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Oh say can you see in the dark you / observe Minerva nerveless in Nirvana because Zeus rides reindeer thru Bethlehem’s blue sky. / Its Buddha sits in Mary’s belly waving Kuan Yin’s white hand at the Jang- tze that Mao sees, / tongue of Kali licking Krishna’s soft blue lips. —Allen Ginsberg, Holy Ghost on the Nod over the Body of Bliss, 1966, from Collected Poems 1947-1997.
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Don't miss Dr. Boli's "Prognostication Engine," which you can print out and build yourself.
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Certainty #11:
"The one certainty is that we will extract more energy from our environment, not less." —Peter W. Huber, The Bottomless Well, 2006
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The visual poet Geof Huth contends that we are all lettrists: The letters, those atoms of writing's structure, appeal to us through their shapes, their familiarity, and the tiny strands of meaning they contain. We love them beyond their ability to be loved, because in the end they are everything. Without the letters, we could not write a single word, without words no sentence, without sentences no paragraphs, and finally no books.
The letter is all we need, and all the night permits us.
See Geof's full discussion here.
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From Prof. Oddfellow's sketchbook:
Jeff writes: After reading this, I decided to perform a little spot-gazing of my own. As it turns out, my dog has spots not only on his coat but on his skin as well. Now I'm frightened because I don't know which spots to trust. Can you advise?
Prof. Oddfellow responds: When spots form in layers, even the most innocuous of queries becomes unpredictable. But don't feel discouraged! Think of your dog as an artist's canvas with several layers of paint. Each layer is a chapter of an evolving story. If a heart-shaped mark on the skin (the sign of a homebody) is covered by a bone-shaped spot on the fur (the sign of contentment), that tells us that your dog finds his greatest comfort on his own turf. If the mark of a duck (symbolizing devotion) is covered by the mark of a fang (nervousness), your dog is stressed over his fidelity. Of course, a dog's spots are more than skin-deep; they go all the way to the bone. But the superficial layers offer plenty food for thought!
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I can remember every second of that morning, if I shut my eyes I can see the deep blue colour of the sky and the mango leaves, the pink and red hibiscus, the yellow handkerchief she wore round her head, tied in the Martinique fashion with the sharp points in front, but now I see everything still, fixed for ever like the colours in a stained- glass window. Only the clouds move. —Jean Rhys, Wide Sargasso Sea, 1966.
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| I Found a Penny Today, So Here's a Thought |
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"Language is civilization itself. The Word, even the most contradictory word, binds us together. Wordlessness isolates." — Thomas Mann, The Magic Mountain, translated by John E. Woods.
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"To imagine a form of language is to imagine a form of life." — Cy Twombly.
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Saint Pirouette Patron of Dance Dance Revolution.
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We are cross- stitching silk roses on a pale background. We can colour the roses as we choose and mine are green, blue and purple. Underneath, I will write my name in fire red, Antoinette Mason, née Cosway, Mount Calvary Convent, Spanish Town, Jamaica, 1839. —Jean Rhys, Wide Sargasso Sea, 1966.
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From Prof. Oddfellow's sketchbook:
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