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A Turkish Delight of musings on languages, deflations of metaphysics, vauntings of arcana, and great visual humor.
From Our Abecedarian Blog . . .

Today — April 18, 2014

Precursors (permalink)
Here's a precursor to how "some states inflate their books to make themselves look better" (Democracy and Leadership by Eric Thomas Weber, 2013), from Western Wilds and the Men Who Redeem Them by John Hanson Beadle, 1878.


The caption reads, "California agricultural report."
. . . read more from Precursors . . .


Something, Defined (permalink)
From Kayvan Novak's hilarious Fonejacker series 2 (unseen footage).




. . . read more from Something, Defined . . .


Restoring the Lost Sense (permalink)
An illustration from an 1887 issue of Frank Leslie's Pleasant Hours magazine.  The caption reads: "The story of a haunted room. —'In less time than I can take to write it, an unearthly vaporous fire spring from the wrist.'"


[Inexplicable images from generations ago invite us to restore the lost sense of immediacy.  We follow the founder of the Theater of Spontaneity, Jacob Moreno, who proposed stringing together "now and then flashes" to unfetter illusion and let imagination run free.  The images we have collected for this series came at a tremendous price, which we explained previously.]
. . . read more from Restoring the Lost Sense . . .


Is Today The Day? (permalink)
18
April 2014

“Today is the day to be really bold.”

—Robert T. Golembiewski, Cases in Public Management, 1980

From the outrageous to the inspirational to the hilarious, here’s a daily reminder to break out of the old grind and do something unexpected, for the fun, the challenge, or the heck of it.

If today simply isn’t your day, click here to have a different day.


Music Box Moment (permalink)
Do you deserve a nostalgic breather?  Through the delicate workings of the music box, even the most dramatic compositions seem to play only for you.  You’ll hear even a very familiar piece in a whole new way.  Courtesy of home recording pioneer Ken Clinger, here’s today’s music box selection.  It will sound surprisingly good even through built-in computer speakers, and it will cut through the ambient noise of the office without being distracting.

Featured in Today’s Music Box:
Hommage a Rameau (Debussy)
performed by Ken Clinger
If you could use another Music Box Moment, choose a piece:


There’s a Signpost Up Ahead (permalink)
One's life path is marked by crossroads and signposts.  If you are confronted with making a choice today, perhaps the signpost displayed here will help to characterize your situation and guide you to make a decision.  If you need more guidance, refresh this page for another symbol.  If both signs are the same, perhaps any choice will lead to the same outcome.

The signs are inspired by a system of symbols entitled "Spiritual Diagnosis," developed by Dr. Robert McNary of Montana.  Dr. McNary actually creates nine-faceted mandala charts for people and interprets the symbols with uncanny accuracy.  Dr. McNary's web site is RockyMountainAstrologer.com.
> view a larger version of your signpost . . .
Yesterday — April 17, 2014

Restoring the Lost Sense (permalink)
An illustration from Bill Nye's History of the United States (1894).  The caption reads: "Not paid their debts for years."


[Inexplicable images from generations ago invite us to restore the lost sense of immediacy.  We follow the founder of the Theater of Spontaneity, Jacob Moreno, who proposed stringing together "now and then flashes" to unfetter illusion and let imagination run free.  The images we have collected for this series came at a tremendous price, which we explained previously.]
. . . read more from Restoring the Lost Sense . . .


Restoring the Lost Sense (permalink)
"The Gymnastic Grammarian": an illustration from an 1884 issue of Puck magazine.  The caption reads: "He ought to be muzzled. —Every time he opens his mouth he puts his foot in it."


[Inexplicable images from generations ago invite us to restore the lost sense of immediacy.  We follow the founder of the Theater of Spontaneity, Jacob Moreno, who proposed stringing together "now and then flashes" to unfetter illusion and let imagination run free.  The images we have collected for this series came at a tremendous price, which we explained previously.]
. . . read more from Restoring the Lost Sense . . .


Restoring the Lost Sense (permalink)
An illustration from an 1877 issue of Little Wide Awake magazine.


[Inexplicable images from generations ago invite us to restore the lost sense of immediacy.  We follow the founder of the Theater of Spontaneity, Jacob Moreno, who proposed stringing together "now and then flashes" to unfetter illusion and let imagination run free.  The images we have collected for this series came at a tremendous price, which we explained previously.]
. . . read more from Restoring the Lost Sense . . .

April 16, 2014

Staring Into the Depths (permalink)
An illustration from Clear as the Noon Day by Ethel Penrose (1893).  The caption reads: "Paul tried to peer into the gathering darkness."


[The images we have collected for this series came at a tremendous price, which we explained previously.]
. . . read more from Staring Into the Depths . . .


Restoring the Lost Sense (permalink)
An illustration from an 1887 issue of Frank Leslie's Pleasant Hours magazine.  The caption reads: "'Will you not speak to me?' said the presence, softly.  I sprang to clasp her; only the air remained.  Still she was there!"


[Inexplicable images from generations ago invite us to restore the lost sense of immediacy.  We follow the founder of the Theater of Spontaneity, Jacob Moreno, who proposed stringing together "now and then flashes" to unfetter illusion and let imagination run free.  The images we have collected for this series came at a tremendous price, which we explained previously.]
. . . read more from Restoring the Lost Sense . . .


Only Funny If ... (permalink)
Chicken Road It's "funny only if you've lived it."
Rachel Lloyd, Girls Like Us (2011)
. . . read more from Only Funny If ... . . .

April 15, 2014

Unicorns (permalink)

Unicorn Sonnet, by Gary Barwin

I send you this email. I am no unicorn. You ask the number of my horns. A hundred? A thousand? Perhaps they are uncountable, considering body surface area and thickness. Needle-like, perhaps they mirror flesh in slivers, a silver aura of pixels or data points, a fiber optic network of breath or light.  Perhaps they are beams sent from the cemeteries of distant stars, or broad as trees, root you to the ground while reaching toward a rhizomatic sun. 

I reply: No, I have no horn. Unscrewed from my forehead, I keep it in my desk at work, my mother, father, sister, son. Springtime a shopping cart or unicorn, moving air and light in its chrome matrix. Soft familiar music from everywhere, winter, its white pelt & warm skin now also in a desk. I am no unicorn, but send this email. I am a spammer of friends and of feelings that bud like sticky leaves now unfolding.

. . . read more from Unicorns . . .



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