Sunday, 23 April 2017

skin yr in


secrets of the talking horse:

crew applied peanut butter to his gums to get him to move his lips.

a string was used. "It was initially done by putting a piece of nylon thread in his mouth.

the gelding learned to wag his lips whenever his hoof was touched.

                                        /l、
                                     ゙(゚、 。 7
                                        l、゙ ~ヽ
                                         じしf_, )

Saturday, 22 April 2017



achilles and the tortoise






Diogenes the Cynic said nothing upon hearing Zeno's arguments, but stood up and walked


The physical world requires a resolution amount used to distinguish distance while mathematics can use any resolution.







- At every instant of time there is no motion occurring. If everything is motionless at every instant, and time is entirely composed of instants, then motion is impossible.



- Instants are not parts of time, for time is not made up of instants any more than a magnitude is made of points, as we have already proved. Hence it does not follow that a thing is not in motion in a given time, just because it is not in motion in any instant of that time



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Athens 2017// National Archaeological Museum //Linear B
Leigh on Sea 2015// stuck in the mud with Graham Harwood // Wrecked on the Intertidal Zone
Toyko 2015// Taro

Saturday, 15 April 2017

log in

log in

 its just a different flavor of dumb



 in other words, you extracted everything out of your graphic card 

huehue



Вы либо умереть герой, или жить достаточно долго, чтобы Смотрите сами становитесь 

злодея.


   (\ /)
   ( . .)      
c(") (")

hey are you gonna put my statue up ?

Friday, 14 April 2017

from Hinge Picture By Susan Howe

“Crawl in,” said the witch, “and see if it’s hot enough to put the bread in.”
—Hansel and Gretel

All roads lead to rooms.
—Irish Proverb
a stark
                  Quake

               a numb
                  Calm


                      *


               clutching my Crumbl
               ejumble
                  among
               Tombs and
               in Caves
                  my
                Dream
                Vision


https://www.theparisreview.org/interviews/6189/susan-howe-the-art-of-poetry-no-97-susan-howe

William James says that in times of trauma and crisis a door is opened to a place where facts and apparitions mix.


When I was a visiting poet at Temple, I encountered two huge volumes called Melville’s Marginalia. Its editor, Wilson Walker Cowen, had collected and printed all the passages Melville had marked in his personal library. At first glance, this alphabetically arranged collection of quotations from numerous authors resembled a giant Charles Olson poem. The preface said Cowen died young. All this immense labor had been for his graduate- student degree. I thought of the pale usher and the sub-sub-librarian in Moby-Dick. Then, as I was going over the material, I came upon Melville’s notes in his copy of the Irish poet James Clarence Mangan’s collected works. I remembered singing Mangan’s “Róisín Dubh” with the Reddins. I looked into Mangan’s life and work, and by following Mangan—God! I couldn’t believe it—I found that he may have been a source for the character of Bartleby.
Earlier, when I was writing the poems that would become Frame Structures, I stumbled on Longfellow’s wife Frances Appleton, who died by fire in their home library. She was trying to paste locks of her children’s hair into an album, using a candle to melt the wax, when a spark fell on her dress. His beard you see in the famous photograph was grown to cover the scars on his face, which was badly burned when he tried to save her. The Longfellow House is now a National Historic Site, and when I took the tour I asked the guide which was the room she burned in. He brushed the question aside as if such a thing had never happened. It doesn’t fit the sunny portrait of the author they are hired to exhibit.
In the same way, I came upon Jonathan Edwards’s sister Hannah by chance when I slipped her “private writings” out of a folder in the Beinecke Reading Room at Yale.
I don’t want to be so arrogant as to say these are recoveries. Maybe certain people find me.

***
 from My Emily Dickinson

When I love a thing I want it and I try to get it. Abstraction of the particular from
the universal is the entrance into evil. Love, a binding force, is both envy and
emulation. HE (the Puritan God) is a realm of mystery and will always remain
unknowable, authoritarian, unpredictable. Between revealed will and secret will
Love has been torn in two.