The influence of gaslight or electric light on the growth of paraheliotropic trees

bonebrushing the edges of the res interna (upper transcend)

Month: August, 2009

What I didn’t say yesterday

was that I answered that screen, I answered that window, I answered that girl. It begins. It begins. Always beginning. Always becoming. Always beginning.

Series of Screens – Aug 31, 2009

A window pops up on my screen – do you want to chat. On the other end of that window, which has been assembled from a series of electron pulses, packets, from radio waves to cable and back to radio waves, is a girl. Some girl. Some girl I do not know.

The window is not just a window. The box is not just a box. It is accompanied by a chime. And the chime keeps chiming. Chiming. There is a girl on the other end of that chime. Not my ex-girlfriend. Not my other ex-girlfriend. I am sick of the world, heart-sick of everything. Every fiber of my being says no, says do not, do not try, what will you say, do not do this. Every fiber — every stitch — every sick subconcious echoing self (how many legions of fractured selves lie hidden down there — does deep terrible trauma cause personality disassociation or does it reveal it? Cf. When Rabbit Howled? or something like that) every sick subconscious echoing self says no.

Series of screens. I’m still sitting here, staring down the rabbit hole. Outside my window REM’s It’s the End of The World As We Know It plays for a second and then is gone, as the car from which its playing presumably speeds away. Do you like that, Reader? That was real time for you. On the other side of this screen, this screen you’re looking at, is a whole world, a whole world extending and extending backwards and backwards behind my head, out my window, through the streets of New York City, across the Hudson River, and on and on and on and on until wrapping back around itself it meets me back here, but also not also going higher and higher and if the sky had steps you could walk there, endless steps up miles and miles into the ether, until the sky grew cold and thin and dark and at first it would look no different than night no different than night all just endless inky night above — below though — the view below — what I wouldn’t give for that view below — for $200,000 I could do it — childhood memory of watching the Challenger take off on a screen — Kaputt it goes, and memory and history begin.

379 words on this screen. 382 now. Oops. Keeps going. Dust in the wind. Only for a moment and the moment’s gone. Who were those guys? Everything is getting recorded now, written down, the Great Silent Serfdom that stayed quiet for ten thousand years has now learned to read and write and do we ever — writing it all down — every man a poet, in each woman a Sappho or a Nephertiti, burning brightly, Socrates and Plato and Aristotle — available to all, for .99 cents down at the Strand.

Walked along the High Line today. Beautiful little piece of public space. A little commercial. A little high fashion. Mall of America. This city of ruins redux. Lights in the sky. Where do we go from here? It ends. It is not the pristine wild High Line seen in photographs at the Armory Show last spring. No. Last spring. I am becoming part of this city. The loneliness is seeping into my bones and transcending itself. There are others in this city. Others out there. Other lonelies. Newly brokenhearted. My ex-baby is one, in a different city, a small and lonely city in its own right. She will do well, though, I know it, she is strong and fierce and wonderful, magnificient. I miss her. I do. She was wonderful — so so wonderful. I loved her — like Ashley loved Melanie in Gone With the Wind. There I go again. But read enough books — and all of human existence is arrayed there, carefully selected and polished by authors who are now long dead.

Five thousand words a day? Lucky if I can write 500. Where are we? Halfway to a picture? Oh yes. Perhaps I’ll cheat.



Adventures from the Elsewhere A.C. Aesthetic

Toys in rhythm.

Music video by Owl City performing Fireflies
with Adam Young [Producer], Steve Hoover [Video Director], Danny Yourd [Video Producer]
(C) 2009 Universal Republic Records, a division of UMG Recordings, Inc.

Q for G+S: Is there some sort of backet, brochure, information package that I can forward to interested artists/authors to get them interested in the project?

Summer of Death

Consider it like this.

A multitude is walking down a broad dirt highway. Maybe it is grass covered. The multitude is young and old, every color, every race, men and women, some walking alone, some with a partner, some with their children, some with their friends. Some are talking, some are singing, some are singing, some are silent.

As they walk, every now and then, one falls down, and the people around them stop for a moment, and stand there. After a moment, horrified and screaming or sad and quiet, those who stopped walk on. No trace of the fallen remains to the visible eye. The grass-covered highway has swallowed him.

Eyes So Blue, Hair in Flames

The music is playing in what we now call the background. (Background to what? Foreground of Our Being?)

Life & Time flows past me. I stand still.

What seems flat and static is strange and complex. A crystal origami lattice, folding and unfolding into and around itself. Constant transformations, unseen and unnoticed, as the transforming becomes the transformed.

Always becoming.

Secrets are not and cannot be kept. Not here.

A Netter Novelist

If my generation is the 1974-1983 generation, what is the shared common experience of us all? What the hell happened?

Well — the End of Vietnam is in our parent’s minds, if not ours. The late 70s doldrums collapse into the ra-ra 80s, with Reagan and Reaganism, a Fake New Cold War, the Space Shuttle (new space), the Challenger Explosion, horizontally integrated children’s entertainment that bring the TV show into your house with fully articulable action figures (new strange superheroes, He-Man, Thundercats, and Transformers), E.T. phoning home, the Disney Channel, Care Bears movies, Halloween, beginning of Overprotection, beginning of a national freakout about our children (those mad Gen-Xers above us), we don’t know what, headed into post-post-modernism, Reagan, Bush, then Clinton, certain exhaustion of greatness (return to a lower norm after the Madness of Nixon), MTV, and Kurt Loder, and MTV news, and Kurt Cobain shakes up music, and then blows his brain out, and Bill Clinton is on Arsenio Hall, and the New Kids come on SNL, perfectly pitched to the 12-16 male demographic, and there’s money to be made, here, there, everywhere, oops, recession, oops, it’s the economy stupid, Bill Clinton, cool, did not inhale, did he protest Vietnam, are we talking about Vietnam, that’s ok, let’s elect him anyway, oh, he’ll do so much, better than the other guy, I can go to college, my mother says, oops, Republicans bounce back, feral, and angry, shoot his knees out from under him, Contract with America (which contract, sign here on the dotted line, America, don’t read the fine print, America, what’s that rotten egg smell I smell, America), high school, 30something over, My-So-Called Life captures us perfectly, Counting Crows and REM alternative rock is a softer kinder machine gun hand, we little teenagers like it fine and dandy (Nirvana and Pearl Jam are already one step back, for the older kids among us), going to first music concerts, at these great big old arenas, the singers are maybe ten years older than we are, they don’t remember Vietnam either — (maybe they do, but they’re not talking about it) — they were all in school in the silly silly 80s — oh yeah, DARE, and Project Pride, and THIS IS YOUR BRAIN ON DRUGS, smells like EGGS again, starting to feel the hormones coming, first come, spin the bottle in a basement, same as it ever was — I’m a Jew, so at twelve I did the Bar Mitzvah circuit and slow-danced with Alaska between me and the girl to cheesy pop songs — (oh yeah, pop songs, Michael Jackson when I was young, American Gladiators) — my sports teams sucked for most of the 90s — got through middle school and high school did a good job — the Big Bad Millennium was coming — oh, yeah, when I was in 2nd grade there was a war in Iraq, didn’t last long, the Prez who did it was out in a year anyway, didn’t hear much from that area of the world for sometime — five years maybe — Israelis and Palestinians making nice in the Middle East — until there’s this strange strange assassination — is the world worse than I thought it is — can’t be, we won the Cold War, the threat of annihilation is over — let’s party now, tear down the Berlin Wall, unification, world peace, the future, can’t really see past 2000 though, it’s this big opaque singularity — science fiction numbers over there — go to college somewhere — then what — write a book maybe — then what — get married? have a kid? maybe, can’t think about that (can’t think about that now, either, another singularity) over in Israel in 98 when we learn that a fat old (to us) intern likes to give the President hand jobs with her mouth. Hmm. Doesn’t sound too bad to me, 16 year old male. Then the Republicans go crazy one more time. Hey, I say, don’t take away my President, I didn’t vote for him, but I would have liked to.

Blah blah. Someone mentions George W. Bush as a great potential candidate for the Republican party. I’ve been waiting for Al Gore since ’92, always seemed like a real good guy.

Liberal vs. Conservative Morality

Aretae says …

Jon Haidt, one of my favorite psychologists (not least because he demolishes Kohlberg’s silly moral stages), has a perhaps more complete answer. He suggests that the liberal/progressive side of the fence politically operates off of only 2 moral dimensions (harm/care, and fairness/reciprocity), while the conservative ethics usually operates off all 5 human moral dimensions (including also: Ingroup/Loyalty, Authority/Respect, and Purity/Sanctity).

Libertarians are weird, so we don’t count.

I think this account does a good job of explaining why liberals differ from conservatives on the importance of income equality. From conservative POV, Bill Gates deserves his money from a respect/authority position.

From a liberal POV, fairness trumps that, and suggests that while Bill may deserve some reward, but the scope of his reward is way out of line, regardless what he did.

Freedom is the absence of monopoly

Arnold Kling defines freedom as “absence of monopoly” saying that what matters MOST is a right to exit, touching on the possibilities of charter cities — (the danger here is the everpresent danger of White-Flight, which is the Privileged [who didn’t get that way by accident] cashing out before the game is over).

Kling argues that people would & could prefer a right to exit than a right to vote. Maybe (and yes, no country should force people to stay, only to abide by certain rules if they do decide to stay –)

But what about people who can’t exit, who are stuck where they are? (Kling might argue that those people should have the right to *exit* in place)

So what about the *right to exit in place*? Nozick talks about this ASU. Well, to a certain extent this is possible in America to a point. What’s required is that it happen in an area not already controlled by a local government — and in America, there’s plenty of those places. Why not allow it within the boundaries of continguous communities? Maybe because the Rights of your Neighbors not to live in a Gerrymandered Balkinized Community where everyone pays what they will is an effective Veto on your right to opt out of the rules of the local area. And that if you want to opt-out, you either need to get your neighbors to agree or go somewhere where there are no neighbords.

To some things, our neighbors are so geographically disparate that everywhere within the sovereign borders is a neighbor, and there can be no opt-outs, only votes. However, Kling, and Nozick is right that a Maximization of Freedom should be careful about how many rules the Federal Government requires >> thereby promoting, within reason, the laboratory of federalism.

However, given that there are large number of people who can’t leave, because of economic reasons, there should be some binding rules that cannot be exited from. Otherwise, there might be strong incentives to spoil and move on.

Gypsy Moon

(The soundtrack is Furr by Blitzen Trapper)

Across the field, the long grass pushing up past ankles white, to the twisting fringed hem of a blue and black skirt, with small gold bells sown in at intervals as as she ran to me it was if the whole world was singing –

Gypsy Moon, she is, the Gypsy Moon.

And he said to her, “You must know that men think you are beautiful,”

He was looking at her while he said it, believing it himself, but saying it this way, the eternal hedge, saying but not saying.