Dürer’s “The Large Piece of Turf”.
“2n2 + 29 is prime for all values of n for 1 to 28.” — The Penguin Dictionary of Curious and Interesting Numbers, David Wells (1986).
• 31, 37, 47, 61, 79, 101, 127, 157, 191, 229, 271, 317, 367, 421, 479, 541, 607, 677, 751, 829, 911, 997, 1087, 1181, 1279, 1381, 1487, 1597.
Papyrocentric Performativity Presents:
• Plates from the Great – Shots from the Front: The British Soldier 1914-18, Richard Holmes (HarperPress 2008; paperback 2010)
• Math for the Mistress – A Mathematician’s Apology, G.H. Hardy (1940)
• Sinister Sinema – Scalarama: A Celebration of Subterranean Cinema at Its Sleazy, Slimy and Sinister Best, ed. Norman Foreman, B.A. (TransVisceral Books 2015)
• Rick Pickings – Lost, Stolen or Shredded: Stories of Missing Works of Art and Literature, Rick Gekoski (Profile Books 2013/2014)
• Slug is a Drug – Collins Complete Guide to British Coastal Wildlife, Paul Sterry and Andrew Cleave (HarperCollins 2012) (posted @ Overlord of the Über-Feral)
Or Read a Review at Random: RaRaR
“…par la suggestive lecture d’un ouvrage racontant de lointains voyages…” – J.K. Huysmans, À Rebours (1884).
The language you know best is also the language you know least: your mother tongue, the language you acquired by instinct and speak by intuition. Asking a native speaker to describe English, French or Quechua is rather like asking a fish to describe water. The native speaker, like the fish, knows the answer very intimately, yet in some ways doesn’t know as well as a non-native speaker. In other words, standing outside can help you better understand standing inside: there is good in the gap. What is it like to experience gravity? Like most humans, I’ve known all my life, but I’d know better if I were in orbit or en route to the moon, experiencing the absence of gravity.
And what is it like to be human? We all know and we’ve all read countless stories about other human beings. But in some ways they don’t answer that question as effectively as stories that push humanity to the margins, like Richard Adams’ Watership Down (1972), which is about rabbits, or Isaac Asimov’s The Gods Themselves (also 1972), which is about trisexual aliens in a parallel dimension. There is good in the gap, in stepping outside the familiar and looking back to see the familiar anew.
Continuing reading The Power of Babel…
“Our relationship with Saudi Arabia is vitally important for our country in terms of counter-terrorism, in terms of the broader Middle East, in terms of helping in respect of Israel and Palestine.” — Tony Blair hits back at criticism…, BBC News, 15/xii/2006.
I hope that nobody thinks I’m being racially prejudiced when I say that, much though I am fascinated by her, I do not find the Anglo-American academic Mikita Brottman physically attractive. It is her mind that has raised my longstanding interest, nothing more.
This is because, for me, Ms B is like a mirror that reverses not left and right, but male and female.
Obviously, we’re different in a lot of ways: I don’t smoke and I don’t have any tattoos, for example.
But there are big similarities too.
We were born in the same year (1956) and we were both keyly core contributors to seminal early issues of the transgressive journal Headpress Journal.
And we have various other things in common, like our mutually shared passion for corpse’n’cannibal cinema, our Glaswegian accents and (at different times) our season tickets for Hull Kingston Rovers.
So it is that, looking at Ms B, I have the uncanny experience of seeing myself as I might have been, had I been born female.
But it’s not just uncanny.
It’s horrifying at times too.
Okay, I’m comfortable with the idea that, born female, I would have been less intelligent and more conformist. So I don’t mind that Ms B is a Guardianista. Not particularly. I can face the fact that I would quite likely have been one of them too, as a female.
But there are worse things than being a Guardianista, believe it or not.
Ms B has a PhD in EngLit.
It’s not at all easy for me to face the fact that I might have had one too, as a female. It really isn’t. But how can I deny it? I might have. That despicable, deplorable, thoroughly disreputable subject might have attracted me. In fact, it would probably have attracted me.
But it gets worse still.
Ms B is a psychoanalyst.
Ach du lieber Gott!
See what I mean by “horrifying”?
I mean, even if I’d been born female I wouldn’t have sunk to such depths, would I? Would I? No, I have to face facts: I might. But I don’t think so. I have a feeling that there’s more to Brotty’s interest in Freud than her gender statusicity and her key commitment to core componency of the counter-cultural community.
But I’d better say no more. Verb sap.