I don't like Mondas
(Right now I could do with pottering up to room 50 to blag a beer and have a chat.)
Oh, the timeless (in several senses) wonder of international travel. Gosh what an adventure it is. The US turns more and more into a parody of 'Brazil' with every new initiative to 'protect' someone's (clearly not mine) 'freedom'. This time some cyborged-up middle aged fellow gave me a receipt for two fingerprints and a picture. I was vaguely tempted to give him a receipt for the receipt he gave me, but the TSA staff generate some strange incredulity detection field such that if you even think quietly about Security Theatre, you're Disappeared.
Things keep falling into and out of my head. I wonder if it will stop?
I came home to two (two!) Bernd & Hilla Becher hardbacks. Typologies and Industrial forms. Happy shiny concrete and steel. Although not shiny, really. Dashed odd in most cases. Winding towers, for instance, of the sort one used to find atop coal-mines back when we had heavy industry in this country. English examples have a sturdy and Victorian iron latticework look about them. The US ones seem to be largely wooden climbing frames hammered together by wandering mobs of drunken tramps. The French versions all look like giant steam-powered accordion robots that have unexpectedly fallen asleep. Sometimes in the middle of the countryside, sometimes in the middle of a building. Always with a hat plonked at a jaunty angle upon their cast iron heads.
Travel really does broaden the mind, and usually in unexpected ways.
Other than that, hello Parasites.
Oh, the timeless (in several senses) wonder of international travel. Gosh what an adventure it is. The US turns more and more into a parody of 'Brazil' with every new initiative to 'protect' someone's (clearly not mine) 'freedom'. This time some cyborged-up middle aged fellow gave me a receipt for two fingerprints and a picture. I was vaguely tempted to give him a receipt for the receipt he gave me, but the TSA staff generate some strange incredulity detection field such that if you even think quietly about Security Theatre, you're Disappeared.
Things keep falling into and out of my head. I wonder if it will stop?
I came home to two (two!) Bernd & Hilla Becher hardbacks. Typologies and Industrial forms. Happy shiny concrete and steel. Although not shiny, really. Dashed odd in most cases. Winding towers, for instance, of the sort one used to find atop coal-mines back when we had heavy industry in this country. English examples have a sturdy and Victorian iron latticework look about them. The US ones seem to be largely wooden climbing frames hammered together by wandering mobs of drunken tramps. The French versions all look like giant steam-powered accordion robots that have unexpectedly fallen asleep. Sometimes in the middle of the countryside, sometimes in the middle of a building. Always with a hat plonked at a jaunty angle upon their cast iron heads.
Travel really does broaden the mind, and usually in unexpected ways.
Other than that, hello Parasites.