…the boxes lose.
[hat tip: Eschaton]
_____________________
P.S. A follow-up video is called “The box which Maru can’t enter.” Oh, yes, Maru can.
Make Your World
[Above: an image designed to induce binocular rivalry: an attempt by one’s senses to forge a single thing from two conflicting images. See here for instructions on how to use.]
From whiskey river:
When you have lived as long as I, you will see that every human being has his shell, and that you must take the shell into account. By the shell I mean the whole envelope of circumstances. There is no such thing as an isolated man or woman; we are each of us made up of a cluster of appurtenances. What do you call one’s self? Where does it begin? where does it end? It overflows into everything that belongs to us — and then it flows back again. I know that a large part of myself is in the dresses I choose to wear. I have a great respect for things! One’s self — for other people — is one’s expression of one’s self; and one’s house, one’s clothes, the books one reads, the company one keeps — these things are all expressive.
(Henry James [source])
…and:
We have to recognize that the world is not something sculptured and finished, which we as perceivers walk through like patrons in a museum; the world is something we make through the act of perception.
(Terence McKenna [source])
…and:
Kneeling
Moments of great calm,
Kneeling before an altar
Of wood in a stone church
In summer, waiting for the God
To speak; the air a staircase
For silence; the sun’s light
Ringing me, as though I acted
A great rôle. And the audiences
Still; all that close throng
Of spirits waiting, as I,
For the message.
Prompt me, God;
But not yet. When I speak,
Though it be you who speak
Through me, something is lost.
The meaning is in the waiting.
(R. S. Thomas [source])
Victims of Fashion (Men’s Department)
Someone, no doubt, has taken a census of active bloggers and other social-media types, focusing on gender. I don’t know what the breakdown might be; maybe I’m stereotyping at least one sex, if not both, but I would not be surprised to learn that more women than men contribute to the ebb and flow of online conversation.
And I’m not complaining, not at all. Totally fine with it—
Well, one little corner of human existence goes sadly unremarked upon because of the gender imbalance. And because (at least in the West) gender-based cultural constraints forbid discussion of it.
I speak, of course, of men’s underwear. I speak in particular of… The Slot.
Transparent, or Just Unseen? Silent, or Just Unheard?
[About the image: one of several models of “bubble buildings” available from French firm BubbleTree. I originally found this written up at the DesignSwan site.]
From whiskey river:
A Suite of Appearances / iv
In another time, we will want to know how the earth looked
Then, and were people the way we are now. In another time,
The records they left will convince us that we are unchanged
And could be at ease in the past, and not alone in the present.
And we shall be pleased. But beyond all that, what cannot
Be seen or explained will always be elsewhere, always supposed,
Invisible even beneath the signs — the beautiful surface,
The uncommon knowledge — that point its way. In another time,
What cannot be seen will define us, and we shall be prompted
To say that language is error, and all things are wronged
By representation. The self, we shall say, can never be
Seen with a disguise, and never be seen without one.
(Mark Strand)
…and:
I am pleased enough with the surfaces — in fact they alone seem to me to be of much importance. Such things for example as the grasp of a child’s hand in your own, the flavor of an apple, the embrace of a friend or lover, the silk of a girl’s thigh, the sunlight on the rock and leaves, the feel of music, the bark of a tree, the abrasion of granite and sand, the plunge of clear water into a pool, the face of the wind — what else is there? What else do we need?
(Edward Abbey)
Emerging, Blinking, into the Sunlight
If you’ve been visiting RAMH for more than a few months, you probably know I’ve been a bit… distracted recently. And it’s probably going to happen again in a few weeks, when I again take up my rock hammer, rope, and lanterned helmet, wandering back into Seems to Fit for the Nth and final time.*
In the meantime, I’ve got some sprucing up to do — in the real world, for sure:
Heaps of printouts, notes (sticky and otherwise), fruit-and-grain-breakfast-bar wrappers, reference books, recorded but unlabeled CD-ROMs — all of that will vanish from within a dozen feet of my elbows. [Hmm. “Feet of my elbows” — now there’s a phrase I don’t think I’ve even seen before. And probably with good reason.] I’ll add things back into the daily home routine that I’d put aside; maybe I can again watch an occasional movie on a weeknight, and sleep in a little in the morning before getting ready for work. Maybe The Missus and I can play some cards. And maybe I can once again read for more than five minutes before dropping off to sleep.
I’ve also got some dusting and renewal to take care of around Running After My Hat. This won’t necessarily involve changing the look itself — replacing the “theme” — but I’ve been thinking about it. I’ve got a bunch of draft posts in the hopper on favorite but time-sucking topics, posts in the What’s in a Song and Perfect Moments categories especially.
(My erstwhile but long absent co-blogger has even knocked plaintively on my window a couple of times, signing to me through the glass, waggling granite fingers as though manipulating an invisible keyboard. He seems to long for personal expression.)
And finally, I’ll be trying to spend more time and care in visiting other people online. Yes, I know why I’ve been too preoccupied to do more than look through so many windows in passing. It couldn’t have been otherwise, and I won’t say I regret it, exactly. But I’ve missed the back-and-forth at some favorite blogs. It’s past time to go rapping on their windows, too.
____________________
* Er, well, the Nth and final time of my own choosing. After which, others will start to chime in. They may have no suggestions at all, but I don’t count on it.
Getting Through the Day (and Knowing It)
[Image: xkcd.com #324. The image’s title attribute there says, “Sometimes the best fun looks like boredom.” (Click image to enlarge.)]
From whiskey river:
Questions Before Dark
Day ends, and before sleep
when the sky dies down, consider
your altered state: has this day
changed you? Are the corners
sharper or rounded off? Did you
live with death? Make decisions
that quieted? Find one clear word
that fit? At the sun’s midpoint
did you notice a pitch of absence,
bewilderment that invites
the possible? What did you learn
from things you dropped and picked up
and dropped again? Did you set a straw
parallel to the river, let the flow
carry you downstream?
(Jeanne Lohmann, from The Light of Invisible Bodies)
…and:
There is nothing more alone than being in a car at night in the rain. I was in the car. And I was glad of it. Between one point on the map and another point on the map, there was the being alone in the car in the rain. They say you are not you except in terms of relation to other people. If there weren’t any other people there wouldn’t be any you because what you do, which is what you are, only has meaning in relation to other people. That is a very comforting thought when you are in the car in the rain at night alone, for then you aren’t you, and not being you or anything, you can really lie back and get some rest. It is a vacation from being you. There is only the flow of the motor under your foot spinning that frail thread of sound out of its metal gut like a spider, that filament, that nexus, which isn’t really there, between the you which you have just left in one place and the you which you will be when you get to the other place.
(Robert Penn Warren, from All the King’s Men [source])
Midweek Music Break: Jazzy Joni
Joni Mitchell, or so I thought around the time I first heard of her, epitomized the sweet-and-fragile visuals of hippie-folk culture.
(With her long straight blonde hair, oh-so-slender frame and a voice to match, with her acoustic guitar and simple attire, she seemed a Mary Travers wannabe — maybe her gawky delicate second or third cousin, who admired her from a distance at family reunions and weddings.)
Sometimes her songs seemed to come out of that culture, too, especially the hits like “Both Sides Now” and “Big Yellow Taxi.” They cemented (in my mind) the image of a dreamy mystic tinged with social consciousness. I saw her in person in 1969, at the Atlantic City Pop Festival held a couple weeks before Woodstock; that restive crowd, especially in the context of her preference for small clubs, drove her from the stage in tears before she’d even finished a single song. (I vaguely remember thinking something adolescent-male shallow like, What the heck is her problem?!?) Obviously — obviously — she was way too delicate and inconsequential to have much staying power in the rough-and-tumble of rock…
Haha. Yeah, I know: what a jerk.
Eventually it sank in that her songs were complex little bundles of sound and sense, which only seemed simple if, like me, you had never really listened to them. Even when it’s just her and her guitar or piano, she interacts with her music, plays with it, responds to it — especially when she moves out of contemplative mode, relaxes, and takes up the rhythms of jazz.
Her first song which hit me that way was “You Turn Me On, I’m a Radio,” from 1972’s For the Roses. The grinning-over-her-shoulder, winking lilt fits the lyrics like a saddle. “If your head says forget it / But your heart’s still smoking”: oh, what I’d give to have written such a poised, nuanced line!
[Below, click Play button to begin You Turn Me On, I’m a Radio. While audio is playing, volume control appears at left — a row of little vertical bars. This clip is 2:39 long.]
[audio:youturnmeonimaradio_jonimitchell.mp3|titles=’You Turn Me On, I’m a Radio’|artists=Joni Mitchell]
Lyrics:
You Turn Me On, I’m a Radio
(Joni Mitchell)If you’re driving into town
With a dark cloud above you
Dial in the number
Who’s bound to love youOh honey you turn me on
I’m a radio
I’m a country station
I’m a little bit corny
I’m a wildwood flower
Waving for you
Broadcasting tower
Waving for youAnd I’m sending you out
This signal here
I hope you can pick it up
Loud and clear
I know you don’t like weak women
You get bored so quick
And you don’t like strong women
‘Cause they’re hip to your tricksIt’s been dirty for dirty
Down the line
But you know
I come when you whistle
When you’re loving and kindBut if you’ve got too many doubts
If there’s no good reception for me
Then tune me out, ’cause honey
Who needs the static
It hurts the head
And you wind up cracking
And the day goes dismalFrom “Breakfast Barney”
To the sign-off prayer
What a sorry face you get to wear
I’m going to tell you again now
If you’re still listening thereIf you’re driving into town
With a dark cloud above you
Dial in the number
Who’s bound to love youIf you’re lying on the beach
With the transistor going
Kick off the sandflies honey
The love’s still flowing
If your head says forget it
But your heart’s still smoking
Call me at the station
The lines are open
Happy Birthday, the Erstwhile “Music” Television
MTV turned 30 years old at a minute past midnight today. After a voiceover saying,”Ladies and gentlemen: rock and roll!” and some promotional pieces, they overturned the music business with their very first video: The Buggles, and “Video Killed the Radio Star.”
Lyrics:
Video Killed the Radio Star
(The Buggles)I heard you on the wireless back in ’52
Lying awake intent at tuning in on you
If I was young it didn’t stop you coming throughOh-a oh
They took the credit for your second symphony
Rewritten by machine and new technology
And now I understand the problems you can seeOh-a oh
I met your children
Oh-a oh
What did you tell them?Video killed the radio star
Video killed the radio starPictures came and broke your heart
Oh-a-a-a ohAnd now we meet in an abandoned studio
We hear the playback and it seems so long ago
And you remember the jingles used to goOh-a oh
You were the first one
Oh-a oh
You were the last oneVideo killed the radio star
Video killed the radio starIn my mind and in my car
We can’t rewind we’ve gone to0 farOh-a-aho oh
Oh-a-aho ohVideo killed the radio star
Video killed the radio starIn my mind and in my car
We can’t rewind we’ve gone to0 far
Pictures came and broke your heart
Put the blame on VCR*You are a radio star
You are a radio starVideo killed the radio star
Video killed the radio starVideo killed the radio star
Video killed the radio starVideo killed the radio star
(You are a radio star)
Video killed the radio star
Video killed the radio star
(You are a radio star)Oh-a oh
Oh-a oh
Oh-a oh
Right on its heels, the incomparable Pat Benatar: “You Better Run.”
Lyrics:
You Better Run
(Pat Benatar)Whatcha’ tryin’ t’ do to my heart?
Whatcha’ tryin’ t’ do to my heart?
You go around tellin’ lies
And now you want to compromise
Whatcha’ tryin’ t’ do to my heart?
You better run!
You better hide!
You better leave from my sight! YeahWhatcha’ tryin’ t’ do to my soul?
Whatcha’ tryin’ t’ do to my soul?
Well everything I had was yours
And now I’m closin’ all the doors
Whatcha’ tryin’ t’ do to my soul?You better run!
You better hide!
You better leave from my sight! YeahI love you oh, I love you so
Can’t you see it? Don’t you know?
I can’t stand your alibis
Your tellin’ lies, you drive me wild! YeahI said, what are ya tryin’ t’ do to my head?
Said, whatcha’ tryin’ t’ do to my head?
Well now I’ve gotta draw the line
Cause you ain’t gonna take my mind!
What are ya tryin’ t’ do to my head?You better run!
You better hide!
You better leave from my sight!
You better run!
You better hide!
You better leave from my sight!
Let me go! YeahI said go away, and leave me alone!
I can’t stand you no more!
Moonrat , irrepressible but stubbornly non-blogging , still pops up on Twitter and Facebook from time to time. She did so today with a link to the Gawker site: a three-minute video history of MTV (not embeddable, alas), documenting the rise, decline, and further decline.
____________________
* Some sites say that the proper abbreviation here is “VTR,” for “video tape recording” (vs. C-for-cassette). That’s probably more generic and hence maybe more “accurate,” i.e., it doesn’t put the blame on a specific technology. Commenters here seem to focus on a lip-reading, insisting that the singer clearly forms a T at that point. Okaaaaay… Either way works for me!
Not “The End,” But Maybe The End
Step by Step, and an Ounce at a Time
[Image: Beast of Burden, a sculpture by Sarah Perry. For more information, see the note at the foot of this post.]
From whiskey river:
Burlap Sack
A person is full of sorrow
the way a burlap sack is full of stones or sand.
We say, “Hand me the sack,”
but we get the weight.
Heavier if left out in the rain.
To think that the stones or sand are the self is an error.
To think that grief is the self is an error.
Self carries grief as a pack mule carries the side bags,
being careful between the trees to leave extra room.
The mule is not the load of ropes and nails and axes.
The self is not the miner nor builder nor driver.
What would it be to take the bride
and leave behind the heavy dowry?
To let the thick ribbed mule browse in tall grasses,
its long ears waggling like the tails of two happy dogs?
(Jane Hirshfield [source])
…and:
I think there is choice possible at any moment to us, as long as we live. But there is no sacrifice. There is a choice, and the rest falls away. Second choice does not exist. Beware of those who talk about sacrifice.
(Muriel Rukeyser)
…and:
I have been a lucky man. To feel the intimacy of brothers is a marvelous thing in life. To feel the love of people whom we love is a fire that feeds our life. But to feel the affection that comes from those whom we do not know, from those unknown to us, who are watching over our sleep and solitude, over our dangers and our weaknesses — that is something still greater and more beautiful because it widens out the boundaries of our being, and unites all living things.
(Pablo Neruda)
- « Previous Page
- 1
- …
- 86
- 87
- 88
- 89
- 90
- …
- 133
- Next Page »
