CLI
A (b)mob scare
GuanDonAmer(ic)a
Guajira…
I am your voice, your vice, your void
Vide on, MacDonald!
Always, when the Idea calls, it calls out in tones so much more green grass than the parched and stony ground on which we stand.
Skirmishes are inevitable between journalists and their subjects, and Ms. Wasserman Schultz, Ms. Brzezinski and NBC news are by no means the only high-powered figures who engage in brinkmanship and back-channeling… Still those seeking insight into journalistic and political sausage-making could do worse than perusing the emails…
This from a Times article, 7/25/16 about leaked emails that elucidate, among other things, the disinformation tactics used by the Democratic National Committee against Bernie Sanders’ campaign.
And indeed, those seeking insight could do worse, but could they do wurst?
…I was a free man in Paris
I felt unfettered and alive
There was nobody calling me up for favors
And no one’s future to decide
You know I’d go back there tomorrow
But for the work I’ve taken on
Stoking the sausage-making machinery
Behind…
Pace, Joni
Yum, these sausages are just spectacular!
AFFF: Aqueous Film Forming Foam. Puts out your fire. Puts out your water too.
Click by swipe, insta by gram, cheep by chirp, that palm-friendly little black oblong controls you from afar, takes you out of this world and into cloud out there, disrupts your qi, wrecks your intentionality like a slow-moving, wasting disease.
And because the impulses stored in and passing through that little box have colonized you more than you can know, none of the apps will ever light up to say: Jill, you been jacked.
The harmonious hormonious, aka healthy qi.
Garden of earthly deletes
The endorphinage, where abnormally happy babies get sent
One of the definitive conceptual moves made by the West was to personify the forces of nature. This remains the ever-ready slippery slope toward cultural schizo-narcissism and the creation of an I/Thou dynamic that effectively abstracts individual and social activity out of the natural, sets it apart, creates a real estate ontology divided into earthly and divine planes, separate and isolated, both within and outside us.
Thus, Jacob wrestles with the Angel and a thousand and one tales singularizing Man appear, splitting apprehension of the integrated real into either/or phenomena. The Fire Next Time.
Whence issue the godly, the downtrodden, heaven’s elect, the wretched of the earth; whence, as a reward for splitting nature’s integrity, our minds are bundled into a fasces of reifications: Passion, Creativity, Genius, Anxiety, Ecstasy, Tragedy, Beauty, Ugliness – in short, a culture we can experience only through concepts: Love, Hate and all their attendant and fleeting nuances; a garden, at once mimicking and mocking Eden, a field of desertified awareness that, in order to bloom, must be watered always with sacrificial blood and copious flows of the simu-lacrymose. Niobe, Niobe’s children, and a naked Apollo, shooting as he comes.
Absalaam, Absalaam.
So go to the mountain, children, and behold from its summit the rising mists and arching earth. But for g*d’s sake, don’t tell of it.
They come like sleepwalkers, were it not for the heavy bundles of clothing carried on one shoulder or perchance the head. Their bodies are all twisted and awry as their feet scuff along the pavements, their eyes heavy from their all night vigil, that houses on lower Broadway may have their bundles of finished buttonholes and they may have the pennies with which to live in order to sew more. [from Petra Van Brunt, “Washington Square,” Forum 53, May, 1915]
On or about 9:37 a.m. on August 14, 450 BCE – give or take a decade – a (presumably male) pottery artist known to scholarship as the Niobid Painter drew a powerful new technical arrow from the Greek representational quiver, notched it in his bow, pulled, and fired. In illustrating a scene of Apollo and Artemis killing Niobe’s children, the Niobid Painter broke with the frieze convention, in which the action in painting and sculpture occurred among actors inhabiting a common horizontal line. Instead, in rendering this scene around the body of a calyx krater, NP situated several of the Gods’ mortal victims beneath the plain of the terrain, set apart from the other actors and action, as if they were already on their way to the underworld. We now gain access, way pre-Alberti, to a kind of “perspective,” this one vertical.
And with the eye, thus opens the imagination, to distinctly new spatially and psychically organized world.
The painter Everett Shinn, who lived nearby for a decade, depicted Washington Square at least twenty times between 1899 and 1951. Though motorized busses replaced horse-drawn omnibuses in 1907, Shinn, in an act of esthetic “preservation,” continued to paint the older conveyances…
A half century before, George Inness had been commissioned by the owner of the Lackawanna Railroad to paint a landscape of the valley: steam engines and five tracks running to and from a roundhouse set amidst fields dotted with haystacks, cattle, and a cowherd reclining in the near middle ground, with whom we nearly share a coign of vantage.
At the time, only one track actually existed, but the railroad owner urged Inness to paint several more, since “the road would eventually have them.”
Inness, needing money for his family to live, found himself caught in a classic “draughtsmans contract.” In the end, he painted one of his finest works, The Lackawanna Valley (1855), with a patch of locomotive steam obscuring the non-existent, but imaginable tracks.
The mouse in the gray flannel snood
There neither is nor was, to my knowledge, a Year of the Mouse. But who among us can divine what is to come?
The conceptual problem lies in imagining that because the hexagrams are graphic they represent stasis, when in actuality any seemingly fixed state invisibly embodies change.
The Kase of the Kommodius Kommodity
Times headline:
Election 2016: Obama Passes Baton of Hope to Clinton
leaving one to ponder, among other things, the relation among hope and batons
The Daily News for its part reveals through its own peculiar idiolect, accompanying, as it does, a gruesome photo of a contorted, partly disemboweled whale taken from the air: Call Me Ick-Mael.
A dead whale surfaced in the Hudson River off New Jersey on Wednesday.
The badly mangled creature, possibly a 30-foot fin whale, was photographed yesterday by NBC4 New York’s news chopper.
The carcass was first seen in Newark Bay at 5 p.m. Monday, after it detached from the Cuckoo Hunter, a nearly 40,000-ton container ship it got stuck on, said Coast Guard operations specialist Michelle Krupa. The Army Corps of Engineers planned to remove the whale.
Consciousness comes when experience is embodied
Brother Kalashnikov, Sister Drone
I’m With Her
Wither goest thou?
Age cannot wither her, nor a platform ground her infinite variety.
In accepting the nomination, she speaks (“warns,” says the Times) of “a moment of reckoning.” Clinton-spiel tends toward multiple meanings, including, in this case, “re-conning,” which straddles the gap between information-gathering – as in reconnaissance – and serial deception.
You can’t always get what you want, Trump’s appropriated nominatory anthem, glides seamlessly into a Slytherin-Clinton reference avant la lettre:
I saw her today at the reception (convention)
In her glass was a bleeding man
She was practiced at the art of deception
Well I could tell by her bloodstained hands…
She speaks too of repairing the fraying “bonds of trust.” Aside from the obvious questions of which bonds between who, how is one to take stock of such bonds?
Does she mean “trust,” as in a monopoly, e.g. the Oil Trust? Or trussed? As in bound with bonds, immobilized?
What do you think, James – I mean 007?
Wreckening
And where is it that the swine hold their conventions?
Why in a gadarena, of course!
When the cops stop you and you quick try to lose that dime bag, is it a pot cast?
Pausing only briefly at Quicken Loans and Wells Fargo, the relay riders gallup on…
The highway man came riding, riding…
I have a school brother. He is honest and did not speak much. He did not learn very many boxing sets and methods, but he walked the circle his whole life. As a result, his skill was excellent and other martial arts practitioners could not get close to his body when fighting with him. The reason is that his thought was pure and he mastered the skill of circle walking an obtained powerful strength. What strength is it? I think it is mainly the arousal of Qi that can strengthen and safeguard the body through the unity of Qi and power. This kind of unity cannot be defeated simply by seizing and grasping skills.
Said Li Zi Ming in “A Brief Introduction to the Body Strengthening Function of the Eight Diagram Palm Qi Gong,”Huang Guo Qi, trans. Pa Kua Chang Journal, Vol. 5, No. 1, Nov./Dec. 1994. Quoted by Bisio in The Art of Ba Gua Zhang, p. 109-110]
Mann und Mensch
Top Donors Leave Sidelines, Ready to Open Checkbooks, reads the headline below the triumphal four-column wide accepting-the-nomination photo. “In a luxury suite high above the convention floor, some of the Democratic Party’s most generous patrons sipped cocktails and caught up with old friends, tuning out Senator Bernie Sanders of Vermont on Monday as he bashed Wall Street in an arena named after one of the country’s largest banks…
“And in the vaulted marble bar of the Ritz-Carleton downtown, wealthy givers congregated in force for [yet more] cocktails and glad-handing…
“’This is a good place to be – for a lot of reasons,’ said former Gov. Charlie Crist of Florida, a Democrat now running for Congress, as he glided through the room… ‘We must have set up five fund-raisers today. This is the bank…’” [NYT, 7/29/16. 1:1]
Sometimes one can feel the exact moment of turning, when the disposition shifts. Do the lines themselves move? Is that what you’re feeling: the diaphragm-like upward and downward fall and lift? Or are you sensing the gap forming at the center of a solid line, or the divided sections of a broken line knitting together, connecting?
Needless to say, you can only experience these sensations of movement when some part of you is still.
Triumph of the won’t
Fifteen minuets later…
Who is this Jacqueline Hyde?
Across the looney verse…
John Brown’s elephant is coming to dinner…
One’s life hangs by a thread. FatesBook® holds the shears…
