[needs editing]
I used to talk about “The Gremlins.” It was my way of saying two, three things, which can be figured Seuss-instructionally “inside outside upside down.” From here will have to be another post, (1) I have forgotten, (2) I want to swim at the Z-Center while I am visiting MIT, (3) I have to deal with students!
This will have a high specific gravity. CAVEAT LECTOR. As if being the scribe wasn’t bad enough. I am trying to work out when I first started noticing discrepancies. They are made up by me of just observations.
(1) Bad printing alignment, color matching, and alpha-channel cross-talk by other colors: some, not I, speak forthrightly about such undesirability! Like, inscrutable—difficult to understand, impenetrable—um, is Adriana Lima an accident/undersirable/or wholly acceptable? Arbeit—er?—freely made decisions, I hope because the initial nice sounds of a tryptophan tastic Tunisia, triptych of temples—Sbeitla—Sb, I have no Antimony which is fairly poisonous, used in liquid metal batteries being developed at MIT, sounds like some unkind of dislike, and Kant had four of them
(3) In film I suppose subtle time adjustment, jitter and dither control, angle adjustment (in Final Cut the instructive DVD uses Angelina Jolie, so it would be angel adjustment), directedness of action, and sound “trickcraft” as it is known in the profession.
(2) There is no two.
This is all to say, the following DOES make a lot of sense when you put two minds to the task.
I thought Amf. had written about Lewontin and Gould’s article on Spandrels, but I have them in my notes. I’ll post them next. For now, we learn about Spolia, which is close to “spoils”—generally columns taken from diverse sources and put within a single structure; for me Basilica di S. Stefano Rot_ndo al Monte Celio springs to mind. I have spent many hours at the tiny circular (no, it’s not fat) church just above the Amphitheatrum Flavium in Rome, quite close to the palimpsestual Basilica di S. Clemente al Laterano, which is my favorite church in Rome itself (okay S. Ivo [alla Sapienza, the former location of L’università di Roma, now within the confines of Gli archivi di Stato] of Frencesco Borromini comes close, as does Il Tempietto di S. Pietro in Montorio of Donato Bramente, Il mausoleo di Santa Costanza [a S. Agnese fuori le Mura]—the photo on Wikipedia is—may I dither a response to this monstrously pathetic representation—truly fcuked up), which Father Leonard Boyle, former Librarian of the BAV—Biblioteca Apistolica Vaticana, as an amazing archaeologist, mapped in a veritable palimpsestual book, with layers of (architectural) vellum for the various layers of the church, right down to the Mithreaum and the sacrificial alter—one of my favored subjects these days. The Wikipedia article on S. Clemente doesn’t even mention Father Boyle. He was, dicitur, removed from his job as librarian by JPdue just before his [LB’s] retirement, as all his predecessors were made Cardinals. In such a way, the pope, who had, dicitur, difficulties with Father Boyle’s policies such as hiring women, could guarantee that the Irish-Canadian, later to be buried at S. Clemente, would never have a voice at the Vatican. Unlike Bernard Law—no elaboration, q.v., quiver, go figure, brrrr.
I must write one day about the truly great Father Reginaldus Foster. But another, logical post.
Dale Kinney, “Roman Architectural Spolia, Proceedings of the American Philosophical Society 145/2 (2001)
[This continues, and starts, very interestingly. I kept in the footnotes in case they are a secret signal to passing UFOs, rather like the tune in Close Encounters of the Third Kind]
Now for this. Best snope this: [nyc.gif]
[Retrieved from http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mayhem_(crime) on 20110208-1914]
Fetter v. Beall
The most significant revolution in common-law mayhem doctrine came in 1697, when the King's Bench decided Fetter v. Beale, 91 Eng. Rep. 1122. There, the plaintiff recovered in a battery action against a defendant. Shortly thereafter, “part of his skull by reason of the said battery came out of his head,” and the plaintiff brought a subsequent action under mayhem. Though Fetter is also known as an early example of res judicata, it is most significant for expanding the ambit of mayhem to include “loss of the skull.”
[Retrieved from http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ragging on 20110208-1918]
I call this mind-rape, just one form of it, anyway. It really and truly is criminal, unconscionable, and it happens. Not sure if res judicata, as obvious as it might seem, is especially fair.
Ragging
Ragging is a practice in educational institutions in India and Sri Lanka that involves existing students baiting or bullying new students. It is similar to the American phenomenon of hazing. It often takes a malignant form wherein the newcomers may be subjected to psychological or physical torture. Currently, Sri Lanka is said to be the worst affected country in the world.
Recent cases
Since 2001, ragging has been the focus of a number of legal actions. For example, the Supreme Court of India defined it in a judgement as actions that "adversely affect the physique or psyche of a fresher or a junior student".
A report from 2007 by the Indian anti-ragging group Coalition to Uproot Ragging from Education analyzed 64 ragging complaints, and found that over 60% of these were related to physical ragging, and 20% were sexual in nature.
[I have removed footnote references in the hope that this is rendered less conforming to any particular code of publishing conduct, just because i’m a rebel.]
Another reference for which I couldn’t think of a tag to give to it.
[I would read that, more than just this, weighing in all the details also of the the following cadence/coda/cadenza/credenza/credentials (a falling, tail, falling, place for writing, things to have someone believe you are in fact you)]
[Retrieved from http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Boys_are_stupid,_throw_rocks_at_them! on 20110208-1935]
On misandry:–
Why do I somewhat agree with a man I have always despised? I don’t think I’m drifting to the right, more to the left-right-out because history possibly will swerve in the near future to a hell unknown that takes us back to I don’t want to know but it is perhaps a minor fear, some form of Medieval or medium-evil Devo “Whip It” goshdarn it I can’t really speak of such things. (Because writing is privileged over its binary opposite, speech, according to Derrida, upending Rousseau, but not eliminating the category. The word upend is peculiar: it is like U-Haul. U-Pend. Patent pend? Patient pend? Pending what, depending on what, defending what, deafening whom, offending whom, offensive forcing whom, certainly not sitting on the fence with Hume, too much spending—I hear as a complaint on a day on which $1.1tr of cuts were made—pend, mend, send, bend, it’s gonna be the end. Incend.0 SO MORE ON THIS:
As a 16yo I stayed after English class (5th form = American 10th grade) to be a giant unpoetic math-like dork with Geoff Shepherd, an incredibly good English teacher, new to our school. He was a thespian, good looking, spoke very nicely, held our attention, and we largely responded. I started doing all the lighting design and ladder climbing for school productions. That is by-the-by. I asked him if he knew of any sentences like the one I am about to write, which I gave him. It had to be seen. Perhaps now, heard, but then, seen. He said, no, he prefers the Romantic poets. The sentence, in its second, slightly more sensible form, really does apply these days (said my bruised head, and my right big toe—at least it was the right that was crushed, and fell off, I mean, the toe nail, after a good beating): “Go to the ranger’s tops.” I was thinking of a Park Ranger, like one tending Mt. Tongariro, one of NZ’s wonderful volcanoes. I said, if you shift the spaces, like “together” becomes “to get her,” the sentence becomes “Got other anger stops?” Poignant. Dorky.
I just notice the word upend: “word upend”⟶“wor dupend” which is dripping with possibilities. “was/war/we’re/warped depend/deepened/duped/end,” and I can’t but help feeling the word “puella” there, but I’m single, and beautiful/pretty in the feminine (Classical and Modern Latin) is somewhat not unappealing. But the puella come from nowhere, except for the first line of Ovid’s “Pyramus and Thisbe” from his first book of Metamorphoses. Nothing to fight for or upend, but just remembering my past, which was sweeter than this vile present. Well, it isn’t really THE present, it is MY present. NO, wrong way around. The past, I was in my little world. I was nice, despite some very bad character traits. Innocent too (same contradiction applies). I wake from this happy slumber (okay, the slumber itself was dreadful, foreboding, cruel) of forced insanity, true: I was forcibly made to feel (and subsequently go a little) mad. Only my imaginings were REAL!! How unfair is that. And of course, since it is real, it persists. Yuck, IHTFP. The people up North-East at MIT have those letters to mean, ostensibly, I Hate This Fcuking Place. Knowing these clever students, it is probably a chemical formula, possibly just baking soda. Hacking too, a funny thing. People don’t waste their time. No one learns Morse Code for the heck of it, or scrapes body parts pretty bad just to tag their name in an abandoned room somewhere. But I secretly (oops! no longer a secret) wish I had done all those things, the pipes, the careful planning, the moving of parts, say, of a firetruck (which had Latin on it which is extremely cool), yes, piece by piece, then assembled on the Dome of MIT. I have been to a couple of places, but that was pretty basic. That is where I took the photo, either here or on Tumblr, of “The Head Phone Tomb.” Everything has a name, except some people have a number. Says No.6, “I am not a number, I am a free man.” Then Rover, the big white ball—in fact a weather balloon, “when the balloon goes up” is a weird expression I heard lately, perhaps 99 red ones? That was the 1980s, bounces on him, arise from the sea which in this case isn’t a metaphor.
Amazing, and I wish my screen wouldn’t flash at me whenever I write something about MIT or conspiracies or theories of kerning or when I quote the NY Times (which I very much like, just read about Google searches being “black-hat” stacked by J.C. Penney), or I put up one of my compositions or videos, or paintings/drawings especially, or comments about how I believe that, well, I leave that remark involving the words, not connected, alpha, www fora, trees, lights (what about xmas?), lyrics, books, and anything having a shred to do with anything I have been doing all my life, to which I have some propriety relationship: my ideas! My output! Is identity theft going on by proxy, by taking everything from me? By causing enough despair for me to willingly give things up? I think not. I don’t have fears, a strange brain-chemistry thing, oh very strange brain, oh very strange chemistry, che misterioso. Basically playing music, then composing it, analyzing it, teaching it including time and frequency domain, writing words of many means but nothing especially orthographic though I am font-obsessed and did have a Letraset font catalog which I read obsessively and it was just the alphabet! Mind you, for transfer-stencils, as a kid, and designed fonts at the age of 10, and was Greek/Norse/Egyptian myth-obsessed, and I had The World Atlas of Mysteries with an awful photo of Spontaneous Human Combustion leaving a Zimmer frame and shoe after the person immolated, I write about representation, I was involved in the editing of my ex-girlfriend Cammy Brothers’ dissertation and book on Renaissance architectural sketches of ruins and built/unbuilt works by the architects, and worked on formal music theory with the greatest modern music theorist David Lewin at Harvard where we spend half our time rotating and inverting and retrograding strings of notes, using Markov chains, infinite and finite string systems, dovetailing, counting intervals, duplicating notes as singularities (BEFORE the recent spate of them), and studying ways of understanding, semantically, difficult but seemingly obvious texts (and his book on the subject was published, finally, posthumously) and that involved excising parts of the music kind of hypermetrically in the sense, loosely speaking, of Cone, Lerdahl and Jackendoff (I am being very generalizing here), etc. I work on representation of transformational voice leading between two sets, basically a critique of current ideas on the subject, their metaphors, which makes the heating pipe very unhappy with me (yes, a metaphor, and metonymy and metaphor are major parts of my dissertation). I like everything to be in words. Able to be spoken, heard as-is.
So, yes, I do all this. And I am about to put up a couple of videos. I don’t know how well they will be received, but here goes nothing.
[The following from a good sort!]
._. ._. ._. ._. ._. ._. ._. ._. ._. ._. ._. ._. ._. ._. ._. ._. ._. ._. ._. ._. ._. ._. ._. ._. ._.
Those are amphibrachs. But feet. Meter.
Leonard Cohen’s own liner notes:–
I had a good raincoat then, a Burberry I got in London in 1959. Elizabeth thought I looked like a spider in it. That was probably why she wouldn’t go to Greece with me. It hung more heroically when I took out the lining, and achieved glory when the frayed sleeves were repaired with a little leather. Things were clear. I knew how to dress in those days. It was stolen from Marianne’s loft in New York sometime during the early seventies. I wasn't wearing it very much toward the end.
According to Wikipedia: In the 1999 book, The Complete Guide to the Music of Leonard Cohen, the authors comment that Cohen’s question, “Did you ever go clear?”, in the song, is a reference to the Scientology state of “Clear.” Cohen was very briefly a member of the Church of Scientology, which he had heard was a “good place to meet women.”
And, “why not?”
Check out www.songmeanings.net for some Revelations. [Bad guise!] Also find P’s “Wild-blue-inland-kid-intimacy” which is on one of our main blogs. [The words of a great man!] To swing the other way completely, read about what is accidentally celebrated (no, I mean wesentlich/Anfall, not zufällig) in Wikipedia, on the swastika. I simply cannot reproduce the postcard here because it is so vile, and freedom of speech referring to something before it apparently became evil and vile but with an implicit grope to it as there is in the article on eugenics, is not warranted other than for a reasonable rest.
This will continue later; I have a bACKlog of things to get through. SpAeter.
I used to talk about “The Gremlins.” It was my way of saying two, three things, which can be figured Seuss-instructionally “inside outside upside down.” From here will have to be another post, (1) I have forgotten, (2) I want to swim at the Z-Center while I am visiting MIT, (3) I have to deal with students!
This will have a high specific gravity. CAVEAT LECTOR. As if being the scribe wasn’t bad enough. I am trying to work out when I first started noticing discrepancies. They are made up by me of just observations.
(1) Bad printing alignment, color matching, and alpha-channel cross-talk by other colors: some, not I, speak forthrightly about such undesirability! Like, inscrutable—difficult to understand, impenetrable—um, is Adriana Lima an accident/undersirable/or wholly acceptable? Arbeit—er?—freely made decisions, I hope because the initial nice sounds of a tryptophan tastic Tunisia, triptych of temples—Sbeitla—Sb, I have no Antimony which is fairly poisonous, used in liquid metal batteries being developed at MIT, sounds like some unkind of dislike, and Kant had four of them
(3) In film I suppose subtle time adjustment, jitter and dither control, angle adjustment (in Final Cut the instructive DVD uses Angelina Jolie, so it would be angel adjustment), directedness of action, and sound “trickcraft” as it is known in the profession.
(2) There is no two.
This is all to say, the following DOES make a lot of sense when you put two minds to the task.
I thought Amf. had written about Lewontin and Gould’s article on Spandrels, but I have them in my notes. I’ll post them next. For now, we learn about Spolia, which is close to “spoils”—generally columns taken from diverse sources and put within a single structure; for me Basilica di S. Stefano Rot_ndo al Monte Celio springs to mind. I have spent many hours at the tiny circular (no, it’s not fat) church just above the Amphitheatrum Flavium in Rome, quite close to the palimpsestual Basilica di S. Clemente al Laterano, which is my favorite church in Rome itself (okay S. Ivo [alla Sapienza, the former location of L’università di Roma, now within the confines of Gli archivi di Stato] of Frencesco Borromini comes close, as does Il Tempietto di S. Pietro in Montorio of Donato Bramente, Il mausoleo di Santa Costanza [a S. Agnese fuori le Mura]—the photo on Wikipedia is—may I dither a response to this monstrously pathetic representation—truly fcuked up), which Father Leonard Boyle, former Librarian of the BAV—Biblioteca Apistolica Vaticana, as an amazing archaeologist, mapped in a veritable palimpsestual book, with layers of (architectural) vellum for the various layers of the church, right down to the Mithreaum and the sacrificial alter—one of my favored subjects these days. The Wikipedia article on S. Clemente doesn’t even mention Father Boyle. He was, dicitur, removed from his job as librarian by JPdue just before his [LB’s] retirement, as all his predecessors were made Cardinals. In such a way, the pope, who had, dicitur, difficulties with Father Boyle’s policies such as hiring women, could guarantee that the Irish-Canadian, later to be buried at S. Clemente, would never have a voice at the Vatican. Unlike Bernard Law—no elaboration, q.v., quiver, go figure, brrrr.
I must write one day about the truly great Father Reginaldus Foster. But another, logical post.
Dale Kinney, “Roman Architectural Spolia, Proceedings of the American Philosophical Society 145/2 (2001)
I think it may exaggerate the purposefulness of their builders to call them historicist. A truly historicist building would be a “strong” one in tense conversation with its historical sources; and these traditional basilicas—however wonderful for other reasons—are not strong in that way. In Bloom’s terms, the millennial repetition of the architectural idea of the basilica, like the reuse of spolia, “just happened.” Paradoxically, these buildings, which, according to the loose conception of “influence” demonstrated at the beginning of this article, should show Roman influence most strongly, on the “anxious” model show no influence at all....
Disproportionately steep from ground level, the central space looks normal from the raised perspective of the throne, in which the lower story almost disappears and only the upper arches with their two registers of columns are clearly visible.
The columns were proclaimed spolia by Charlemagne’s advisor Einhard, who wrote that Charles “was unable to find marble columns for his construction anywhere else, and so he had them brought from Rome and Ravenna.”31 In fact, a number of the capitals have proven to be Carolingian simulations of spolia, and the authentic spolia did not necessarily come from Rome.32 It is usually assumed that the claim to have acquired spolia from the old imperial capital cities was made for programmatic reasons, to express Charlemagne’s own pretensions to imperial status and grandeur; thus the palatine chapel figures in most discussions of spolia as a paradigm of influence in the normal sense employed by R. R. Bolgar: the “transmission of ideas.”33...
There is no lower story, however, and the columns are disposed on receding semicircular paths between the piers. There are no straight lines like the heavy horizontal cornice or the vertical planes suggested by the rectilinear alignment of the columns at Aachen (Fig. 8). Although the elements are the same and the designs are unmistakably related, the effects of these interior spaces are almost opposing: balanced proportions and serene expansiveness in San Vitale, dominant verticality and stark prismatic constraint at Aachen.35
It is unclear whether the palatine chapel was meant to reprise San Vitale specifically, or whether their resemblance denotes a more generic affiliation with a tradition of centralized buildings associated with emperors and kings.36 Even in the latter case San Vitale remains a conspicuous point of reference, an indubitable source for the Carolingian chapel, as the formal resemblance between them is much closer than one normally finds among medieval buildings. But the spolia are a difference, signaling an area of resistance. The column shafts and capitals in San Vitale were newly made for the sixth-century construction, and the capitals, in particular, are distinctively post-Roman, comprising early Byzantine shapes (impost capitals, folded capitals) and decorative motifs (Sasanian palmettes, vine scrolls, interlace) that are flagrantly unVitruvian. 37 Vitruvius probably was unknown to the architect of San Vitale, but Charlemagne’s advisors knew his treatise well. Einhard puzzled over its “obscure words and names.” 38 Students of Vitruvius would have appreciated the conceit of bringing spolia especially from Rome. They might also have applauded the designer of the chapel for rejecting the qualities that modern architectural historians find Byzantine in San Vitale, notably its curvaceous grace and the hanging effect achieved by dissembling weight and gravity, in order to foster qualities that we consider Roman: solid, static masses, unnecessary height, traditional ornament.39 The spolia are indices of the builder’s intensely retrospective aspiration, in Bloom’s terms, an anxious avoidance of the more immediate traditions of effeminate Byzantine and uncouth Frank.
[This continues, and starts, very interestingly. I kept in the footnotes in case they are a secret signal to passing UFOs, rather like the tune in Close Encounters of the Third Kind]
Now for this. Best snope this: [nyc.gif]
[Retrieved from http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mayhem_(crime) on 20110208-1914]
Fetter v. Beall
The most significant revolution in common-law mayhem doctrine came in 1697, when the King's Bench decided Fetter v. Beale, 91 Eng. Rep. 1122. There, the plaintiff recovered in a battery action against a defendant. Shortly thereafter, “part of his skull by reason of the said battery came out of his head,” and the plaintiff brought a subsequent action under mayhem. Though Fetter is also known as an early example of res judicata, it is most significant for expanding the ambit of mayhem to include “loss of the skull.”
[Retrieved from http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ragging on 20110208-1918]
I call this mind-rape, just one form of it, anyway. It really and truly is criminal, unconscionable, and it happens. Not sure if res judicata, as obvious as it might seem, is especially fair.
Ragging
Ragging is a practice in educational institutions in India and Sri Lanka that involves existing students baiting or bullying new students. It is similar to the American phenomenon of hazing. It often takes a malignant form wherein the newcomers may be subjected to psychological or physical torture. Currently, Sri Lanka is said to be the worst affected country in the world.
Recent cases
Since 2001, ragging has been the focus of a number of legal actions. For example, the Supreme Court of India defined it in a judgement as actions that "adversely affect the physique or psyche of a fresher or a junior student".
A report from 2007 by the Indian anti-ragging group Coalition to Uproot Ragging from Education analyzed 64 ragging complaints, and found that over 60% of these were related to physical ragging, and 20% were sexual in nature.
[I have removed footnote references in the hope that this is rendered less conforming to any particular code of publishing conduct, just because i’m a rebel.]
Another reference for which I couldn’t think of a tag to give to it.
[I would read that, more than just this, weighing in all the details also of the the following cadence/coda/cadenza/credenza/credentials (a falling, tail, falling, place for writing, things to have someone believe you are in fact you)]
[Retrieved from http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Boys_are_stupid,_throw_rocks_at_them! on 20110208-1935]
On misandry:–
Can you imagine if a company put out a line of T-shirts that said, ‘Black people are goobers, drop anvils on their heads’ or ‘Homosexuals are stupid, throw rocks at them’? And can you imagine the San Francisco Chronicle doing a story on how cute these T-shirts are?... Turn it around and imagine shirts suggesting the following: ‘Girls lie and will break your heart. Throw rocks at them’ or ‘Little girls are not soft and cuddly, they are mean and vicious and will destroy you.’ Can you imagine a newspaper doing a cute little headline and story on how wonderfully cute little boy fashion has become? I doubt it.
—Rush Limbaugh
Why do I somewhat agree with a man I have always despised? I don’t think I’m drifting to the right, more to the left-right-out because history possibly will swerve in the near future to a hell unknown that takes us back to I don’t want to know but it is perhaps a minor fear, some form of Medieval or medium-evil Devo “Whip It” goshdarn it I can’t really speak of such things. (Because writing is privileged over its binary opposite, speech, according to Derrida, upending Rousseau, but not eliminating the category. The word upend is peculiar: it is like U-Haul. U-Pend. Patent pend? Patient pend? Pending what, depending on what, defending what, deafening whom, offending whom, offensive forcing whom, certainly not sitting on the fence with Hume, too much spending—I hear as a complaint on a day on which $1.1tr of cuts were made—pend, mend, send, bend, it’s gonna be the end. Incend.0 SO MORE ON THIS:
As a 16yo I stayed after English class (5th form = American 10th grade) to be a giant unpoetic math-like dork with Geoff Shepherd, an incredibly good English teacher, new to our school. He was a thespian, good looking, spoke very nicely, held our attention, and we largely responded. I started doing all the lighting design and ladder climbing for school productions. That is by-the-by. I asked him if he knew of any sentences like the one I am about to write, which I gave him. It had to be seen. Perhaps now, heard, but then, seen. He said, no, he prefers the Romantic poets. The sentence, in its second, slightly more sensible form, really does apply these days (said my bruised head, and my right big toe—at least it was the right that was crushed, and fell off, I mean, the toe nail, after a good beating): “Go to the ranger’s tops.” I was thinking of a Park Ranger, like one tending Mt. Tongariro, one of NZ’s wonderful volcanoes. I said, if you shift the spaces, like “together” becomes “to get her,” the sentence becomes “Got other anger stops?” Poignant. Dorky.
I just notice the word upend: “word upend”⟶“wor dupend” which is dripping with possibilities. “was/war/we’re/warped depend/deepened/duped/end,” and I can’t but help feeling the word “puella” there, but I’m single, and beautiful/pretty in the feminine (Classical and Modern Latin) is somewhat not unappealing. But the puella come from nowhere, except for the first line of Ovid’s “Pyramus and Thisbe” from his first book of Metamorphoses. Nothing to fight for or upend, but just remembering my past, which was sweeter than this vile present. Well, it isn’t really THE present, it is MY present. NO, wrong way around. The past, I was in my little world. I was nice, despite some very bad character traits. Innocent too (same contradiction applies). I wake from this happy slumber (okay, the slumber itself was dreadful, foreboding, cruel) of forced insanity, true: I was forcibly made to feel (and subsequently go a little) mad. Only my imaginings were REAL!! How unfair is that. And of course, since it is real, it persists. Yuck, IHTFP. The people up North-East at MIT have those letters to mean, ostensibly, I Hate This Fcuking Place. Knowing these clever students, it is probably a chemical formula, possibly just baking soda. Hacking too, a funny thing. People don’t waste their time. No one learns Morse Code for the heck of it, or scrapes body parts pretty bad just to tag their name in an abandoned room somewhere. But I secretly (oops! no longer a secret) wish I had done all those things, the pipes, the careful planning, the moving of parts, say, of a firetruck (which had Latin on it which is extremely cool), yes, piece by piece, then assembled on the Dome of MIT. I have been to a couple of places, but that was pretty basic. That is where I took the photo, either here or on Tumblr, of “The Head Phone Tomb.” Everything has a name, except some people have a number. Says No.6, “I am not a number, I am a free man.” Then Rover, the big white ball—in fact a weather balloon, “when the balloon goes up” is a weird expression I heard lately, perhaps 99 red ones? That was the 1980s, bounces on him, arise from the sea which in this case isn’t a metaphor.
Amazing, and I wish my screen wouldn’t flash at me whenever I write something about MIT or conspiracies or theories of kerning or when I quote the NY Times (which I very much like, just read about Google searches being “black-hat” stacked by J.C. Penney), or I put up one of my compositions or videos, or paintings/drawings especially, or comments about how I believe that, well, I leave that remark involving the words, not connected, alpha, www fora, trees, lights (what about xmas?), lyrics, books, and anything having a shred to do with anything I have been doing all my life, to which I have some propriety relationship: my ideas! My output! Is identity theft going on by proxy, by taking everything from me? By causing enough despair for me to willingly give things up? I think not. I don’t have fears, a strange brain-chemistry thing, oh very strange brain, oh very strange chemistry, che misterioso. Basically playing music, then composing it, analyzing it, teaching it including time and frequency domain, writing words of many means but nothing especially orthographic though I am font-obsessed and did have a Letraset font catalog which I read obsessively and it was just the alphabet! Mind you, for transfer-stencils, as a kid, and designed fonts at the age of 10, and was Greek/Norse/Egyptian myth-obsessed, and I had The World Atlas of Mysteries with an awful photo of Spontaneous Human Combustion leaving a Zimmer frame and shoe after the person immolated, I write about representation, I was involved in the editing of my ex-girlfriend Cammy Brothers’ dissertation and book on Renaissance architectural sketches of ruins and built/unbuilt works by the architects, and worked on formal music theory with the greatest modern music theorist David Lewin at Harvard where we spend half our time rotating and inverting and retrograding strings of notes, using Markov chains, infinite and finite string systems, dovetailing, counting intervals, duplicating notes as singularities (BEFORE the recent spate of them), and studying ways of understanding, semantically, difficult but seemingly obvious texts (and his book on the subject was published, finally, posthumously) and that involved excising parts of the music kind of hypermetrically in the sense, loosely speaking, of Cone, Lerdahl and Jackendoff (I am being very generalizing here), etc. I work on representation of transformational voice leading between two sets, basically a critique of current ideas on the subject, their metaphors, which makes the heating pipe very unhappy with me (yes, a metaphor, and metonymy and metaphor are major parts of my dissertation). I like everything to be in words. Able to be spoken, heard as-is.
So, yes, I do all this. And I am about to put up a couple of videos. I don’t know how well they will be received, but here goes nothing.
[The following from a good sort!]
Gypsy Wife
And where, where, where is my Gypsy wife tonight
I’ve heard all the wild reports, they can’t be right
But whose head is this she’s dancing with on the threshing floor
whose darkness deepens in her arms a little more
And where, where is my Gypsy wife tonight?
Where, where is my Gypsy wife tonight?
Ah the silver knives are flashing in the tired old cafe
A ghost climbs on the table in a bridal negligee
She says, “My body is the light, my body is the way”
I raise my arm against it all and I catch the bride’s bouquet
And where, where is my Gypsy wife tonight?...
Too early for the rainbow, too early for the dove
These are the final days, this is the darkness, this is the flood
And there is no man or woman who can't be touched
But you who come between them will be judged
And where, where is my Gypsy wife tonight?...
—Leonard Cohen
Famous Blue Raincoat
It’s four in the morning, the end of December
I'm writing you now just to see if you’re better
New York is cold, but I like where I’m living
There’s music on Clinton Street all through the evening.
I hear that you’re building your little house deep in the desert
You’re living for nothing now, I hope you’re keeping some kind of record.
Yes, and Jane came by with a lock of your hair
She said that you gave it to her
That night that you planned to go clear
Did you ever go clear?
Ah, the last time we saw you you looked so much older
Your famous blue raincoat was torn at the shoulder
You’d been to the station to meet every train
And you came home without Lili Marlene
And you treated my woman to a flake of your life
And when she came back she was nobody’s wife.
Well I see you there with the rose in your teeth
One more thin gypsy thief
Well I see Jane’s awake—
She sends her regards.
And what can I tell you my brother, my killer
What can I possibly say?
I guess that I miss you, I guess I forgive you
I’m glad you stood in my way.
If you ever come by here, for Jane or for me
Your enemy is sleeping, and his woman is free.
Yes, and thanks, for the trouble you took from her eyes
I thought it was there for good so I never tried.
And Jane came by with a lock of your hair
She said that you gave it to her
That night that you planned to go clear
Sincerely, L. Cohen
—Leonard Cohen
._. ._. ._. ._. ._. ._. ._. ._. ._. ._. ._. ._. ._. ._. ._. ._. ._. ._. ._. ._. ._. ._. ._. ._. ._.
Those are amphibrachs. But feet. Meter.
Leonard Cohen’s own liner notes:–
I had a good raincoat then, a Burberry I got in London in 1959. Elizabeth thought I looked like a spider in it. That was probably why she wouldn’t go to Greece with me. It hung more heroically when I took out the lining, and achieved glory when the frayed sleeves were repaired with a little leather. Things were clear. I knew how to dress in those days. It was stolen from Marianne’s loft in New York sometime during the early seventies. I wasn't wearing it very much toward the end.
According to Wikipedia: In the 1999 book, The Complete Guide to the Music of Leonard Cohen, the authors comment that Cohen’s question, “Did you ever go clear?”, in the song, is a reference to the Scientology state of “Clear.” Cohen was very briefly a member of the Church of Scientology, which he had heard was a “good place to meet women.”
And, “why not?”
Check out www.songmeanings.net for some Revelations. [Bad guise!] Also find P’s “Wild-blue-inland-kid-intimacy” which is on one of our main blogs. [The words of a great man!] To swing the other way completely, read about what is accidentally celebrated (no, I mean wesentlich/Anfall, not zufällig) in Wikipedia, on the swastika. I simply cannot reproduce the postcard here because it is so vile, and freedom of speech referring to something before it apparently became evil and vile but with an implicit grope to it as there is in the article on eugenics, is not warranted other than for a reasonable rest.
This will continue later; I have a bACKlog of things to get through. SpAeter.
