Albrecht Dürer, Das große Rasenstück (1503)
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.
Elsewhere other-posted:
• Prime Time #1
• Poulet’s Propellor — Musings on Math and Mathculinity
• La Spirale è Mobile
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.
Elsewhere other-posted:
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.
Honest.
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.
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.
<retch>
But it gets worse still.
Ms B is a psychoanalyst.
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.
“The study of mathematics is the indispensable basis for all intellectual and spiritual progress.” — F.M. Cornford (1874-1943) quoted in The Sacred in Music (see also Pythagoreanism).
• Multi eorum, qui fuerant curiosa sectati, contulerant Libros et combusserunt coram omnibus. — Actus Apostolorum, xix, 19.
• Many of them also which used curious arts brought their books together, and burned them before all men. — The Acts of the Apostles, 19:19.
Challenger chopped and changed. That is to say, in one important respect, Arthur Conan Doyle’s character Professor Challenger lacked continuity. His philosophical views weren’t consistent. At one time he espoused materialism, at another he opposed it. He espoused it in “The Land of Mist” (1927):
“Don’t tell me, Daddy, that you with all your complex brain and wonderful self are a thing with no more life hereafter than a broken clock!”
“Four buckets of water and a bagful of salts,” said Challenger as he smilingly detached his daughter’s grip. “That’s your daddy, my lass, and you may as well reconcile your mind to it.”
But earlier, in “The Poison Belt” (1913), he had opposed it:
“No, Summerlee, I will have none of your materialism, for I, at least, am too great a thing to end in mere physical constituents, a packet of salts and three bucketfuls of water. Here ― here” ― and he beat his great head with his huge, hairy fist ― “there is something which uses matter, but is not of it ― something which might destroy death, but which death can never destroy.”
That story was published just over a century ago, but Challenger’s boast has not been vindicated in the meantime. So far as science can see, matter rules mind, not vice versa. Conan Doyle thought the same as the earlier Challenger, but Conan Doyle’s rich and teeming brain seems to have ended in “mere physical constituents”. To all appearances, when the organization of his brain broke down, so did his consciousness. And that concluded the cycle described by A.E. Housman in “Poem XXXII” of A Shropshire Lad (1896):
From far, from eve and morning
And yon twelve-winded sky,
The stuff of life to knit me
Blew hither: here am I.Now – for a breath I tarry
Nor yet disperse apart –
Take my hand quick and tell me,
What have you in your heart.Speak now, and I will answer;
How shall I help you, say;
Ere to the wind’s twelve quarters
I take my endless way. (ASL, XXXII)
Continue reading This Mortal Doyle…
<gag> The Evil White Male. <retch> When will Persons of Color, Persons of Wombyn-ness, Persons of LGBT-ity, Persons of All Alternative Ontologies finally succeed in cleansing the world of his tenebrose toxicity? When will the Rainbow Days of Equality, Justice and Harmony begin? When will his uncountable victims truly be able to say: “Free at last! Free at last! Thank the Lady Almighty, we are free at last!”?
Not soon enough. In the meantime, the E.W.M./Yoom continues to pollute the so-called white-male-invented so-called Internet with his foulness and fetidity. But most depraved, deplorable and despicable of all are those occasions when one Yoom “celebrates” the work of another Yoom.
A case in point:
• Cosmic Horror – Howard Phillips Lovecraft (1890–1937)
“Unspeakable” is not the word. (If it were, then it wouldn’t be “unspeakable”, would it?)
Previously pre-posted (please peruse):
