The emperor—it is said—sent to you, the one apart, the wretched subject, the tiny shadow that fled far, far from the imperial sun, precisely to you he sent a message from his deathbed. He bade the messenger kneel by his bed, and whispered the message in his ear. So greatly did he cherish it that he had him repeat it into his ear. With a nod of his head he confirmed the accuracy of the messenger’s words. And before the entire spectatorship of his death—all obstructing walls have been torn down and the great figures of the empire stand in a ring upon the broad, soaring exterior stairways—before all these he dispatched the messenger. The messenger set out at once; a strong, an indefatigable man; thrusting forward now this arm, now the other, he cleared a path though the crowd; every time he meets resistance he points to his breast, which bears the sign of the sun; and he moves forward easily, like no other. But the crowds are so vast; their dwellings know no bounds. If open country stretched before him, how he would fly, and indeed you might soon hear the magnificent knocking of his fists on your door. But instead, how uselessly he toils; he is still forcing his way through the chambers of the innermost palace; never will he overcome them; and were he to succeed at this, nothing would be gained: he would have to fight his way down the steps; and were he to succeed at this, nothing would be gained: he would have to cross the courtyard and, after the courtyard, the second enclosing outer palace, and again stairways and courtyards, and again a palace, and so on through thousands of years; and if he were to burst out at last through the outermost gate—but it can never, never happen—before him still lies the royal capital, the middle of the world, piled high in its sediment. Nobody reaches through here, least of all with a message from one who is dead. You, however, sit at your window and dream of the message when evening comes.

my favorite short story.

Andrew Wyeth, "Christina's World" (1948)

'...when Zeus had blasted and shattered his swift ship with a bright lightning bolt, out on the wine-dark sea...'

...

...And if some god should strike me, out on the wine-dark sea, I will endure it...

...

...and cast it far out onto the wine-dark sea...

why did homer describe the sea as 'wine dark' not once, not thrice, but dozens of times in the greek classic. isn't the sea obviously blue?

this simple question leads to thoughts on the role of language itself and how it shapes a society. could it be possible that our ability to perceive itself is molded by language? if we lack a word that encompasses a concept, can we become blind to the concept all together?

the visible spectrum

the visible spectrum is a...well, a spectrum. where we choose to say one color (yellow) and another (orange) begin is arbitrary. one culture can decide on a "larger" area as a singular color and another may differentiate and split regions into two (orange AND yellow). from a young age, we are taught to spot the difference. in essence, one culture could see "deeper" shades of red vs another.

in kay and berlin's work "basic color terms" (1969), the two researchers noticed that human cultures developed colors in a similar progression.

first comes the colors of black and white (all cultures have this).

once those two down, cultures acquire 'red' (probably for biological reasons).

then, if they have red, they can graduate to green or yellow.

next up, is blue for a lucky few societies.

then comes brown.

and off we go to purple, pink, gray...

it makes one wonder. if the greeks 'missed' a color so obvious as blue for the sky and sea, what obvious color/concept could we be missing?

PS

this subject reminds me of a scene in Kieślowski's Decalogue tv series wherein a college professor lectures his class on words and language. the only public video is spanish subtitled from polish. sorry (but so meta).

History doesn't repeat itself, but it does rhyme.

She never moved again. Next day, as the Ferris wheel was being taken apart and the race horses were being loaded into vans and the entertainers were packing up their belongings and driving away in their trailers, Charlotte died.

The Fair Grounds were soon deserted. The sheds and buildings were empty and forlorn. The infield was littered with bottles and trash. Nobody, of the hundreds of people that had visited the Fair, knew that a grey spider had played the most important part of all.

No one was with her when she died.

Thomas Jefferson still survives!

john adam, second united states president and founding father, meant these words as consolation, that the nation would continue under the stewardship of wise men.

unfortunately, thomas jefferson had died a few hours earlier.

both men died on the 4th of July.

It's the Second Law of Thermodynamics: sooner or later everything turns to shit.

all ignorance toboggans into know 
and trudges up to ignorance again: 
but winter's not forever,even snow 
melts;and if spring should spoil the game,what then?

all history's a winter sport or three: 
but were it five,i'd still insist that all 
history is too small for even me; 
for me and you,exceedingly too small.

Swooop (Shrill collective myth) into thy grave 
merely to toil the scale to shrillerness 
per every madge and mabel dick and dave 
--tomorrow is our permanent address

and there's they'll scarcely find us (if they do, 
we'll move away still further: into now 

"What kind of people just sit like that, without a word to say to each other?"

"Why, I think we just found ourselves a transformah!"

Nature does not know extinction; all it knows is transformation.

He thought that on the ship he could come to some terms with sorrow, not knowing, yet, that there are no terms to be made with sorrow. It can be cured by death and it can be blunted or anesthetized by various things. Time is supposed to cure it, too. But if it is cured by anything less than death, the chances are that it was not true sorrow.

You never had a camera in my head.

Scientific journals occasionally publish exchanges, often beginning with someone's critique of another's research, followed by a reply and a rejoinder. I have always thought these exchanges a waste of time. Especially when the original critique is sharply worded, the reply and the rejoinder are often exercises in what I have called sarcasm for beginners and advanced sarcasm.

Pablo Picasso, "Guernica" (1937)

prior to the start of world war two, germany and italy practiced many of their modern aerial bombing tactics against the civilian spanish population during their civil war (at the request of fascist spanish side).

one of these bombings was carried out in the spanish town of guernica. the famous painting above is meant to invoke the horrors and intensity of that event.

legend tells of a german officer who pointed to a picture of the guernica painting and asked picasso himself, "Did you do this?"

No. You did.

....

The world is a beautiful place
to be born into
if you don't mind some people dying
all the time
or maybe only starving
some of the time
which isn't half bad
if it isn't you 

...

Architecture is frozen music.

There's only one rule that I know of, babies -"God damn it, you've got to be kind.”

two reasons why this speech is noteworthy.

first, it is a textbook definition of irony, one of the most misused words in the english language. marc anthony's "praise" of brutus is clearly anything but.

the second is because it is easy to forget that shakespeare is meant to be performed out loud, by actual living artists. the speech's true intent and meaning is savored best when spoken by professional actors whose talents and passion bring the words to life, not read quietly in classrooms in the echoless locked box of our minds.

Raising a flag over the Reichstag (1945)

this iconic photo taken at the end of the second world war shows the soviet flag flying over the remains of berlin, the fallen nazi capital. this photo circulated world wide as it became a symbol of a devastated foe.

but interestingly enough this photo was heavily doctored for public relations reasons.

in the original photograph the soldier on the bottom right is actually wearing two watches, one on each arm. however, joseph stalin did not like the implication of showing the heroic soviet soldier with two watches, as it implied the soldier had probably stolen and looted the jewelry. not the hallmark of a hero.

so, they kicked up the smoke and using photographic trickery removed the watch.