“I’m blind to all but a tenth of the universe.”
“What do you see?”
“The city… as if it were unborn. Rising into the sky with fingers of metal, limbs without flesh, girders without stone. Signs hanging without support. Wires dipping and swaying without poles. A city unborn. Flesh dissolved in an acid of light. A city of the dead.”
Stage One: An image is clearly a substitute or representation of something real. Stage Two: Distinguishing between image and reality is difficult but possible. Stage Three: There is no difference reality and representation.
Add your own code at your own pace.
The song “What is the Light?” comes from the album The Soft Bulletin by The Flaming Lips (1999).
We finally – ugh, the slings and arrows of everyday life – managed to kick off our mini-campaign of Fearful Symmetries last night. I’d better not say too much for fear of spoilers.
The heavens shall quake, the earth shall move & shudder & the mountains With all their woods, the streams & valleys: wail in dismal fear In the second “night”, the theme of women ruling is discussed but there is an emphasis on how the ability to create constricts them. Humanity is imprisoned by creation, and experience causes great pain…
Vala, or The Four Zoas
William Blake (1797-1807)
Alienist Hauke Greiner (57) and parapsychologist Emily Cheek (34) met Prophet of Albion James William Barnes (?-?) during last night’s session; a survivor, or one might say casualty, of our Bookhounds of London mini-campaign: they were moderately discommoded by finding him addressing the heavens from a box on Speaker’s Corner.
The PCs witnessed the maw of the sky run red, cozened a book scout and dowsed north-north-west from Oxford; Emily found herself upon a throne not of her choosing. Our ignorance of the work of William Blake runs fairly deep but it’s a chance to extemporize, and Innocence brings its own rewards.
Next week: witches. Yes, witches. Loves me some witches.
Some say it started with space, others with the congruence of science and discourse, others still with the allegories of Rosicrucianism, but I consider this the best essay on the genesis of science fiction ever written:
The region was created by major earthquakes, destroyed by the same propensity to seismic activity and its ancient civilisation – the same on which Plato may (or may not) have based the Atlantean descriptions in the dialogues of Timaeus and Critias – later exposed by the volcanism of the industrial age.
The seafront also reveals a familiar story: sixteen-hour working days. Guys piss in a bottle; girls run down to a public convenience at the risk of losing business. There’s no work in Athens.
Successful businesses – usually orchestrated by a matriarch around a grandfather and extended family – work flat-out for six months and then go away on holiday for the remaining six months of the year, during which almost the entire island is shut, including its supermarkets.
I’m not as down on capitalism as some – it creates surplus, and there are plenty of people in the world who could put the excess to good use – but I’m also of the more-or-less Marxist view that the values that underpin capitalism prevent the proper use of surplus. Every time something drastic happened to the community of the Cyclades, redevelopment occurred from the ground up: a common appetite for metallurgy informed its inception; buildings and cities were rebuilt by their inhabitants, or from donations from their military garrison by neighbours and relatives. Commerce was guided by mutual need.