Time Machine: Argot! (Prelude & Fugiens)
The dew [ros] keeps flowing this year, a good three weeks after the calendrical equinox should otherwise have rung the bell on the season. Naturally, I find this not only interesting but very funny. Weather is water's politics.
At one point memory training was as widespread
as piano lessons were recently -- or HTML today.
ON ONE QUESTION, people of all shades of enlightened XVIII Century opinion were agreed: they did not approve of fairy stories. The humble folk-tales had indeed been kept out of respectable print ever since printing began. In Tudor and Stuart times, the literate part of the population had looked on them as peasant crudities. The Puritans objected to them because they were untrue, frivolous and of dubious morality. To the Age of Reason they appeared uncouth and irrational [...] in general, anything that smacked of impossibility, absurdity, unbridled fancy was alien to XVIII Century ways of thought. The lady writers at the end of the century were at pains to dissociate themselves from the idea of any such license. Their literal-mindedness indeed could be formidable. Mary Jane Kilner, in her foreword to THE ADVENTURES OF A PINCUSHION (late 1780s), pointed out to her young readers that inanimate objects 'cannot be sensible of any thing which happens, as they can neither hear, see nor understand.'
"PARIS: 1968. Armand Barbault's government-funded
laboratory is closed down." [Do you believe that? TRAILER]
How old can he be? He says thirty-five. That seems surprising. He has white, curly hair, trimmed so as to look like a wig. Lots of deep wrinkles in a pink skin and full features. Few gestures, but slow, calculated and effective when he does make them. A calm, keen smile; eyes that laugh, but in a detached sort of way. Everything about him suggests another age. In conversation, highly articulate and completely self-possessed. Something of the sphinx behind that affable, timeless countenance. Incomprehensible. And this is not merely my personal impression. A.B., who sees him nearly every day, tells me he has never, for a second, found him lacking in a 'superior degree of objectivity.'
Hoodoos. Thought the matrix was full of mambos 'n' shit.
Wanna know something, Moll? They're right.
The XVIII Century, the reign of the aristocracy and of wit, of courtly priests, powdered marquises, bewigged gentlemen; that age, blessed with dancing-masters, madrigals and Watteau shepherdesses, that brilliant and perverse, frivolous and mannered century (which was to be submerged in blood) was particularly hostile to gothic works of art.
HOMAGE TO: Armand Barbault, Henri-Louis Jaquet-Droz, Alfred Chapuis, Charles Perrault, John Rowe Townsend ("Written for Children," ital1), Louis Pauwels (again, ital2), Joseph Knecht, Andrea Chen, Bill Gibson, Richard Wagner, CF Russell, J. Willard Gibbs, Roger Smith, Gordon Rosewater, Fulcanelli & the band.
At one point memory training was as widespread
as piano lessons were recently -- or HTML today.
ON ONE QUESTION, people of all shades of enlightened XVIII Century opinion were agreed: they did not approve of fairy stories. The humble folk-tales had indeed been kept out of respectable print ever since printing began. In Tudor and Stuart times, the literate part of the population had looked on them as peasant crudities. The Puritans objected to them because they were untrue, frivolous and of dubious morality. To the Age of Reason they appeared uncouth and irrational [...] in general, anything that smacked of impossibility, absurdity, unbridled fancy was alien to XVIII Century ways of thought. The lady writers at the end of the century were at pains to dissociate themselves from the idea of any such license. Their literal-mindedness indeed could be formidable. Mary Jane Kilner, in her foreword to THE ADVENTURES OF A PINCUSHION (late 1780s), pointed out to her young readers that inanimate objects 'cannot be sensible of any thing which happens, as they can neither hear, see nor understand.'
"PARIS: 1968. Armand Barbault's government-funded
laboratory is closed down." [Do you believe that? TRAILER]
How old can he be? He says thirty-five. That seems surprising. He has white, curly hair, trimmed so as to look like a wig. Lots of deep wrinkles in a pink skin and full features. Few gestures, but slow, calculated and effective when he does make them. A calm, keen smile; eyes that laugh, but in a detached sort of way. Everything about him suggests another age. In conversation, highly articulate and completely self-possessed. Something of the sphinx behind that affable, timeless countenance. Incomprehensible. And this is not merely my personal impression. A.B., who sees him nearly every day, tells me he has never, for a second, found him lacking in a 'superior degree of objectivity.'
Hoodoos. Thought the matrix was full of mambos 'n' shit.
Wanna know something, Moll? They're right.
The XVIII Century, the reign of the aristocracy and of wit, of courtly priests, powdered marquises, bewigged gentlemen; that age, blessed with dancing-masters, madrigals and Watteau shepherdesses, that brilliant and perverse, frivolous and mannered century (which was to be submerged in blood) was particularly hostile to gothic works of art.
HOMAGE TO: Armand Barbault, Henri-Louis Jaquet-Droz, Alfred Chapuis, Charles Perrault, John Rowe Townsend ("Written for Children," ital1), Louis Pauwels (again, ital2), Joseph Knecht, Andrea Chen, Bill Gibson, Richard Wagner, CF Russell, J. Willard Gibbs, Roger Smith, Gordon Rosewater, Fulcanelli & the band.