Linux tool for changing your MAC address.

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The Vertue of the COFFEE Drink - from All About Coffee by Wm H….



The Vertue of the COFFEE Drink

- from All About Coffee by Wm H. Ukers, Project Gutenberg

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Linus Pauling

linus_pauling

To scientists, LINUS PAULING (1901–94) is both inspiring role model and cautionary tale. It’s difficult to overstate the importance of his contributions to chemistry. He recognized the commonality between ionic bonds (as in salt, NaCl) and covalent bonds (as in diamond, pure C), and established them as two ends of a continuum, described by the Pauling Electronegativity Scale; he went on to explain chemical bonding as a hybridization of the quantum mechanical structures (electron orbitals) of the participating atoms. These are the fundamentals of chemistry, learned by high school students around the globe. On top of this, Pauling helped to create the field of molecular genetics. He and his collaborators demonstrated that sickle cell anemia was caused by a single abnormal protein (hemoglobin), which in turn was related to an inherited genetic mutation. And his work on nuclear disarmament garnered him a second Nobel, in Peace, making him one of only four people to win two Nobel Prizes in different fields. But Pauling’s best-known contribution might be the widely held belief that large doses of vitamin C can head off or reduce the severity of a cold. His research in the field he named “orthomolecular medicine” led him to advocate megadoses of vitamin C as a treatment for cancer, including through several books aimed at the public. The reception of this work among other scientists was mixed, to say the least, and Pauling became involved in acrimonious disputes. To date, there is little evidence that vitamin C can alter the course of a cold (beyond the placebo effect) or of cancer. It’s saddening that, together with his towering scientific legacy, Pauling leaves behind this crumb of popularly believed misinformation.

***

On his or her birthday, HiLobrow irregularly pays tribute to one of our high-, low-, no-, or hilobrow heroes. Also born this date: Milton Caniff, John Fahey, Guy Maddin.

READ MORE about members of the Hardboiled Generation (1894-1903).

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Most visited website per Country, weighted by Internet…



Most visited website per Country, weighted by Internet Population. Google is Red, Facebook is Blue.

Via Twitter / markpinc: “The new risk board. Clearly late in the game. Down to two players unless someone flips the board.”

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Twitter / flightradar24: RT @kaanyazgan: “AtlasJet KKK8003…



Twitter / flightradar24: RT @kaanyazgan: “AtlasJet KKK8003 Back to Istanbul.Simferopol airport was occupied by people in military uniform”

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“”I consider what has happened to be an armed invasion and occupation in violation of all…”

“"I consider what has happened to be an armed invasion and occupation in violation of all international agreements and norms," Mr Avakov said on his Facebook page.”

- BBC News - Ukraine crisis: ‘Russians occupy’ Crimea airports
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Milton Caniff

Young_Caniff

Given the assignment by his editor at the New York Daily News for “an adventure strip in ‘The Orient’,” in 1934 MILTON CANIFF (1907–88) created Terry and the Pirates — an action serial comic which owed a lot to the adventure yarn tradition. You can smell Stevenson’s gunpowder and hear Defoe’s crashing waves between the panels. True, it’s impossible not to wince at some of the racist caricatures in his work, but no one can deny Caniff’s greatness. Today’s weary indie comic creators may take it for granted that a cartoonist would write, pencil, ink, and letter… but at the time, Caniff’s one-man show was extremely rare. As a result, Terry and the Pirates is one of the most enduring examples of the newspaper strip genre, and one which influenced the likes of Hergé, Hugo Pratt, Jack Kirby, and John Romita. Caniff wasn’t just inspired by the adventure yarn tradition, he ended up contributing to it. Eat your heart out, Indiana Jones.

TerryPanelBaja

***

On his or her birthday, HiLobrow irregularly pays tribute to one of our high-, low-, no-, or hilobrow heroes. Also born this date: Linus Pauling, John Fahey, Guy Maddin.

READ MORE about members of the Partisan Generation (1904-13).

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The premise is simple; instead of creating fake businesses with…



The premise is simple; instead of creating fake businesses with stupid names, he created fake locations for an FBI office in San Francisco and a Secret Service office in Washington DC, each effectively taking the place of its real life counterpart. These new locations were identical to their real-life counterparts—with one important change. A new phone number.

Seely sent me a link to a Google Maps Search query for “federal bureau of investigation near San Francisco, CA.” There, I saw two otherwise identical listings, and when I called the one Seely pointed out to me as fake, he was the one who picked up the phone. At the time of this writing, there are still two FBI offices listed in San Francisco, identical but for two different phone numbers.

Seely told me that the exploit was not actually in action, and that when it was, the Google Maps entry with the wrong phone number would be the one most prominently displayed. From there, Seely explained, it would be trivial to reroute the phone number to the incoming line for the actual FBI office, and either to listen to or even record the calls as they came in. I saw no explicit evidence that Seely had done or could do this part, but Valleywag did. The effect would basically be a very limited tapped phone. Any scammer with the ability to set this up would be able to intercept calls—but only from people calling in through office’s main line, and only people who’d looked up the number to call on Google Maps. (via FBI and Secret Service Phone Calls Intercepted by Google Maps Exploit)

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Perfect way to celebrate the last day of Black History Month and…



Perfect way to celebrate the last day of Black History Month and welcome Women’s History Month in March.

todaysdocument:

Women at work in a lumber yard, 1919:

"Labor. [African-American] women at work in lumber yards. [African-American] women, dressed in men’s clothes, lifting heavy pieces of lumber., 02/05/1919"

From the series: General Photographic File, from the Records of the Women’s Bureau

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February 28, 2014 (Tokyo)



February 28, 2014 (Tokyo)

Nothing is better than having your first cup of coffee in the morning in Tokyo.   The scent of the caffeine is like perfume to me.   Sadly due to my declining age, it is hard for me to pick myself up from the bedding this morning, due that it's a tatami mat.  I am so accustomed to having a western style bed, where you sit, and then lay yourself down.  But here I can’t really figure what the sophisticated way of laying in your bed.  I can’t jump onto the futon, because it is harder than a bed.  So I have to get on my knees, and then gently allow my body to fall backwards.  It is very awkward because I’m suffering from a bad back.  So for me to get up in the morning, I have to crawl out of bed and go to the nearest wall, and pull myself up.  Once up, no problem!

Today I am obsessed in finding the legendary and some even claim it doesn’t exist, the Brian Jones solo album.  It was rumored that he recorded an album sometime during the “Between The Buttons” sessions.  He utilized Charlie Watts and Bill Wyman as the rhythm section, but played all the other instruments, including the complete string section.   Not only was Brian the best looking Rolling Stone, but obviously the most talented as well.  My sources here are told that the actual Brian Jones untitled album showed up in Japan sometime in the middle of the 70s, but eventually became bootlegged in the 1980s.  It never emerged in the Internet nor in the States.  Getting a CDR of this album can cost one a hundred dollar bill.  The only place one can go after this CDR is in Shinjuku at a record shop that only sells bootleg Stones recordings. 

The store is located in what looks like a vacant building, and on the fourth floor.  There is an elevator in the building that can only fit one person, and if you’re overweight, you’re out of luck pal!   The shop is called “Are You Stoned?” For some years now this has been the Mecca ground zero shop for the most obscure of the obscure Stones recordings.  They also sell suits that once belong in Charlie Watt’s closet.  How they got it is a real mystery to me.  Perhaps Charlie has his own version of the Borrowers in his home. 


Nevertheless as I move forward on the long hallway I found another interesting store.   It is called “Winnipeg” and it is totally devoted to the Canadian filmmaker and writer Guy Maddin.  When you walk into this store, you come upon a giant portrait of Maddin and right below the poster size image you see a lone person behind the register, who it seems is watching a Maddin film on her small VHS video screen.  Here, they sell all the Maddin films that are available on DVD, as well as actual 35mm and 16mm film prints.  Maddin wrote three books, and here in the shop they have every edition possible, including the editions around the world in various languages.   Oddly enough, it seems there are numerous editions of his work in Finnish. 


I purchased a 35mm print of “The Heart of the World” a film Maddin made in 2000.  Impossible to find, especially in 35mm, but I had to have it!  Sadly when I got to “Are You Stoned?” they sold the last copy of the Brian Jones CDR, and they told me (in English) that they will not be able to get more copies.   My disappointment was so great, but on the other hand I was quite happy with my Guy Maddin purchase, and I knew I must be in heaven, because the next store after “Are You Stoned?” was a shop devoted to the illustrator John Tenniel.  I desperately need a print of Tenniel’s illustration from “Alice in the Wonderland.” In many ways I feel like I did fall into that same hole as Alice, here in Shinjuku. 



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bastardkeaton: George Carr, Inmate Number 2963, at Leavenworth…



bastardkeaton:

George Carr, Inmate Number 2963, at Leavenworth Federal Penitentiary, 1902

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kiameku: Hreinn Fridfinnsson Pair 2004 Mirror with silver…



kiameku:

Hreinn Fridfinnsson
Pair
2004
Mirror with silver wooden frame, shoe
48 x 57cm (mirror)

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nbchannibal: Tomorrow! Tomorrow! We’ll eat ya, tomorrow. You’re…



nbchannibal:

Tomorrow! Tomorrow! We’ll eat ya, tomorrow. You’re only a day awaaaay.

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Sexually explicit webcam material proved to be a particular…



Sexually explicit webcam material proved to be a particular problem for GCHQ, as one document delicately put it: “Unfortunately … it would appear that a surprising number of people use webcam conversations to show intimate parts of their body to the other person. Also, the fact that the Yahoo software allows more than one person to view a webcam stream without necessarily sending a reciprocal stream means that it appears sometimes to be used for broadcasting pornography.”
The document estimates that between 3% and 11% of the Yahoo webcam imagery harvested by GCHQ contains “undesirable nudity”. Discussing efforts to make the interface “safer to use”, it noted that current “naïve” pornography detectors assessed the amount of flesh in any given shot, and so attracted lots of false positives by incorrectly tagging shots of people’s faces as pornography.

Yahoo webcam images from millions of users intercepted by GCHQ | World news | theguardian.com

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fyblackwomenart: Uhura by ~DennisBudd



fyblackwomenart:

Uhura by ~DennisBudd

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“A startup is developing machine-learning technology that mimics the way the ear works, which it…”

A startup is developing machine-learning technology that mimics the way the ear works, which it believes will make it easier for smartphones and wearable devices to constantly listen for sounds of danger.

One Llama will show some of its capabilities in an app called Audio Aware, which is meant to alert hard-of-hearing smartphone users and “distracted walkers” (an issue previously explored in “Safe Texting While Walking? Soon There May be an App for That”). The app, planned for release in March, will run in the background on an Android smartphone, detecting sounds like screeching tires and wailing sirens and alerting you to them by interrupting the music you’re listening to, for instance. The app will arrive with knowledge of a number of perilous sounds, and users will be able to add their own sounds to the app and share them with other people.



- Startup One Llama has an App That Recognizes Dangerous Sounds | MIT Technology Review
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Tech Report: Google Glass User Gets Unwanted Attention by KRON…



Tech Report: Google Glass User Gets Unwanted Attention by KRON 4

Woman abused for wearing Google Glass in a bar. Videos patrons abusing her for videoing them. Explains Google Glass is great technology for exploring and dealing with the sort of issues Google Glass causes.

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The Lost Prince (9)

lost-prince

Frances Hodgson Burnett is best known for her sentimental children’s novels Little Lord Fauntleroy (1885-6), A Little Princess (1905), and The Secret Garden (1911). But HiLoBooks prefers a later Burnett novel: The Lost Prince, a 1915 Ruritanian-style thriller in which two adolescent boys, one of whom is a disabled street urchin called “The Rat,” play a proto-Alternate Reality Game about a revolution in far-off Samavia… which turns into the real thing.

HiLobrow is pleased to serialize The Lost Prince, our first departure from Radium Age science fiction — into adventure fiction. A new installment will appear each week for thirty-one weeks.

ALL INSTALLMENTS SO FAR

***

Chapter 9: “It Is Not a Game”

Loristan walked slowly up and down the back sitting-room and listened to Marco, who sat by the small fire and talked.

“Go on,” he said, whenever the boy stopped. “I want to hear it all. He’s a strange lad, and it’s a splendid game.”

Marco was telling him the story of his second and third visits to the inclosure behind the deserted church-yard. He had begun at the beginning, and his father had listened with a deep interest.

A year later, Marco recalled this evening as a thrilling memory, and as one which would never pass away from him throughout his life. He would always be able to call it all back. The small and dingy back room, the dimness of the one poor gas-burner, which was all they could afford to light, the iron box pushed into the corner with its maps and plans locked safely in it, the erect bearing and actual beauty of the tall form, which the shabbiness of worn and mended clothes could not hide or dim. Not even rags and tatters could have made Loristan seem insignificant or undistinguished. He was always the same. His eyes seemed darker and more wonderful than ever in their remote thoughtfulness and interest as he spoke.

“Go on,” he said. “It is a splendid game. And it is curious. He has thought it out well. The lad is a born soldier.”

“It is not a game to him,” Marco said. “And it is not a game to me. The Squad is only playing, but with him it’s quite different. He knows he’ll never really get what he wants, but he feels as if this was something near it. He said I might show you the map he made. Father, look at it.”

He gave Loristan the clean copy of The Rat’s map of Samavia. The city of Melzarr was marked with certain signs. They were to show at what points The Rat — if he had been a Samavian general — would have attacked the capital. As Marco pointed them out, he explained The Rat’s reasons for his planning.

Loristan held the paper for some minutes. He fixed his eyes on it curiously, and his black brows drew themselves together.

“This is very wonderful!” he said at last. “He is quite right. They might have got in there, and for the very reasons he hit on. How did he learn all this?”

“He thinks of nothing else now,” answered Marco. “He has always thought of wars and made plans for battles. He’s not like the rest of the Squad. His father is nearly always drunk, but he is very well educated, and, when he is only half drunk, he likes to talk.”

The Rat asks him questions then, and leads him on until he finds out a great deal. Then he begs old newspapers, and he hides himself in corners and listens to what people are saying. He says he lies awake at night thinking it out, and he thinks about it all the day. That was why he got up the Squad.

Loristan had continued examining the paper.

“Tell him,” he said, when he refolded and handed it back, “that I studied his map, and he may be proud of it. You may also tell him —” and he smiled quietly as he spoke — “that in my opinion he is right. The Iarovitch would have held Melzarr to-day if he had led them.”

Marco was full of exultation.

“I thought you would say he was right. I felt sure you would. That is what makes me want to tell you the rest,” he hurried on.

“If you think he is right about the rest too —” He stopped awkwardly because of a sudden wild thought which rushed upon him. “I don’t know what you will think,” he stammered. “Perhaps it will seem to you as if the game — as if that part of it could — could only be a game.”

He was so fervent in spite of his hesitation that Loristan began to watch him with sympathetic respect, as he always did when the boy was trying to express something he was not sure of. One of the great bonds between them was that Loristan was always interested in his boyish mental processes — in the way in which his thoughts led him to any conclusion.

“Go on,” he said again. “I am like The Rat and I am like you. It has not seemed quite like a game to me, so far.”

He sat down at the writing-table and Marco, in his eagerness, drew nearer and leaned against it, resting on his arms and lowering his voice, though it was always their habit to speak at such a pitch that no one outside the room they were in could distinguish what they said.

“It is The Rat’s plan for giving the signal for a Rising,” he said.

Loristan made a slight movement.

“Does he think there will be a Rising?” he asked.

“He says that must be what the Secret Party has been preparing for all these years. And it must come soon. The other nations see that the fighting must be put an end to even if they have to stop it themselves. And if the real King is found — but when The Rat bought the newspaper there was nothing in it about where he was. It was only a sort of rumor. Nobody seemed to know anything.” He stopped a few seconds, but he did not utter the words which were in his mind. He did not say: “But you know.”

“And The Rat has a plan for giving the signal?” Loristan said.

Marco forgot his first feeling of hesitation. He began to see the plan again as he had seen it when The Rat talked. He began to speak as The Rat had spoken, forgetting that it was a game. He made even a clearer picture than The Rat had made of the two vagabond boys — one of them a cripple — making their way from one place to another, quite free to carry messages or warnings where they chose, because they were so insignificant and poor-looking that no one could think of them as anything but waifs and strays, belonging to nobody and blown about by the wind of poverty and chance. He felt as if he wanted to convince his father that the plan was a possible one. He did not quite know why he felt so anxious to win his approval of the scheme — as if it were real — as if it could actually be done. But this feeling was what inspired him to enter into new details and suggest possibilities.

“A boy who was a cripple and one who was only a street singer and a sort of beggar could get almost anywhere,” he said. “Soldiers would listen to a singer if he sang good songs — and they might not be afraid to talk before him. A strolling singer and a cripple would perhaps hear a great many things it might be useful for the Secret Party to know. They might even hear important things. Don’t you think so?”

Before he had gone far with his story, the faraway look had fallen upon Loristan’s face — the look Marco had known so well all his life. He sat turned a little sidewise from the boy, his elbow resting on the table and his forehead on his hand. He looked down at the worn carpet at his feet, and so he looked as he listened to the end. It was as if some new thought were slowly growing in his mind as Marco went on talking and enlarging on The Rat’s plan. He did not even look up or change his position as he answered, “Yes. I think so.”

But, because of the deep and growing thought in his face, Marco’s courage increased. His first fear that this part of the planning might seem so bold and reckless that it would only appear to belong to a boyish game, gradually faded away for some strange reason. His father had said that the first part of The Rat’s imaginings had not seemed quite like a game to him, and now — even now — he was not listening as if he were listening to the details of mere exaggerated fancies. It was as if the thing he was hearing was not wildly impossible. Marco’s knowledge of Continental countries and of methods of journeying helped him to enter into much detail and give realism to his plans.

“Sometimes we could pretend we knew nothing but English,” he said. “Then, though The Rat could not understand, I could. I should always understand in each country. I know the cities and the places we should want to go to. I know how boys like us live, and so we should not do anything which would make the police angry or make people notice us. If any one asked questions, I would let them believe that I had met The Rat by chance, and we had made up our minds to travel together because people gave more money to a boy who sang if he was with a cripple. There was a boy who used to play the guitar in the streets of Rome, and he always had a lame girl with him, and every one knew it was for that reason. When he played, people looked at the girl and were sorry for her and gave her soldi. You remember.”

“Yes, I remember. And what you say is true,” Loristan answered.

Marco leaned forward across the table so that he came closer to him. The tone in which the words were said made his courage leap like a flame. To be allowed to go on with this boldness was to feel that he was being treated almost as if he were a man. If his father had wished to stop him, he could have done it with one quiet glance, without uttering a word. For some wonderful reason he did not wish him to cease talking. He was willing to hear what he had to say — he was even interested.

“You are growing older,” he had said the night he had revealed the marvelous secret. “Silence is still the order, but you are man enough to be told more.”

Was he man enough to be thought worthy to help Samavia in any small way — even with boyish fancies which might contain a germ of some thought which older and wiser minds might make useful? Was he being listened to because the plan, made as part of a game, was not an impossible one — if two boys who could be trusted could be found? He caught a deep breath as he went on, drawing still nearer and speaking so low that his tone was almost a whisper.

“If the men of the Secret Party have been working and thinking for so many years—they have prepared everything. They know by this time exactly what must be done by the messengers who are to give the signal. They can tell them where to go and how to know the secret friends who must be warned. If the orders could be written and given to — to some one who has — who has learned to remember things!” He had begun to breathe so quickly that he stopped for a moment.

Loristan looked up. He looked directly into his eyes.

“Some one who has been trained to remember things?” he said.

“Some one who has been trained,” Marco went on, catching his breath again. “Some one who does not forget — who would never forget — never! That one, even if he were only twelve — even if he were only ten — could go and do as he was told.”

Loristan put his hand on his shoulder.

“Comrade,” he said, “you are speaking as if you were ready to go yourself.”

Marco’s eyes looked bravely straight into his, but he said not one word.

“Do you know what it would mean, Comrade?” his father went on. “You are right. It is not a game. And you are not thinking of it as one. But have you thought how it would be if something betrayed you — and you were set up against a wall to be SHOT?”

Marco stood up quite straight. He tried to believe he felt the wall against his back.

“If I were shot, I should be shot for Samavia,” he said. “And for you, Father.”

Even as he was speaking, the front door-bell rang and Lazarus evidently opened it. He spoke to some one, and then they heard his footsteps approaching the back sitting-room.

“Open the door,” said Loristan, and Marco opened it.

“There is a boy who is a cripple here, sir,” the old soldier said. “He asked to see Master Marco.”

“If it is The Rat,” said Loristan, “bring him in here. I wish to see him.”

Marco went down the passage to the front door. The Rat was there, but he was not upon his platform. He was leaning upon an old pair of crutches, and Marco thought he looked wild and strange. He was white, and somehow the lines of his face seemed twisted in a new way. Marco wondered if something had frightened him, or if he felt ill.

“Rat,” he began, “my father —”

“I’ve come to tell you about my father,” The Rat broke in without waiting to hear the rest, and his voice was as strange as his pale face. “I don’t know why I’ve come, but I — I just wanted to. He’s dead!”

“Your father?” Marco stammered. “He’s —”

“He’s dead,” The Rat answered shakily. “I told you he’d kill himself. He had another fit and he died in it. I knew he would, one of these days. I told him so. He knew he would himself. I stayed with him till he was dead — and then I got a bursting headache and I felt sick — and I thought about you.”

Marco made a jump at him because he saw he was suddenly shaking as if he were going to fall. He was just in time, and Lazarus, who had been looking on from the back of the passage, came forward. Together they held him up.

“I’m not going to faint,” he said weakly, “but I felt as if I was. It was a bad fit, and I had to try and hold him. I was all by myself. The people in the other attic thought he was only drunk, and they wouldn’t come in. He’s lying on the floor there, dead.”

“Come and see my father,” Marco said. “He’ll tell us what do do. Lazarus, help him.”

“I can get on by myself,” said The Rat. “Do you see my crutches? I did something for a pawnbroker last night, and he gave them to me for pay.”

But though he tried to speak carelessly, he had plainly been horribly shaken and overwrought. His queer face was yellowish white still, and he was trembling a little.

Marco led the way into the back sitting-room. In the midst of its shabby gloom and under the dim light Loristan was standing in one of his still, attentive attitudes. He was waiting for them.

“Father, this is The Rat,” the boy began. The Rat stopped short and rested on his crutches, staring at the tall, reposeful figure with widened eyes.

“Is that your father?” he said to Marco. And then added, with a jerky half-laugh, “He’s not much like mine, is he?”

NEXT INSTALLMENT | ALL INSTALLMENTS SO FAR

***

READ GORGEOUS PAPERBACKS: HiLoBooks has reissued the following 10 obscure but amazing Radium Age science fiction novels in beautiful print editions: Jack London’s The Scarlet Plague, Rudyard Kipling’s With the Night Mail (and “As Easy as A.B.C.”), Arthur Conan Doyle’s The Poison Belt, H. Rider Haggard’s When the World Shook, Edward Shanks’ The People of the Ruins, William Hope Hodgson’s The Night Land, J.D. Beresford’s Goslings, E.V. Odle’s The Clockwork Man, Cicely Hamilton’s Theodore Savage, and Muriel Jaeger’s The Man with Six Senses. For more information, visit the HiLoBooks homepage.

REDISCOVERED BY HILOBOOKS: Jack London’s The Scarlet Plague | Rudyard Kipling’s With the Night Mail (and “As Easy as A.B.C.”) | Arthur Conan Doyle’s The Poison Belt | H. Rider Haggard’s When the World Shook | Edward Shanks’ The People of the Ruins | William Hope Hodgson’s The Night Land | J.D. Beresford’s Goslings | E.V. Odle’s The Clockwork Man | Cicely Hamilton’s Theodore Savage | Muriel Jaeger’s The Man With Six Senses | Jack London’s “The Red One” | Philip Francis Nowlan’s Armageddon 2419 A.D. | Homer Eon Flint’s The Devolutionist | W.E.B. DuBois’s “The Comet” | Edgar Rice Burroughs’s The Moon Men | Charlotte Perkins Gilman’s Herland | Sax Rohmer’s “The Zayat Kiss” | Eimar O’Duffy’s King Goshawk and the Birds | Frances Hodgson Burnett’s The Lost Prince | John Buchan’s Huntingtower

ORIGINAL FICTION: HiLobrow has serialized three novels: James Parker’s The Ballad of Cocky The Fox (“a proof-of-concept that serialization can work on the Internet” — The Atlantic); Karinne Keithley Syers’s Linda Linda Linda (which includes original music); and Robert Waldron’s roman à clef The School on the Fens. We also publish original stories and comics. These include: Matthew Battles’s stories “Gita Nova“, “Makes the Man,” “Imago,” “Camera Lucida,” “A Simple Message”, “Children of the Volcano”, “The Gnomon”, “Billable Memories”, “For Provisional Description of Superficial Features”, “The Dogs in the Trees”, “The Sovereignties of Invention”, and “Survivor: The Island of Dr. Moreau”; several of these later appeared in the collection The Sovereignties of Invention | Peggy Nelson’s “Mood Indigo“, “Top Kill Fail“, and “Mercerism” | Annalee Newitz’s “The Great Oxygen Race” | Charlie Mitchell’s “A Fantasy Land” | Joshua Glenn’s “The Lawless One”, and the mashup story “Zarathustra vs. Swamp Thing” | Adam McGovern and Paolo Leandri’s Idoru Jones comics | John Holbo’s “Sugarplum Squeampunk” | “Another Corporate Death” (1) and “Another Corporate Death” (2) by Mike Fleisch | Kathryn Kuitenbrouwer and Frank Fiorentino’s graphic novel “The Song of Otto” (excerpt) | “Manoj” and “Josh” by Vijay Balakrishnan | “Verge” by Chris Rossi, and his audio novel Low Priority Hero | EPIC WINS: THE ILIAD (1.408-415) by Flourish Klink | EPIC WINS: THE KALEVALA (3.1-278) by James Parker | EPIC WINS: THE ARGONAUTICA (2.815-834) by Joshua Glenn | EPIC WINS: THE MYTH OF THE ELK by Matthew Battles | TROUBLED SUPERHUMAN CONTEST: Charles Pappas, “The Law” | CATASTROPHE CONTEST: Timothy Raymond, “Hem and the Flood” | TELEPATHY CONTEST: Rachel Ellis Adams, “Fatima, Can You Hear Me?” | OIL SPILL CONTEST: A.E. Smith, “Sound Thinking | LITTLE NEMO CAPTION CONTEST: Joe Lyons, “Necronomicon” | SPOOKY-KOOKY CONTEST: Tucker Cummings, “Well Marbled” | INVENT-A-HERO CONTEST: TG Gibbon, “The Firefly” | FANFICTION CONTEST: Lyette Mercier’s “Sex and the Single Superhero”

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In response to the mini-meme going around: eight more covers I…

















In response to the mini-meme going around: eight more covers I love from the past ten years of 2000 AD!

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berfrois: “Oh damn I wish that I were” by Marilyn Monroe…



berfrois:

Oh damn I wish that I were” by Marilyn Monroe (via)

Oh damn I wish that I were
dead — absolutely nonexistent –
gone away from here — from
everywhere but how would I
There is always bridges — the Brooklyn
bridge –
But I love that bridge (everything is beautiful from
there and the air is so clean) walking it seems
peaceful even with all those
cars going crazy underneath. So
it would have to be some other bridge
an ugly one and with no view — except
I like in particular all bridges — there’s some-
thing about them and besides I’ve
never seen an ugly bridge

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QFT



QFT

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Space Paladin Prints Archival inks on 100% cotton rag paper….



Space Paladin Prints


Archival inks on 100% cotton rag paper. Printed with the help of the fine folks from INPRNT.com

-Open edition (4/21-4/28)

-12x18 - $30


-18x24 -$50

http://sbosma.bigcartel.com/

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February 27, 2014

February 27, 2014



February 27, 2014

I’m now in Meguro, Tokyo and having my dinner of Bud Light and sashimi.   The flight over the Pacific was a nightmare, but going through the security check at LAX was even worst.  I can understand the need to check what is inside baggages that we take on the plane, but is it necessary for us now to actually get on the conveyor belt that leads to the X-Ray machine.  I can’t tell you how awkward it is to lie on our butts and back on this conveyor belt with your head inches away from someone’s stinking socks.  Then there are these horrible series of moments when you are actually in the x-ray machine while this bright light goes over you as if you were a piece of 16mm film.   Then on top of that, we have to unzip our pants because it seems that metal zippers cause concern when a x-ray machine goes over it.  Afterwards there is that awkward period of time when we’re all zipping our pants up before we get into the terminals.


We left on February 26, and it seems that is Johnny Cash’s birthday.  I don’t fully understand why Siingapore Airlines feel they need to celebrate Johnny’s birthday by only showing concert footage of Cash for its in-flight entertainment.  And we’re not talking about movies, but also the in-flight music.  There is no escape from Cash anywhere on that plane.  Even the stewardesses were dressed like June Carter, and I have to tell you that I didn’t feel comfortable with the pilots wearing a Johnny Cash wig and a guitar strapped to his torso.

Nevertheless, now, I must put that behind me.  We are here safe in Tokyo, and I must face my demons if I intend to go on to this life of wine and roses.
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February 26, 2014



February 26, 2014

There is depression, and then there are actually moments when you are crawling on the floor and clinging to furniture as if it was a lost love adrift in a violent Pacific Ocean storm.  Which in a matter of hours that is where I will be, but above the emotional pull of the airplane flying into the Rising Sun. But for now, I am on the floor crying.  The one hope, and perhaps my last request is to find the rare Japanese edition of Jackie Gleason and Orchestra’s classic album “Music For Lovers Only. ”


Sadly it is among the albums that were stolen from my home by The Borrowers, and now that I am fleeing from my life here in Los Angeles, the only piece of music I crave is Gleason’s genius use of “mood music.” Which sadly went out of fashion in the 1980’s and 1990’s when country radio stations started to take over the mood music programming.   For a short transitory period of time, when I needed to relax I could just put on my favorite radio station KNCT-FM, and gently float to the sounds of Gleason.  But one day, instead of beauty, I was surprised by the sound of Johnny Cash.   Don’t get me wrong I like cash in the pocket, but not always in my ears, especially when I get in one of my moods.

I’m also a nervous flyer, and the fact that I only listen to vinyl, is a huge problem for me on the plane.  Nevertheless I have heard from numerous hardcore vinyl collectors in Tokyo that there are two or three Japanese editions of “Music For Lovers Only” floating around various record shops in Shinjuku.   My main mission once I land in Narita is to locate this vinyl before someone else snaps it up.  The crisis of living has not previously been more intense in my life.
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“Our choice is not between “regulation” and “no regulation.” The code…”

“Our choice is not between “regulation” and “no regulation.” The code regulates. It implements values, or not. It enables freedoms, or disables them. It protects privacy, or promotes monitoring. People choose how the code does these things. People write the code. Thus the choice is not whether people will decide how cyberspace regulates. People—coders—will. The only choice is whether we collectively will have a role in their choice—and thus in determining how these values regulate—or whether collectively we will allow the coders to select our values for us.”

- Lawrence Lessig on the increasing regulation of cyberspace | Harvard Magazine Jan-Feb 2000
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Photo





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Godfrey Cambridge

gcambridge

On September 24, 1957, GODFREY CAMBRIDGE (1933–76) made his national television debut on The Phil Silvers Show. Though uncredited, the Nova Scotia and NYC-raised son of Guyanese parents, graduate of Flushing High School, Queens, and former judo instructor, was a private in Sgt. Bilko’s platoon now and thus he spoke: “Hey, Sarge; why don’t we lend Fender the money from the welfare fund?” A modest start, perhaps, but within a few years, Cambridge had won acclaim in two landmark plays: Jean Genet’s Blacks (1960) and Ossie Davis’ Purlie Victorius (1961). In 1964, multiple Jack Paar Program appearances and the first of an eventual four superb stand-up comedy albums brought Cambridge’s fiercely intelligent, race-conscious yet jovial personality to the masses. Dividing his time between stage and screen, Cambridge co-starred in How To Be A Jewish Mother (1965) with Yiddish theater veteran Molly Picon; played a CIA agent in The President’s Analyst (1967); and — because he had mazal — a Jewish cab driver in Bye Bye Braverman (1968). Melvin Van Peebles’ Watermelon Man and Ossie Davis’ Cotton Comes To Harlem (both 1970) saw Cambridge excelling in a new, black-directed cinema whose greater possibilities the subsequent “blaxploitation” genre would largely reject. Later, sometimes laughter failed. “If you’re white, it’s all right to put a fence around your property to keep niggers out,” said Cambridge in 1975, following a property dispute with town authorities in his Ridgefield, Connecticut home. “But if you’re black, the only fence they want around you is a jail fence.”


October 1965 stand-up

Bye Bye Braverman

Dead Is Dead anti-drug short (1973)


***

HUMORISTS at HILOBROW: Michael O’Donoghue | Jemaine Clement | Andy Kaufman | Danny Kaye | George Ade | Jimmy Durante | Jack Benny | Aziz Ansari | Godfrey Cambridge | Eric Idle | David Cross | Stewart Lee | Samuel Beckett | Joanna Lumley | Jerome K. Jerome | Phil Silvers | Edward Lear | Tony Hancock | George Carlin | Stephen Colbert | Tina Fey | Keith Allen | Russell Brand | Michael Cera | Stan Laurel | Ricky Gervais | Gilda Radner | Larry David | Chris Pontius | Dave Chappelle | Jimmy Finlayson | Paul Reubens | Peter Sellers | Buster Keaton | Flann O’Brien | Lenny Bruce | Sacha Baron Cohen | Steve Coogan | PG Wodehouse | A.J. Liebling | Curly Howard | Fran Lebowitz | Charlie Kaufman | Stephen Merchant | Richard Pryor | James Thurber | Bill Hicks | ALSO: Comedy and the Death of God

On his or her birthday, HiLobrow irregularly pays tribute to one of our high-, low-, no-, or hilobrow heroes. Also born this date: Pierre Mac Orlan, Fats Domino, Johnny Cash, Karen Berger.

READ MORE about men and women born on the cusp between the Postmodernist (1924-33) and Anti-Anti-Utopian (1934-43) Generations.

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secretcinema1: Philip Morris Research Center Tower, Richmond,…



secretcinema1:

Philip Morris Research Center Tower, Richmond, Virginia, 1972, Ezra Stoller

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eshackleton: “My memory retains a picture of him… fists on hips…



eshackleton:

“My memory retains a picture of him… fists on hips and brow knitted in thought. It was a characteristic pose… “Well done!” he said, “Now get away as soon as possible and tell the Captain to sail at once. Goodbye.” I remember exhorting my tired and grimy rowers to put their backs into it.” — John King Davis

Blog: http://eshackleton.com/
Follow the adventure on Twitter: @EShackleton

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“The Taiyi summit nears the seat of heaven; linked mountains stretch to brink of sea. Looking back,…”

The Taiyi summit nears the seat of heaven;
linked mountains stretch to brink of sea.

Looking back, see white clouds combining;
Entering the green haze, it becomes nothing.

Seen from the middle peak, the sectioned fields change;
Shadowed and sun-splashed, the many gorges vary.

Looking for human lodging for the night—
Query the woodcutter over the water.



-

Wang Wei (699–759), “Zhongnan Mountain.” The original poem was composed in the lüshi verse style of the High Tang; the lines were strongly divided into two- and three-syllable feet with an implied caesura, running in couplets linked by rhyme, logic, and enjambment. I’m accessing the original via How to Read Chinese Poetry: a Guided Anthology, ed. by Zong-Qi Cai; my version is informed by his lovely and illuminating commentary.

The poem struck me forcibly a couple of years ago, after a weekend spent on Maine’s Mount Katahdin. In it I found echoes of the work the mountain did on me: the braided vistas merging, the gulfs and drops seducing, the patterns of forest succession merging and disappearing into one another. Wang Wei catches a patterning that is always at work in us and around us, but which a mountain often brings into focus: combination, nothingness, change, and variation. Zong-qi Cai points out that the two middle couplets in fact end in he, wu, bian, and shu—the words for these four concepts, which buttress Chinese Buddhist cosmology. 

Our haze on Katahdin was different from Wang Wei’s, however: on an otherwise clear day frenzied by a warm wind„ apparent only once we were high of the mountain shoulder,  a brown haze blown up from the cities to the south hung on the horizon.

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victoriousvocabulary: SEEUNGEHEUER [noun] sea monster;…



victoriousvocabulary:

SEEUNGEHEUER

[noun]

sea monster; lake/loch monster; a fabulous monster of the sea often represented as man-devouring; a large or extraordinary sea animal.

Etymology: German, from die See, “sea, lake” + Ungeheuer, “monster”.

[Bill Carman]

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PEGACORN ilovecharts: My friend posted the following question…



PEGACORN

ilovecharts:

My friend posted the following question on Facebook which led to much debate and my creation of this chart.

"POLL: Can unicorns fly? There is a debate raging in my office that demands resolution. PLEASE CITE YOUR SOURCES."
dears 
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February 25, 2014



February 25, 2014

Last full day in Los Angeles.  Need to pose for photos for my next book.  Need to decide what to bring.  Close the chapter in my life here, now that I have a life without a turntable or big screen TV.   Onward to life on Meguro Dori, and watching the cherry blossoms do their thing, and eventually like the others, become totally obsessed with photographing the moment the cherry colored flowers become ripe and… eventually fall on the pavement and die.



One thing I learned from life is that we can’t all sing like Enrico Caruso.  Yet, through my parents, I went to a school that was very much under the influence of Rudolf Steiner.  The Waldorf education allowed the student to creatively play instead of forcing one to learn or study.  Here I learn the human being consists of body, soul, and spirit. Therefore why not sing like Caruso!



But as a child when I opened my mouth, it came out what some say is noise.  As a student I just want to convey to the grown ups that noise is just unorganized sounds looking for a melody.   Over a period of years, the people around me disagree with that theory that I obtained from the Steiner school.   At this time, I chose to keep my mouth shut, and allow my creativity flow through the pen on paper.  As a kid I pretty much admired the works of Karl May, who wrote westerns that took place in the wild west, but in actually was a writer from Germany, and he never been to America.  Taking him on as a literary model, sort of made me the Eddie Constantine of literature.



One of the hardest things to do as a writer who doesn’t work for a living is to convince others that I am worthwhile something… maybe important.   One of my favorite films is “Billy Liar” starring Tom Courtenay.  He plays a northern soul who tells everyone that he’s going to London to make it big, but alas, he fails.  It is with this sense of failure that stays in my mind as I leave for Tokyo.  I need to finish a manuscript when I am over there, because basically I have nothing else to live for.   Right now I’m the cherry blossom that is on the verge of blooming, but if I don’t handle myself properly, I can easily become a dead flower on the ground.

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fyblackwomenart: Alchemic Emprise by Joshua Mays



fyblackwomenart:

Alchemic Emprise by Joshua Mays

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Detail from jenny odell • satellite landscapes “Much of the…



Detail from jenny odell • satellite landscapes

"Much of the strangest architecture associated with humanity is infrastructural. We have vast arrays of rusting cylinders, oil rigs dotting wastelands like lonely insects, and jewel-toned, rhomboid ponds of chemical waste. We have gray and terraced landfills, 5-story tall wastewater digester eggs, and striped areas of the desert that look as though they rendered incorrectly until we realize that the lines are made of thousands of solar panels. Massive cooling towers of power plants slope away from dense, unidentifiable networks on the ground and are obscured in their own ominous fog. If there is something unsettling about these structures, it might be that they are deeply, fully human at the same time that they are unrecognizably technological. These mammoth devices unblinkingly process our waste, accept our trash, distribute our electricity. They are our prostheses. They keep us alive and able, for a minute, to forget the precariousness of our existence here and of our total biological dependence on a series of machines, wires, and tubes, humming loudly in some far off place."

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Ford shows off its new autonomous driving research vehicle –…









Ford shows off its new autonomous driving research vehicle – it’s got lasers — Tech News and Analysis

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10 Best 1964 Adventures!

Nineteen-sixty-four — 50 years ago, this year — was a cusp year between the Fifties (1954–63) and Sixties (1964–73).

Recently, I published a list of my favorite Older Kids’ novels from 1964. One of the books on that list, Louise Fitzhugh’s Harriet the Spy, also appears on my Best Sixties Adventure list; and another, Roald Dahl’s Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, appears on an appendix to that list.

Here’s a list of my favorite 1964 adventure novels for grownups.

1964’s 10 Best Adventures

    berger little big man

  1. Thomas Berger’s revisionist Western adventure Little Big Man. Jack Crabb, a 111-year-old survivor of Custer’s Last Stand, narrates his mock-heroic, picaresque adventures. As his roles vary over the course of his wanderings, from Cheyenne warrior to Army scout to small-time huckster, so does the style of Crabb’s (unreliable) narrative. Adapted as a movie in 1970 by Arthur Penn.
  2. martian

  3. Philip K. Dick‘s science fiction adventure Martian Time-Slip. In which the Mars of hoary sf mythologizing becomes a Waste Land populated by visionary bushmen, a truth-telling ten-year-old schizophrenic (who sees “a hole as large as a world; the earth disappeared and became black, empty, and nothing… Into the hole the men jumped one by one, until none of them were left. He was alone, with the silent world-hole.”), and a humble repairman who must put reality back together… even as it dissolves into “gubble.”
  4. pop-1280-1

  5. Jim Thompson‘s crime adventure Pop. 1280. Nick Corey, who is sheriff of some Texan (probably) backwater, would have his neighbors (and us) believe that he is a lazy, simple-minded good ol’ boy who nevertheless manages to deal effectively with a shrewish wife, a tough re-election campaign, and local criminals. In fact, he is a cunning and ruthless sociopath.
  6. fleming live twice

  7. Ian Fleming’s dark, claustrophobic James Bond espionage adventure You Only Live Twice. In the course of avenging his wife’s murder, Bond takes on a highly unlikely new identity: a Japanese coal miner. Eleventh novel in the series; the last one published during the author’s lifetime. Helped start the ninja meme in the West. Cyril Connolly on the book: “reactionary, sentimental, square, the Bond-image flails its way through the middle-brow masses.”
  8. deighton

  9. Len Deighton’s 1964 satirical spy novel Funeral in Berlin. Deighton’s unnamed protagonist travels to Berlin to arrange the defection of a Soviet scientist… and stumbles upon a complicated game of maneuvers between the Israeli secret service, ex-Nazis, and Russian security. Guy Hamilton’s 1966 movie adaptation starred Michael Caine.
  10. ballard burning

  11. J.G. Ballard’s science fiction adventure The Burning World. Part of an early-career series of eco-catastrophe novels by the author, who until 1962 worked as an editor at the British scientific journal Chemistry and Industry. An extreme worldwide drought is caused by industrial waste flushed into the ocean; an oxygen-permeable barrier of saturated long-chain polymers has formed, which prevents evaporation and destroys the precipitation cycle. A longer version was published in 1965 as The Drought.
  12. burroughs nova

  13. William Burroughs’s cut-up science fiction adventure Nova Express. Inspector Lee tracks down members of the Nova Mob — regulating viruses, known as Sammy the Butcher, Izzy the Push, and The Subliminal Kid, who represent society, culture, and government. Third and best installment in the Nova trilogy, which begins with The Soft Machine (1961, revised 1966) and The Ticket That Exploded (1962, revised 1967). Luc Sante sums up the message of the trilogy like so: “You are the host of a virus; the virus is life; you are fucked.”
  14. score

  15. Donald E. Westlake’s Parker crime caper adventure The Score, written under the pseudonym Richard Stark. Recruited by a mysterious figure, Parker recruits a group of twelve experts in order to run a heist on an entire town in North Dakota. Slow-moving, compared to earlier Parker books — there’s a lot of planning and waiting — but when the job goes wrong, things start jumping. Fifth in the Parker series; published in the UK as Killtown. Darwyn Cooke’s graphic novel adaptation is worth a read.
  16. christopher sweeneys island

  17. John Christopher’s Sweeney’s Island is a sardonic inversion of the Robinsonade genre of adventure. I’m a big fan of Christopher’s YA trilogies from this era, which is why I picked up this book — which turns out to be a grownup version of Lord of the Flies. A group of wealthy London socialites are invited on a sailing trip which strands them on an uninhabited tropical island; things get post-apocalyptic. Lost avant la lettre.
  18. macdonald deep blue

  19. John D. MacDonald’s crime adventure The Deep Blue Good-by. The first in a long, much-beloved series of pulp novels about “salvage consultant” Travis McGee, a Korean War vet who lives on a houseboat in Fort Lauderdale and recovers stolen property and missing persons — forebear to Elmore Leonard and Carl Hiaasen’s Florida adventurers. Here, McGee races to discover buried treasure before a murderer gets there first.

TOP 450 ADVENTURES — BY SUBGENRE: 101 Science Fiction | 70 Crime | 65 Fantasy | 60 Espionage | 40 Atavistic & Historical | 25 Frontier & Western | 20 Avenger & Artful Dodger | 20 Apophenic & Treasure Hunt | 20 War & Ruritanian | 18 Picaresque | 11 Robinsonade & Survival |

MORE LIT LISTS FROM THIS AUTHOR: Index to All Adventure Lists | Best 19th Century Adventure (1805–1903) | Best Nineteen-Oughts Adventure (1904–13) | Best Nineteen-Teens Adventure (1914–23) | Best Twenties Adventure (1924–33) | Best Thirties Adventure (1934–43) | Best Forties Adventure (1944–53) | Best Fifties Adventure (1954–63) | Best Sixties Adventure (1964–73) | Best Seventies Adventure (1974–83) | 101 Science Fiction | 70 Crime | 65 Fantasy | 60 Espionage | 40 Atavistic & Historical | 25 Frontier & Western | 20 Avenger & Artful Dodger | 20 Apophenic & Treasure Hunt | 20 War & Ruritanian | 18 Picaresque | 11 Robinsonade & Survival. ALSO: Best YA Fiction of 1963 | Best Older Kids’ Lit 1964 | 10 Best 1964 Adventures | Best Scottish Fabulists | Radium-Age Telepath Lit | Radium Age Superman Lit | Radium Age Robot Lit | Radium Age Apocalypse Lit | Radium Age Eco-Catastrophe Lit | Radium Age Cover Art (1) | SF’s Best Year Ever: 1912 | Cold War “X” Fic | Best YA Sci-Fi | Hooker Lit | No-Fault Eco-Catastrophe Lit | Scrabble Lit |

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“The publishers Springer and IEEE are removing more than 120 papers from their subscription services…”

The publishers Springer and IEEE are removing more than 120 papers from their subscription services after a French researcher discovered that the works were computer-generated nonsense. Over the past two years, computer scientist Cyril Labbé of Joseph Fourier University in Grenoble, France, has catalogued computer-generated papers that made it into more than 30 published conference proceedings between 2008 and 2013. Sixteen appeared in publications by Springer, which is headquartered in Heidelberg, Germany, and more than 100 were published by the Institute of Electrical and Electronic Engineers (IEEE), based in New York. Both publishers, which were privately informed by Labbé, say that they are now removing the papers.

Among the works were, for example, a paper published as a proceeding from the 2013 International Conference on Quality, Reliability, Risk, Maintenance, and Safety Engineering, held in Chengdu, China. (The conference website says that all manuscripts are “reviewed for merits and contents”.) The authors of the paper, entitled ‘TIC: a methodology for the construction of e-commerce’, write in the abstract that they “concentrate our efforts on disproving that spreadsheets can be made knowledge-based, empathic, and compact”. (Nature News has attempted to contact the conference organizers and named authors of the paper but received no reply; however at least some of the names belong to real people. The IEEE has now removed the paper).



- Publishers withdraw more than 120 gibberish papers : Nature News & Comment
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Violet Crumble with Mr Kurtz

At the LRB, Andrew O'Hagan on ghostwriting Assange.
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February 24, 2014



February 24, 2014

My all time favorite album is Michel Legrand’s “Play For Dancers” which is the U.S. title for “Archi-Cordes.” So when I woke up this morning to do my regular ritual of putting this album on my turntable, I noticed two things.  One, my turntable was missing, and two, the album was gone as well.  In fact, 1,406 pieces of vinyl were gone, missing, not in front of me, and not in the house.  I slowly looked up from the space that was formerly occupied by my record player and I noticed that the Sony wide-screen TV set is as well, now an empty space.  I had to sit down as panic slowly crept up from the left arm to my neck and eventually settled in my brain.  



Although a total surprise, I shouldn’t be.  As I wrote in a previous journal entry, we have been having trouble with a borrower's issue, where our thoughts were kidnapped and then returned to us.  When I walked around the house, I noticed that all the windows were secured and the doors were locked.  I immediately felt that an ex-girlfriend who had a key may have came in and took my precious items away.  Having my first cup of coffee, I realize that this is not the situation due that my wife has strict rules about me making keys for ex-girlfriends, and two, I really don’t have an ex-girlfriend.   This case was getting more troubling to me as the minutes dragged on.  Especially when I noticed that the only piece of art that I have in my collection (of one) is missing as well.  Richard Hamlton’s painting of Mick Jagger and Robert Fraser being arrested called “Swinging London, 67.” Shit, how much more pain can one take on a Monday morning.  The fact that someone (and let’s face it, we have to presume it's the Borrowers at this point and time) took albums, that I think only I can care about.  For instance is there anyone out there that would want the entire vinyl catalog from Paul Jones?



Also over the years, I have been slowly collecting all films and TV appearances from my favorite actor from the late 60’s and early 70’s, Pete Duel, who starred in the TV series “Alias Smith & Jones.” He was born with the name Pete Deuel, but had it changed because he consulted a numerologist who advised him that his original name was unlikely.  Nevertheless the troubled actor shot him self and died in the morning of December 31, 1971.  


Now, noticing that my old VHS tapes of Duel’s performances on “Alias Smith & Jones” were missing like my record collection, I decided to take stock of my life at this moment.   Ever since I left my job one and a half years ago, I have been just focusing on working on my memoir.   But it seems that every fifth page of writing, I noticed the amount of money in my bank account would go down as well.  The more I spend time wiring, the less money comes in.   I thought “fuck it, ” I’m moving to Tokyo.  My wife and I purchased tickets to leave for Japan on February 26th, hopefully in time to see the cherry blossom trees on Meguro Dori, as well as trying to locate the old Michel Legrand and Paul Jones albums from the local record shops in Shinjuku and Shibuya.  It is time to make a fresh start.  The one thing I know how that I must keep up on my writing of this journal, and finish off my memoir.  After that, I will let fate take over my life.


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fyblackwomenart: LaRon Emcee



fyblackwomenart:

LaRon Emcee

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