Governing sense, mind and intellect, intent on liberation, free from desire, fear and anger, the sage is forever free.

Bhagavad Gita

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pearlisticdimensionz.wordpress.com/2019/09/17/style-it-29...

Parents are channeling their kids these days…I'm see a lot of bettering of the intellect…but I'm not seeing a lot of bettering of their spirituality.

How many can appreciate the repose of soul, resignation and silence of Jesus that is illustrated by the great Ariel Agemian above.

A ancient mob cries,

"If you release this man, you are no friend of Caesar; for everyone who makes himself a king sets himself against Caesar!"

That mob of 2,000 years ago takes many forms today.

Jesus, imprisoned then...and imprisoned now.

Silence, at so many levels, becomes the ultimate revolt against the vast climate of evil that surrounds us...and that Christian act of justified witholding disturbs the "peace" of the pagan.

The residents of the Secular City eventually come seeking affirmation from the City of God.

Of course, none is given.

At times, limited forms of affirmation may be given. For some of the actual good that is being done in that city.

But many times none is given. Just silence.

Ix-nays.

Now it should suprise no one that eventually that sort of milieu leads to reprisals against the City of God, by the secular crowd. Often violent.

Or in Canada...false Human Rights Tribunals that punish a person for publically living out his faith.

Whenever religion is supressed, like it is in North America, especially Christianity, look for the communist. Or the secular humanist. In a free society...they're always behind the scenes pushing their "neutral" atheistic agenda. And persecuting Christians along the way.

See folks, times haven't changed.

© Imitation of Christ, Thomas à Kempis, Confraternity of the Precious Blood

(Original artwork reworked, colourized, text and border added by me.)

One of the most significant attractions along the Tidal Basin actually drew scorn when it was first proposed on this site as it meant the removal of numerous cherry trees. This monument, further mocked via its nickname of “Jefferson’s muffin,” was dedicated to the third president of the United States who was also an avid architect, philosopher, inventor and intellect (speaking five languages)—Thomas Jefferson.

The Jefferson Memorial is a domed shape building that is actually based upon a structure of Jefferson’s own design. The architect, John Russell Pope, paid the ultimate tribute to Jefferson by integrating a similar rotunda in his design to the one Jefferson had created at the University of Virginia. The rotunda rests atop a rounded colonnade that features tall Ionic columns gracing its front façade. The building is largely constructed of white marble that was quarried from mines in Vermont along with Georgia granite, Tennessee marble and Indiana limestone.

Pope has designed a number of other buildings of note within Washington D.C., but less for a weak stomach, may have entered another field of study. Planning to attend John Hopkins University in Baltimore to study medicine, he decided he didn’t have the stomach for it after sitting in on a medical procedure. He shifted his focus to architecture where he would later get a degree from Columbia University in 1894. His other well recognized buildings in D.C. include the House of the Temple (1915), the National Archives Building (1935) and the West Building of the National Gallery of Art (1941).

Unfortunately Pope passed away in 1937, just two years prior to construction beginning on the Jefferson Memorial. Oversight would fall onto the shoulders of Daniel P. Higgins and Otto R. Eggers to ensure Pope’s design was faithfully implemented. The cornerstone for the building (an eleven-ton piece of Vermont marble) was laid on November 15, 1939 with a copy of some of Jefferson’s most famous writings including the Declaration of Independence and the U.S. Constitution. The monument was formally dedicated on April 13, 1943, Jefferson’s two-hundredth birthday. Leading the dedication was President Franklin Delano Roosevelt.

One member, or element, that was missing at the dedication is the famous nineteen foot, five ton bronze statue that currently graces the interior of the monument. The statue by Rudolph Evans had not been fully completed and thus a plaster version (painted as if to look like bronze) had to be installed temporarily. The delay had been largely driven by a material shortage due to World War II.

Rudolph was awarded the commission for the statue of Thomas Jefferson in 1941. His design was selected out of one-hundred one entries. The final statue which Rudolph designed was cast in New York by the Roman Bronze Company and installed in 1947.

The statue features Jefferson standing stoically with a copy of the Declaration of Independence clutched within his left hand. The long jacket he appears to be wearing was supposedly a gift from his dear friend and fellow patriot Tadeusz Kosciuszko.

Surrounding Jefferson are five quotations from some of his most memorable writings. In 1972 a transcript error was noted by a professor from Northwestern University on a quotation taken from the Declaration of Independence. This quote located along the southwestern wall contains the word “inalienable” in lieu of “unalienable” as drafted on the Declaration of Independence.

Also worthy of note around the memorial is a marble pediment that resides just above the main entryway on the north side. The pediment is titled The Drafting of the Declaration of Independence and was sculpted by Adolph A. Weinman in 1943. Amongst the famous faces you will see include the likes of Mr. Jefferson along with Benjamin Franklin and John Adams.

For more history regarding this site, including how you can visit this locale via one of our MP3 audio walking tours, check out our site here: iwalkedaudiotours.com/2012/07/iwalked-washington-d-c-%E2%...

.

The mind, intellect, ego and mind are not I, nor are the ears in the tongue, nor the sense of smell in the eyes

Neither sky nor earth nor fire nor air: I am the form of the bliss of consciousness, I am Shiva, I am Shiva

I am neither the mind, nor the intellect, nor the ego, nor the consciousness

I am neither ears, nor tongue, nor nose, nor eyes

I am neither sky, nor earth, nor fire, nor air

I am pure consciousness, eternal, infinite Shiva

There is no life-force, nor the five airs, nor the seven elements, nor the five cells.

Neither speech, hands, feet, nor the air in the abdomen, I am the form of the bliss of consciousness: I am Shiva, I am Shiva

I am neither the life force nor the five airs

I am not the seven metals,

Nor am I five dictionaries

I am neither speech, nor feet, nor hands nor the senses of excretion

I am pure consciousness, eternal, infinite Shiva

I have no hatred, no passion, no greed, no delusion, no intoxication, no envy:

I am neither Dharma nor Artha nor desire nor liberation; I am the form of the bliss of consciousness; I am auspicious

I have no hatred, no attachment, no greed and no delusion

I am neither proud nor jealous

I am beyond religion, wealth, desire and salvation

I am pure consciousness, eternal, infinite Shiva

No merit, no sin, no happiness, no suffering, no mantra, no holy place, no Vedas, no sacrifices:

I am the food, not the eatable, nor the enjoyer; I am the form of the bliss of consciousness: I am Shiva, I am Shiva

I am different from virtue, sin, happiness and

I am neither mantra, nor shrine, nor knowledge, nor sacrifice

I am neither the object of enjoyment, nor the experience of enjoyment, nor the enjoyer

I am pure consciousness, eternal, infinite Shiva

I have no doubt of death, I have no caste: I have no father, I have no mother, I have no birth:

I am neither a friend nor a friend, nor a teacher nor a disciple; I am the form of the bliss of consciousness; I am auspicious

I have no fear of death, nor do I discriminate against any caste

I have no father or mother, nor was I ever born

I have no brother, no friend, no disciple and no teacher

I am pure consciousness, eternal, infinite Shiva

I am the formless, formless, and omnipotent everywhere of all the senses

Neither is there any association, nor liberation, nor Maya: I am the form of the bliss of consciousness, I am Shiva, I am Shiva

I am nirvikalpa, I am formless

I pervade every place as consciousness, I am in all the senses

I have no attachment to anything and I am not free from it

I am pure consciousness, eternal, infinite Shiva

.

จิตใจ สติปัญญา อัตตา และจิตใจไม่ใช่ฉัน หูอยู่ในลิ้น หรือกลิ่นในตาไม่ใช่ฉัน

ไม่ใช่ทั้งฟ้า ดิน ไฟ หรืออากาศ ฉันเป็นรูปร่างแห่งความสุขแห่งจิตสำนึก ฉันคือพระศิวะ ฉันคือพระศิวะ

ฉันไม่ใช่ทั้งจิตใจ หรือสติปัญญา หรืออัตตา หรือจิตสำนึก

ฉันไม่ใช่หูหรือลิ้นหรือจมูกหรือตา

ฉันไม่ใช่ทั้งฟ้า ดิน หรือไฟ หรืออากาศ

ฉันเป็นจิตสำนึกอันบริสุทธิ์ นิรันดร์ พระอิศวรอันไม่มีสิ้นสุด

ไม่มีพลังชีวิต หรือลมทั้งห้า หรือธาตุทั้งเจ็ด หรือทั้งห้าเซลล์

ไม่ว่าคำพูด มือ เท้า หรืออากาศในท้อง ฉันเป็นความสุขแห่งจิตสำนึก ฉันคือพระศิวะ ฉันคือพระศิวะ

ฉันไม่ใช่ทั้งพลังชีวิตหรือลมทั้งห้า

ฉันไม่ใช่โลหะทั้งเจ็ด

และฉันก็ไม่ใช่พจนานุกรมห้าเล่ม

ข้าพระองค์ไม่ใช่ทั้งคำพูด เท้า หรือมือ หรือประสาทสัมผัสแห่งการขับถ่าย

ฉันเป็นจิตสำนึกอันบริสุทธิ์ นิรันดร์ พระอิศวรอันไม่มีสิ้นสุด

ข้าพเจ้าไม่มีความเกลียดชัง ไม่มีราคะ ไม่มีโลภ ไม่มีความหลง ไม่มีความมึนเมา ไม่มีริษยา

ข้าพเจ้าไม่ใช่ธรรมะหรืออาถรรพ์หรือความปรารถนาหรือความหลุดพ้น ข้าพเจ้าเป็นความสุขแห่งจิตสำนึก

ฉันไม่มีความเกลียดชัง ไม่มีความผูกพัน ไม่มีความโลภ และไม่มีความหลง

ฉันไม่ภูมิใจหรืออิจฉา

ฉันอยู่เหนือศาสนา ความมั่งคั่ง ความปรารถนา และความรอด

ฉันเป็นจิตสำนึกอันบริสุทธิ์ นิรันดร์ พระอิศวรอันไม่มีสิ้นสุด

ไม่มีบุญ ไม่มีบาป ไม่มีความสุข ไม่มีความทุกข์ ไม่มีมนต์ ไม่มีสถานที่ศักดิ์สิทธิ์ ไม่มีพระเวท ไม่มีเครื่องบูชา:

ฉันเป็นอาหาร ไม่ใช่สิ่งที่กินได้ ฉันเป็นรูปแบบของความสุขแห่งจิตสำนึก ฉันคือพระอิศวร ฉันคือพระศิวะ

ฉันแตกต่างจากคุณธรรม บาป ความสุข และ

ฉันไม่ใช่มนต์หรือเทวสถานหรือความรู้หรือการเสียสละ

ฉันไม่ใช่เป้าหมายของความเพลิดเพลิน หรือประสบการณ์ของความเพลิดเพลิน หรือผู้เพลิดเพลิน

ฉันเป็นจิตสำนึกอันบริสุทธิ์ นิรันดร์ พระอิศวรอันไม่มีสิ้นสุด

ฉันไม่สงสัยในความตาย ฉันไม่มีวรรณะ ฉันไม่มีพ่อ ฉันไม่มีแม่ ฉันไม่มีการเกิด

ฉันไม่ใช่ทั้งเพื่อนและเพื่อนหรือครูหรือลูกศิษย์ฉันเป็นความสุขแห่งจิตสำนึก

ฉันไม่กลัวความตาย และไม่เลือกปฏิบัติต่อชนชั้นวรรณะใดๆ

ฉันไม่มีพ่อหรือแม่ และฉันก็ไม่เคยเกิดมาด้วย

ฉันไม่มีพี่ชาย ไม่มีเพื่อน ไม่มีลูกศิษย์ และไม่มีอาจารย์

ฉันเป็นจิตสำนึกอันบริสุทธิ์ นิรันดร์ พระอิศวรอันไม่มีสิ้นสุด

ฉันเป็นผู้ไม่มีรูปร่าง ไร้รูปร่าง และมีอำนาจทุกอย่างในทุกแห่งของประสาทสัมผัสทั้งหมด

ไม่มีการสมาคมใด ๆ หรือการหลุดพ้น หรือมายา ฉันเป็นรูปแบบของความสุขแห่งจิตสำนึก ฉันคือพระศิวะ ฉันคือพระศิวะ

ฉันคือนิรวิกัลปะ ฉันไม่มีรูปร่าง

ฉันแผ่ซ่านไปทุกแห่งหนเป็นจิตสำนึก ฉันอยู่ในประสาทสัมผัสทั้งหมด

ฉันไม่มีความผูกพันกับสิ่งใดๆ และฉันก็ไม่ได้เป็นอิสระจากมัน

ฉันเป็นจิตสำนึกอันบริสุทธิ์ นิรันดร์ พระอิศวรอันไม่มีสิ้นสุด

"...the intellect unfolds its principle powers in dissimulation....This art of dissimulation reaches its peak in man.Deception, flattering,lying,deluding,talking behind the back, putting up a false front,living in borrowed splendor,wearing a mask,hiding behind convention,playing a role for others and for oneself-in short, a continous fluttering among the solitary flame of vanity-is so much the rule and the law among men that there is almost nothing which is less comprehensible than how an honest and pure drive for truth could have arisen among them."

Friedrich Nietzsche-"On Truth and Lies in a Nonmoral Sense"

It seems to me that as soon as we immerse into life, or better to say as soon as we gain awareness of the existence of a metaphysical,intangible world, we learn there is no "happily ever after" and I wonder is it our endless vanity or the genuine discontent with the world we belong to ?

Perhaps neither of them ,as nothing seems to be good enough for us , enough fulfilling , satisfying once we build incommensurably high ideals ahead of us.

Should it be as iwasfixin2 said,the drive for the pure truth , for the orthe doxes has arisen on one hand as a means of defense against the threatening lies and boycotts , whilst on the other by seeking to fight back using the very same weapons : the art of dissimulation ( in the picture symbolised by the mask)-which is partly due to out great impossibility to communicate exhaustively-and its most important consequence, the act of manipulating ,the desperate try of extending our influence upon the others, nearly insanely brainwashing them (the apple).

You may not need either awareness or intellect for all that ,though,because this is precisely what defines us best, a matter of existence, a principle of self-conservation.

First published in the U.K in 1935, "Odd John" by philosopher and author Olaf Stapledon has been reprinted many times and is a highly regarded science fiction novel. It introduced the concept of “Homo superior,” a term that has since become a staple in science fiction. The story explores themes of evolution, intelligence, and morality, presenting John Wainwright as a superhuman whose advanced intellect and abilities set him apart from ordinary humans.

At the time of its publication in 1935, the idea of a superior human species was not new. However, Stapledon’s approach was unique in its philosophical depth and its exploration of the ethical implications of such a being’s existence.

John Wainwright is a fascinating and complex character. While his intelligence is extraordinary, his personality is far from conventional. He is often described as vain, amoral, and highly manipulative. His advanced intellect makes him feel detached from ordinary humans, and he does not adhere to conventional morality. Instead, he follows a personal code that is beyond human understanding.

John is also skilled in the art of seduction and manipulation, effortlessly influencing those around him. He views Homo sapiens as inferior, which leads him to act in ways that might seem cold or even ruthless. His relationships with others are often transactional—he uses people for his own purposes rather than forming deep emotional bonds.

Despite these traits, John is not entirely unlikable. His charisma and brilliance make him compelling, and his philosophical musings add depth to his character. However, his detachment and superiority complex prevent him from being truly relatable or sympathetic in a traditional sense. He is neither a traditional hero nor a villain. His character challenges readers to reconsider what it means to be "superior" and whether such beings can truly coexist with humanity.

[Sources: Wikipedia, ScienceFictionClassics.com, and WriteUps.org]

[Note: Modern depictions of superhuman intelligence have evolved significantly since “Odd John.” Today, the concept is often explored through artificial intelligence rather than biological evolution. AI surpassing human intelligence raises ethical and existential questions like those in Stapledon’s novel.]

Photographer: Valery Latypov www.valerylatypov.com/

VYACHESLAV USHENIN / CEO of the IT company Global Intellect Service

CEO of the IT company Global Intellect Service (GIS). GIS develops the UDS Game — complex business solutions aimed at mobile apps and innovative instruments for the client’s loyalty management. Today more than 30000 businessmen and more than 3000000 users from 46 countries from all over the world are listed in UDS Game.

OST- E-Town Concrete ,First Born-

am I wrong because I made dumb mistakes?

how could I let them take your breath away?

would your face look just like my face?

now you're gone. erased.

one more sleepless night. intellect vs. emotion.

my heart points in one direction but my mind still chose another.

be strong. be strong for the life that's lost. be strong for the others.

be strong for the life that's lost because here will be no other.

I wonder who you could have been. eraser....erased.

no more sleepless nights. the darkness opens my eyes to the light.

don't waste your time w/ mixed emotions... stick w/ your decision.

I'm strong. I'm strong for the life that's lost. I'm strong for the others.

I'm strong for the life that's lost because there will be no other.

Picture a little seed looking just like me, growing up in straight up

poverty. cope w/o necessities. eventually resenting me for the way

that things turned out to be. hell no, that shouldn't be. ya'll niggas don't

know me, ain't shit that ya'll could show me. word is bond I done been

through it all before. see, throughout my 18 years I have seen things

most of ya'll wouldn't even dream, never mind believe. so don't come

to me withyour speeches on how things could be, because

I've already seen it. believe that.

NOVEMBER "Niah Diamond Choker"

FABRIXQUARE "Justice Braids"

VERSOV "HABLOV_EYEWEAR"

GRAILED "Abzorb Trainers"

MAJESTY "Slouchy Socks"

FLAUNT "Ani Rings"

MEMOIRE "Var Bag Frais"

VEX "Ava Baggy Shirt yellow"

VEX "Lia Baggy Joggers"

It is not often that I get to actually meet one of my Flickr friends. Nocturnal.Intellect is actually someone I have know from the Yahoo 360 days when she used to blog and I actually read. She used to live in the Phoenix area and comes back every year for a visit. We had a chance to get together in Scottsdale before she and Dean headed out on a few days of sightseeing.

This photo I guess is one of those classic snapshots, me photographing Dean photographing Nocternal.Intellect (not her real name) next to one interesting sign. Nothing like sipping a margarita while getting a manicure.

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Celastraceae (staff vine or bittersweet family) » Celastrus paniculatus

see-LAS-trus -- from the ancient Greek kelastros, the name of another tree

pan-ick-yoo-LAY-tus or pan-ick-yoo-LAH-tus -- referring to the flower clusters (panicles)

commonly known as: black-oil plant, celastrus, oriental bittersweet, intellect tree, staff tree • Bengali: kijri, malkangani • Gujarati: માલકંગના malkangana • Hindi: मालकंगनी malkangani • Kannada: ಭವಮ್ಗ bhavamga, ಜೊತಿಷ್ಮತಿ jotishmati, ಕರಿಗನ್ನೇ kariganne, ಕೊಉಗಿಲು kougilu • Konkani: माळकांगोणी malkangoni • Marathi: कांगुणी kanguni, माळकांगोणी malkangoni • Oriya: korsana, pengu • Sanskrit: अलवण alavan, ज्योतिषमति jyotishmati, कन्गु kangu • Tamil: குவரிகுண்டல் kuvarikuntal, மண்ணைக்கட்டி mannai-k-katti, வாலுளுவை valuluvai • Telugu: కాసరతీగె kasara-tige, మానెరు maneru • Urdu: کنگني مال malkanguni

Native to: India, China, Sri Lanka, south-east Asia

References: Flowers of India • Sahyadri Database • ENVIS - FRLHT • eFlora

I've always had a thing for glasses - even though my sight is actually fine - so I thought I would try out a cute librarian meets flamenco dancer look, matching the glasses and hair with my baby blue Dotti party dress that swayed around my hips and barely covered my bum as I had a dance in the living room!

youtu.be/KcPcJ9ycEu4?t=2m22s Full Feature

Curse of the Demon / Night of the Demon

Columbia TriStar Home Entertainment

1957/58 / B&W / 1:78 anamorphic 16:9 / 82, 95 min. / Street Date August 13, 2002 / $24.95

Starring Dana Andrews, Peggy Cummins, Niall MacGinnis, Maurice Denham, Athene Seyler

Cinematography Ted Scaife

Production Designer Ken Adam

Special Effects George Blackwell, S.D. Onions, Wally Veevers

Film Editor Michael Gordon

Original Music Clifton Parker

Written by Charles Bennett and Hal E. Chester from the story Casting the Runes by Montague R. James

Produced by Frank Bevis, Hal E. Chester

Directed by Jacques Tourneur

Reviewed by Glenn Erickson

Savant champions a lot of genre movies but only infrequently does one appear like Jacques Tourneur's superlative Curse of the Demon. It's simply better than the rest -- an intelligent horror film with some very good scares. It occupies a stylistic space that sums up what's best in ghost stories and can hold its own with most any supernatural film ever made. Oh, it's also a great entertainment that never fails to put audiences at the edge of their seats.

What's more, Columbia TriStar has shown uncommon respect for their genre output by including both versions of Curse of the Demon on one disc. Savant has full coverage on the versions and their restoration below, following his thorough and analytical (read: long-winded and anal) coverage of the film itself.

Synopsis:

Dr. John Holden (Dana Andrews), a scientist and professional debunker of superstitious charlatans, arrives in England to help Professor Henry Harrington (Maurice Denham) assault the phony cult surrounding Dr. Julian Karswell (Niall McGinnis). But Harrington has mysteriously died and Holden becomes involved with his niece Joanna (Peggy Cummins), who thinks Karswell had something to do with it. Karswell's 'tricks' confuse the skeptical Holden, but he stubbornly holds on to his conviction that he's " ... not a sucker, like 90% of the human race." That is, until the evidence mounts that Harrington was indeed killed by a demon summoned from Hell, and that Holden is the next intended victim!

The majority of horror films are fantasies in which we accept supernatural ghosts, demons and monsters as part of a deal we've made with the authors: they dress the fantasy in an attractive guise and arrange the variables into an interesting pattern, and we agree to play along for the sake of enjoyment. When it works the movies can resonate with personal meaning. Even though Dracula and Frankenstein are unreal, they are relevant because they're aligned with ideas and themes in our subconscious.

Horror films that seriously confront the no-man's land between rational reality and supernatural belief have a tough time of it. Everyone who believes in God knows that the tug o' war between rationality and faith in our culture has become so clogged with insane belief systems it's considered impolite to dismiss people who believe in flying saucers or the powers of crystals or little glass pyramids. One of Dana Andrews' key lines in Curse of the Demon, defending his dogged skepticism against those urging him to have an open mind, is his retort, "If the world is a dark place ruled by Devils and Demons, we all might as well give up right now." Curse of the Demon balances itself between skepticism and belief with polite English manners, letting us have our fun as it lays its trap. We watch Andrews roll his eyes and scoff at the feeble séance hucksters and the dire warnings of a foolish-looking necromancer. Meanwhile, a whole dark world of horror sneaks up on him. The film's intelligent is such that we're not offended by its advocacy of dark forces or even its literal, in-your-face demon.

The remarkable Curse of the Demon was made in England for Columbia but is gloriously unaffected by that company's zero-zero track record with horror films. Producer Hal E. Chester would seem an odd choice to make a horror classic after producing Joe Palooka films and acting as a criminal punk in dozens of teen crime movies. The obvious strong cards are writer Charles Bennett, the brains behind several classic English Hitchcock pictures (who 'retired' into meaningless bliss writing for schlockmeister Irwin Allen) and Jacques Tourneur, a master stylist who put Val Lewton on the map with Cat People and I Walked With a Zombie. Tourneur made interesting Westerns (Canyon Passage, Great Day in the Morning) and perhaps the most romantic film noir, Out of the Past. By the late '50s he was on what Andrew Sarris in his American Film called 'a commercial downgrade'. The critic lumped Curse of the Demon with low budget American turkeys like The Fearmakers. 1

Put Tourneur with an intelligent script, a decent cameraman and more than a minimal budget and great things could happen. We're used to watching Corman Poe films, English Hammer films and Italian Bavas and Fredas, all the while making excuses for the shortcomings that keep them in the genre ghetto (where they all do quite well, thank you). There's even a veiled resentment against upscale shockers like The Innocents that have resources (money, time, great actors) denied our favorite toilers in the genre realm. Curse of the Demon is above all those considerations. It has name actors past their prime and reasonable production values. Its own studio (at least in America) released it like a genre quickie, double-billed with dreck like The Night the World Exploded and The Giant Claw. They cut it by 13 minutes, changed its title (to ape The Curse of Frankenstein?) and released a poster featuring a huge, slavering demon monster that some believe was originally meant to be barely glimpsed in the film itself. 2

Horror movies can work on more than one level but Curse of the Demon handles several levels and then some. The narrative sets up John Holden as a professional skeptic who raises a smirking eyebrow to the open minds of his colleagues. Unlike most second-banana scientists in horror films, they express divergent points of view. Holden just sees himself as having common sense but his peers are impressed by the consistency of demonological beliefs through history. Maybe they all saw Christensen's Witchcraft through the Ages, which might have served as a primer for author Charles Bennett. Smart dialogue allows Holden to score points by scoffing at the then-current "regression to past lives" scam popularized by the Bridey Murphy craze. 3 While Holden stays firmly rooted to his position, coining smart phrases and sarcastic put-downs of believers, the other scientists are at least willing to consider alternate possibilities. Indian colleague K.T. Kumar (Peter Elliott) keeps his opinion to himself. But when asked, he politely states that he believes entirely in the world of demons! 4

Holden may think he has the truth by the tail but it takes Kindergarten teacher Joanna Harrington (Peggy Cummins of Gun Crazy fame) to show him that being a skeptic doesn't mean ignoring facts in front of one's face. Always ready for a drink (a detail added to tailor the part to Andrews?), Holden spends the first couple of reels as interested in pursuing Miss Harrington, as he is the devil-worshippers. The details and coincidences pile up with alarming speed -- the disappearing ink untraceable by the lab, the visual distortions that might be induced by hypnosis, the pages torn from his date book and the parchment of runic symbols. Holden believes them to be props in a conspiracy to draw him into a vortex of doubt and fear. Is he being set up the way a Voodoo master cons his victim, by being told he will die, with fabricated clues to make it all appear real? Holden even gets a bar of sinister music stuck in his head. It's the title theme -- is this a wicked joke on movie soundtracks?

Speak of the Devil...

This brings us to the wonderful character of Julian Karswell, the kiddie-clown turned multi-millionaire cult leader. The man who launched Alfred Hitchcock as a maker of sophisticated thrillers here creates one of the most interesting villains ever written, one surely as good as any of Hitchcock's. In the short American cut Karswell is a shrewd games-player who shows Holden too many of his cards and finally outsmarts himself. The longer UK cut retains the full depth of his character.

Karswell has tapped into the secrets of demonology to gain riches and power, yet he tragically recognizes that he is as vulnerable to the forces of Hell as are the cowering minions he controls through fear. Karswell's coven means business. It's an entirely different conception from the aesthetic salon coffee klatch of The Seventh Victim, where nothing really supernatural happens and the only menace comes from a secret society committing new crimes to hide old ones.

Karswell keeps his vast following living in fear, and supporting his extravagant lifestyle under the idea that Evil is Good, and Good Evil. At first the Hobart Farm seems to harbor religious Christian fundamentalists who have turned their backs on their son. Then we find out that they're Karswell followers, living blighted lives on cursed acreage and bled dry by their cultist "leader." Karswell's mum (Athene Seyler) is an inversion of the usual insane Hitchcock mother. She lovingly resists her son's philosophy and actively tries to help the heroes. That's in the Night version, of course. In the shorter American cut she only makes silly attempts to interest Joanna in her available son and arranges for a séance. Concerned by his "negativity", Mother confronts Julian on the stairs. He has no friends, no wife, no family. He may be a mass extortionist but he's still her baby. Karswell explains that by exploiting his occult knowledge, he's immersed himself forever in Evil. "You get nothing for nothing"

Karswell is like the Devil on Earth, a force with very limited powers that he can't always control. By definition he cannot trust any of his own minions. They're unreliable, weak and prone to double-cross each other, and they attract publicity that makes a secret society difficult to conceal. He can't just kill Holden, as he hasn't a single henchman on the payroll. He instead summons the demon, a magic trick he's only recently mastered. When Karswell turns Harrington away in the first scene we can sense his loneliness. The only person who can possibly understand is right before him, finally willing to admit his power and perhaps even tolerate him. Karswell has no choice but to surrender Harrington over to the un-recallable Demon. In his dealings with the cult-debunker Holden, Karswell defends his turf but is also attempting to justify himself to a peer, another man who might be a potential equal. It's more than a duel of egos between a James Bond and a Goldfinger, with arrogance and aggression masking a mutual respect; Karswell knows he's taken Lewton's "wrong turning in life," and will have to pay for it eventually.

Karswell eventually earns Holden's respect, especially after the fearful testimony of Rand Hobart. It's taken an extreme demonstration to do it, but Holden budges from his smug position. He may not buy all of the demonology hocus-pocus but it's plain enough that Karswell or his "demon" is going to somehow rub him out. Seeking to sneak the parchment back into Karswell's possession, Holden becomes a worthy hero because he's found the maturity to question his own preconceptions. Armed with his rational, cool head, he's a force that makes Karswell -- without his demon, of course -- a relative weakling. Curse of the Demon ends in a classic ghost story twist, with just desserts dished out and balance recovered. The good characters are less sure of their world than when they started, but they're still able to cope. Evil has been defeated not by love or faith, but by intellect.

Curse of the Demon has the Val Lewton sensibility as has often been cited in Tourneur's frequent (and very effective) use of the device called the Lewton "Bus" -- a wholly artificial jolt of fast motion and noise interrupting a tense scene. There's an ultimate "bus" at the end when a train blasts in and sets us up for the end title. It "erases" the embracing actors behind it and I've always thought it had to be an inspiration for the last shot of North by NorthWest. The ever-playful Hitchcock was reportedly a big viewer of fantastic films, from which he seems to have gotten many ideas. He's said to have dined with Lewton on more than one occasion (makes sense, they were at one time both Selznick contractees) and carried on a covert competition with William Castle, of all people.

Visually, Tourneur's film is marvelous, effortlessly conjuring menacing forests lit in the fantastic Mario Bava mode by Ted Scaife, who was not known as a genre stylist. There are more than a few perfunctory sets, with some unflattering mattes used for airport interiors, etc.. Elsewhere we see beautiful designs by Ken Adam in one of his earliest outings. Karswell's ornate floor and central staircase evoke an Escher print, especially when visible/invisible hands appear on the banister. A hypnotic, maze-like set for a hotel corridor is also tainted by Escher and evokes a sense of the uncanny even better than the horrid sounds Holden hears. The build-up of terror is so effective that one rather unconvincing episode (a fight with a Cat People - like transforming cat) does no harm. Other effects, such as the demon footprints appearing in the forest, work beautifully.

In his Encyclopedia of Horror Movies Phil Hardy very rightly relates Curse of the Demon's emphasis on the visual to the then just-beginning Euro-horror subgenre. The works of Bava, Margheriti and Freda would make the photographic texture of the screen the prime element of their films, sometimes above acting and story logic.

Columbia TriStar's DVD of Curse of the Demon / Night of the Demon presents both versions of this classic in one package. American viewers saw an effective but abbreviated cut-down. If you've seen Curse of the Demon on cable TV or rented a VHS or a laser anytime after 1987, you're not going to see anything different in the film. In 1987 Columbia happened to pull out the English cut when it went to re-master. When the title came up as Night of the Demon, they just slugged in the Curse main title card and let it go.

From such a happy accident (believe me, nobody in charge at Columbia at the time would have purposely given a film like this a second glance) came a restoration at least as wonderful as the earlier reversion of The Fearless Vampire Killers to its original form. Genre fans were taken by surprise and the Laserdisc became a hot item that often traded for hundreds of dollars. 6

Back in film school Savant had been convinced that ever seeing the long, original Night cut was a lost cause. An excellent article in the old Photon magazine in the early '70s 5, before such analytical work was common, accurately laid out the differences between the two versions, something Savant needs to do sometime with The Damned and These Are the Damned. The Photon article very accurately describes the cut scenes and what the film lost without them, and certainly inspired many of the ideas here.

Being able to see the two versions back-to-back shows exactly how they differ. Curse omits some scenes and rearranges others. Gone is some narration from the title sequence, most of the airplane ride, some dialogue on the ground with the newsmen and several scenes with Karswell talking to his mother. Most crucially missing are Karswell's mother showing Joanna the cabalistic book everyone talks so much about and Holden's entire visit to the Hobart farm to secure a release for his examination of Rand Hobart. Of course the cut film still works (we loved the cut Curse at UCLA screenings and there are people who actually think it's better) but it's nowhere near as involving as the complete UK version. Curse also reshuffles some events, moving Holden's phantom encounter in the hallway nearer the beginning, which may have been to get a spooky scene in the middle section or to better disguise the loss of whole scenes later. The chop-job should have been obvious. The newly imposed fades and dissolves look awkward. One cut very sloppily happens right in the middle of a previous dissolve.

Night places both Andrews and Cummins' credits above the title and gives McGinnis an "also starring" credit immediately afterwards. Oddly, Curse sticks Cummins afterwards and relegates McGinnis to the top of the "also with" cast list. Maybe with his role chopped down, some Columbia executive thought he didn't deserve the billing?

Technically, both versions look just fine, very sharp and free of digital funk that would spoil the film's spooky visual texture. Night of the Demon is the version to watch for both content and quality. It's not perfect but has better contrast and less dirt than the American version. Curse has more emulsion scratches and flecking white dandruff in its dark scenes, yet looks fine until one sees the improvement of Night. Both shows are widescreen enhanced (hosanna), framing the action at its original tighter aspect ratio.

It's terrific that Columbia TriStar has brought out this film so thoughtfully, even though some viewers are going to be confused when their "double feature" disc appears to be two copies of the same movie. Let 'em stew. This is Savant's favorite release so far this year.

On a scale of Excellent, Good, Fair, and Poor, Curse of the Demon / Night of the Demon rates:

Movie: Excellent

Footnotes:

Made very close to Curse of the Demon and starring Dana Andrews, The Fearmakers (great title) was a Savant must-see until he caught up with it in the UA collection at MGM. It's a pitiful no-budgeter that claims Madison Avenue was providing public relations for foreign subversives, and is negligible even in the lists of '50s anti-Commie films.

Return

Curse of the Demon's Demon has been the subject of debate ever since the heyday of Famous Monsters of Filmland. From what's on record it's clear that producer Chester added or maximized the shots of the creature, a literal visualization of a fiery, brimstone-smoking classical woodcut demon that some viewers think looks ridiculous. Bennett and Tourneur's original idea was to never show a demon but the producer changed that. Tourneur probably directed most of the shots, only to have Chester over-use them. To Savant's thinking, the demon looks great. It is first perceived as an ominous sound, a less strident version of the disturbing noise made by Them! Then it manifests itself visually as a strange disturbance in the sky (bubbles? sparks? early slit-scan?) followed by a billowing cloud of sulphurous smoke (a dandy effect not exploited again until Close Encounters of the Third Kind). The long-shot demon is sometimes called the bicycle demon because he's a rod puppet with legs that move on a wheel-rig. Smoke belches from all over his scaly body. Close-ups are provided by a wonderfully sculpted head 'n' shoulders demon with articulated eyes and lips, a full decade or so before Carlo Rambaldi started engineering such devices.

Most of the debate centers on how much Demon should have been shown with the general consensus that less would have been better. People who dote on Lewton-esque ambivalence say that the film's slow buildup of rationality-versus demonology is destroyed by the very real Demon's appearance in the first scene, and that's where they'd like it removed or radically reduced. The Demon is so nicely integrated into the cutting (the giant foot in the first scene is a real jolt) that it's likely that Tourneur himself filmed it all, perhaps expecting the shots to be shorter or more obscured. It is also possible that the giant head was a post-Tourneur addition - it doesn't tie in with the other shots as well (especially when it rolls forward rather stiffly) and is rather blunt. Detractors lump it in with the gawd-awful head of The Black Scorpion, which is filmed the same way and almost certainly was an afterthought - and also became a key poster image. This demon head matches the surrounding action a lot better than did the drooling Scorpion.

Savant wouldn't change Curse of the Demon but if you put a gun to my head I'd shorten most of the shots in its first appearance, perhaps eliminating all close-ups except for the final, superb shot of the the giant claw reaching for Harrington / us.

Kumar, played (I assume) by an Anglo actor, immediately evokes all those Indian and other Third World characters in Hammer films whose indigenous cultures invariably hold all manner of black magic and insidious horror. When Hammer films are repetitious it's because they take eighty minutes or so to convince the imagination-challenged English heroes to even consider the premise of the film as being real. In Curse of the Demon, Holden's smart-tongued dismissal of outside viewpoints seems much more pigheaded now than it did in 1957, when heroes confidently defended conformist values without being challenged. Kumar is a scientist but also probably a Hindu or a Sikh. He has no difficulty reconciling his faith with his scientific detachment. Holden is far too tactful to call Kumar a crazy third-world guru but that's probably what he's thinking. He instead politely ignores him. Good old Kumar then saves Holden's hide with some timely information. I hope Holden remembered to thank him.

There's an unstated conclusion in Curse of the Demon: Holden's rigid disbelief of the supernatural means he also does not believe in a Christian God with its fundamentally spiritual faith system of Good and Evil, saints and devils, angels and demons. Horror movies that deal directly with religious symbolism and "real faith" can be hypocritical in their exploitation and brutal in their cheap toying with what are for many people sacred personal concepts. I'm thinking of course of The Exorcist here. That movie has all the grace of a reporter who shows a serial killer's atrocity photos to a mother whose child has just been kidnapped. Curse of the Demon hasn't The Exorcist's ruthless commercial instincts but instead has the modesty not to pretend to be profound, or even "real." Yet it expresses our basic human conflict between rationality and faith very nicely.

Savant called Jim Wyrnoski, who was associated with Photon, in an effort to find out more about the article, namely who wrote it. It was very well done and I've never forgotten it; I unfortunately loaned my copy out to good old Jim Ursini and it disappeared. Obviously, a lot of the ideas here, I first read there. Perhaps a reader who knows better how to take care of their belongings can help me with the info? Ursini and Alain Silvers' More Things than are Dreamt Of Limelight, 1994, analyzes Curse of the Demon (and many other horror movies) in the context of its source story.

This is a true story: Cut to 2000. Columbia goes to re-master Curse of the Demon and finds that the fine-grain original of the English version is missing. The original long version of the movie may be lost forever. A few months later a collector appears who says he bought it from another unnamed collector and offers to trade it for a print copy of the American version, which he prefers. Luckily, an intermediary helps the collector follow up on his offer and the authorities are not contacted about what some would certainly call stolen property. The long version is now once again safe. Studios clearly need to defend their property but many collectors have "items" they personally have acquired legally. More often than you might think, such finds come about because studios throw away important elements. If the studios threaten prosecution, they will find that collectors will never approach them. They'd probably prefer to destroy irreplaceable film to avoid being criminalized.

Thomas Henry Dawson Walker was born on 21st. July 1851 at the March of Intellect pub in Hull, East Riding of Yorkshire. His mother was the pub landlady and his father was an advance foreman for Cook’s Circus.

Thomas started his performing career at an early age and by the time he was eight years old he was already performing with Pablo Fanque’s Circus. He would become a multitalented performer, trained in equestrianism, tumbling, ropewalking and clowning, but became most famous for his clowning and as a pantomime actor. His slapstick humour was very popular, particularly with children.

In 1874, he was engaged by Charles Hengler to appear at his circus in London, where he was christened 'Whimsical Walker'.

Over the course of his career, Whimsical became one of the most famous clowns of his time both in the UK and internationally. He travelled around the world three times and visited America 16 times, firstly in 1874 when he joined the John Murray Railroad Circus. He later he toured with Barnum and Bailey’s Circus, and in 1887, while with Barnum’s, he purchased an elephant for £2,000 from the London Zoo, which became known as Jumbo.

The elephants fee was more than paid back in just a few performances.

In 1882, Whimsical opened a theatre of his own, the Metropolitan Alcazar Theatre in New York, and put on a profitable pantomime presentation of W.S. Gilbert’s The Three Wishes, becoming the only person to put on a successful English pantomime in America during this period. But misfortune struck when the defective top gallery dropped slightly when filled with people and a stampede followed. Actions for damages caused bankruptcy, reducing Whimsical to the clothes he wore and a few dollars. He had to borrow money to return to Liverpool, where he was engaged by Hengler’s Circus.

In 1886, Whimsical was commanded to appear at the first Royal Command Performance, staged before Queen Victoria in the riding school at Windsor Castle. After the show Victoria presented him with a diamond tie pin. .

He performed by Royal command on several occasions during his career, his last performance before royalty was for the first visit to a circus of Princess Elizabeth in 1934.

King Edward, then the Prince of Wales, once called upon Whimsical to organise a cricket match with children in which the Prince and Dr. W. G. Grace both played.

Walker has been described as the most versatile clown of his day. He had a great talent for training animals, among them a donkey, which once escaped from a circus procession in Hull and walked into a hotel bedroom and lay down on a bed, thoroughly scaring a chambermaid. In 1880 he performed his singing donkey act before Queen Victoria at Windsor.

One of the animals which he loved most was his dog, Whimmy, who performed with him at Olympia.

From 1898 to 1929 Whimsical appeared as the Harlequinade Clown in the Forty Thieves pantomime at the Theatre Royal in London, and from 1921 until his death he performed every year in the Olympia Christmas Circus in London. He also stared in the silent films The Knut and the Kernel (1915), The Starting Point (1919), and The Fordington Twins (1920). Such was his enthusiasm for his job that he once travelled by sea to Sydney, Australia and back, in order to be the clown for five nights and two matinees.

In 1910, Whimsical married his wife, whom he had met when they were both appearing in a comic sketch in Southend. After their wedding they lived in Gorleston-on-Sea, Norfolk, and Whimsical took over the site of Peggotty’s Hut on Brush Quay and expanded it into a rifle range. Little is known of his life between 1910 and 1934. In the early 1930’s he moved from Brush Wharf in Gorleston to a new council house at 42 Suffolk Road, in the area of Southtown. His spare time was devoted to shrimping and it was reported that he kept a number of cats for company. Two years before his death he underwent a serious operation on his throat.

A few days after he was planning to appear once again at the Olympia Christmas Circus, Whimsical Walker died on 10th. November 1934, aged 83, and was buried in an unmarked grave in the Gorleston Old Cemetery.

On Tuesday 10th. May 2022, the Gorleston-on-Sea Heritage Group (GOSH) unveiling a blue plaque to mark the gravesite. Philip Breen, known as 'Whimmie The Clown, who is Whimsical Walker’s great grandson, attended wearing his clown makeup and costume.

Whimsical, who was very proud of having had his portrait painted by Dame Laura Knight and which was hung in the Royal Academy, said,

"The finest thing in the world for any young boy is the circus business, you get fresh air, you get up early in the morning, you get plenty of exercise, and it teaches you what the world is".

Where the morality is too strong

the intellect perishes

F.Nietzsche

“In the morning I bathe my intellect in the stupendous and cosmogonal philosophy of the Bhagavad gita, since whose composition years of the gods have elapsed, and in comparison with which our modern world and its literature seem puny and trivial; and I doubt if that philosophy is not to be referred to a previous state of existence, so remote is its sublimity from our conceptions.

I lay down the book and go to my well for water, and lo! there I meet the servant of the Bramin, priest of Brahma and Vishnu and Indra, who still sits in his temple on the Ganges reading the Vedas, or dwells at the root of a tree with his crust and water jug. I meet his servant come to draw water for his master, and our buckets as it were grate together in the same well. The pure Walden water is mingled with the sacred water of the Ganges.”

― Henry David Thoreau, Walden: Or, Life in the Woods

In Memory of

Ferdinand Rudolph Hassler

Born at Aarau in the Canton of Argovie, Switzlerland

Oct 6, 1770

Having filled with honor both in his native and adopted country

offices of high trust and responsibility,

Died in Philadelphia

Nov, 20, 1843

In the most of his labors as Superintendent of

The United States Coast Survey

and

Standards of Weights and Measures

both great national work from their origin entrusted to

and conducted by him with distinguished reputation and success.

Strict integrity and love of truth with strength

and activity of intellect, characterized him as a man

whilst his various scientific writing as well as

the national works projected by him are alike

memorial of his laborious life and of his contribution

as a man of scientific instruction and improvement

of his fellow men.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"The first superintendent of the United States Coast Survey, Ferdinand Rudolph Hassler was a Swiss-born and educated mathematician who came to the United States in 1805. His contributions to the Lewis and Clark expedition involved corrections and alterations to the maps and calculations of longitude and latitude made by the Captains. He was born in Aarau, Switzerland, 6 October 1770, and was educated in nearby Bern. He attended the University of Bern intending to study jurisprudence, but met Johann George Tralles, a German mathematician, who inspired Hassler to study science and mathematics.

In 1793, Hassler traveled to Paris to study astronomy under some of the foremost scientists in Europe at the time. He returned to Switzerland five years later, when the French invaded his country. He held several public offices during the French occupation, including the attorney general for Switzerland. However, in 1803, the French took control of geographically related surveys, and Hassler decided that he could not work under them. He and his family emigrated to the United States in 1805, settling in New York.

In 1807, President Thomas Jefferson appointed Hassler professorial position at the United States Military Academy at West Point on a recommendation from the Secretary of the Treasury, Albert Gallatin. Hassler taught mathematics, but apparently did not develop a good rapport with his students. He only taught the brightest students, and did not spend time with those who had less aptitude for math. In 1809, the Secretary of War William Eustis told Hassler that the government did not approve of civilians teaching at the Military Academy. Hassler resigned his position on 14 February 1810. He took another position as a Professor of Natural Philosophy and Mathematics at Union College in Schenectady, NY, in March, 1810. He again found that teaching did not well suit his tastes, nor did his style of teaching effectively inspire his students to study.

In 1812, congress appointed Hassler the superintendent of the first United States Coast survey. They sent him to France and England to collect supplies for his endeavor. The English, however, detained Hassler, thinking him an enemy spy. He returned to the United States in 1815, at which time the survey formally began. Two years later, dissatisfied with his work, Congress suspended the survey. Hassler tried his hand at farming in upstate New York, and then traveled to Richmond to privately tutor the children of wealthy families. He also started writing textbooks which included Analytical Trigonometry, Elements of Geometry, Systems of the Universe, and Elements of Arithmetic. He also compose an article for the publication of the American Philosophical Society, Transactions, in 1828. In that piece, he defended his methods for the Coastal survey. Many respected scientists read the article and approved of his methods, and wrote to express their support for his leadership of the project.

In 1830, President Andrew Jackson appointed Hassler as the gauger for the United States, determining the standards for weights and measures for the country. Two years later, Hassler resumed his work as the superintendent of the Coast survey. He served in both of those capacities until his death on 20 November 1843.

Information from:

"Ferdinand Rudolph Hassler." www.dean.usma.edu/math/about/history/hassler.htm. 19 October 2003.

White, James T., ed. "Ferdinand Rudolph Hassler." Appleton's Cyclopaedia of American Biography. New York: Appleton and Co, 1887-89. www.famousamericans.net/ferdinandrudolphhassler. 2001 "

www.vcdh.virginia.edu/lewisandclark/biddle/biographies_ht...

museum.nist.gov/exhibits/ex1/room2.html

Howl

BY ALLEN GINSBERG

For Carl Solomon

I

I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked,

dragging themselves through the negro streets at dawn looking for an angry fix,

angelheaded hipsters burning for the ancient heavenly connection to the starry dynamo in the machinery of night,

who poverty and tatters and hollow-eyed and high sat up smoking in the supernatural darkness of cold-water flats floating across the tops of cities contemplating jazz,

who bared their brains to Heaven under the El and saw Mohammedan angels staggering on tenement roofs illuminated,

who passed through universities with radiant cool eyes hallucinating Arkansas and Blake-light tragedy among the scholars of war,

who were expelled from the academies for crazy & publishing obscene odes on the windows of the skull,

who cowered in unshaven rooms in underwear, burning their money in wastebaskets and listening to the Terror through the wall,

who got busted in their pubic beards returning through Laredo with a belt of marijuana for New York,

who ate fire in paint hotels or drank turpentine in Paradise Alley, death, or purgatoried their torsos night after night

with dreams, with drugs, with waking nightmares, alcohol and cock and endless balls,

incomparable blind streets of shuddering cloud and lightning in the mind leaping toward poles of Canada & Paterson, illuminating all the motionless world of Time between,

Peyote solidities of halls, backyard green tree cemetery dawns, wine drunkenness over the rooftops, storefront boroughs of teahead joyride neon blinking traffic light, sun and moon and tree vibrations in the roaring winter dusks of Brooklyn, ashcan rantings and kind king light of mind,

who chained themselves to subways for the endless ride from Battery to holy Bronx on benzedrine until the noise of wheels and children brought them down shuddering mouth-wracked and battered bleak of brain all drained of brilliance in the drear light of Zoo,

who sank all night in submarine light of Bickford’s floated out and sat through the stale beer afternoon in desolate Fugazzi’s, listening to the crack of doom on the hydrogen jukebox,

who talked continuously seventy hours from park to pad to bar to Bellevue to museum to the Brooklyn Bridge,

a lost battalion of platonic conversationalists jumping down the stoops off fire escapes off windowsills off Empire State out of the moon,

yacketayakking screaming vomiting whispering facts and memories and anecdotes and eyeball kicks and shocks of hospitals and jails and wars,

whole intellects disgorged in total recall for seven days and nights with brilliant eyes, meat for the Synagogue cast on the pavement,

who vanished into nowhere Zen New Jersey leaving a trail of ambiguous picture postcards of Atlantic City Hall,

suffering Eastern sweats and Tangerian bone-grindings and migraines of China under junk-withdrawal in Newark’s bleak furnished room,

who wandered around and around at midnight in the railroad yard wondering where to go, and went, leaving no broken hearts,

who lit cigarettes in boxcars boxcars boxcars racketing through snow toward lonesome farms in grandfather night,

who studied Plotinus Poe St. John of the Cross telepathy and bop kabbalah because the cosmos instinctively vibrated at their feet in Kansas,

who loned it through the streets of Idaho seeking visionary indian angels who were visionary indian angels,

who thought they were only mad when Baltimore gleamed in supernatural ecstasy,

who jumped in limousines with the Chinaman of Oklahoma on the impulse of winter midnight streetlight smalltown rain,

who lounged hungry and lonesome through Houston seeking jazz or sex or soup, and followed the brilliant Spaniard to converse about America and Eternity, a hopeless task, and so took ship to Africa,

who disappeared into the volcanoes of Mexico leaving behind nothing but the shadow of dungarees and the lava and ash of poetry scattered in fireplace Chicago,

who reappeared on the West Coast investigating the FBI in beards and shorts with big pacifist eyes sexy in their dark skin passing out incomprehensible leaflets,

who burned cigarette holes in their arms protesting the narcotic tobacco haze of Capitalism,

who distributed Supercommunist pamphlets in Union Square weeping and undressing while the sirens of Los Alamos wailed them down, and wailed down Wall, and the Staten Island ferry also wailed,

who broke down crying in white gymnasiums naked and trembling before the machinery of other skeletons,

who bit detectives in the neck and shrieked with delight in policecars for committing no crime but their own wild cooking pederasty and intoxication,

who howled on their knees in the subway and were dragged off the roof waving genitals and manuscripts,

who let themselves be fucked in the ass by saintly motorcyclists, and screamed with joy,

who blew and were blown by those human seraphim, the sailors, caresses of Atlantic and Caribbean love,

who balled in the morning in the evenings in rosegardens and the grass of public parks and cemeteries scattering their semen freely to whomever come who may,

who hiccuped endlessly trying to giggle but wound up with a sob behind a partition in a Turkish Bath when the blond & naked angel came to pierce them with a sword,

who lost their loveboys to the three old shrews of fate the one eyed shrew of the heterosexual dollar the one eyed shrew that winks out of the womb and the one eyed shrew that does nothing but sit on her ass and snip the intellectual golden threads of the craftsman’s loom,

who copulated ecstatic and insatiate with a bottle of beer a sweetheart a package of cigarettes a candle and fell off the bed, and continued along the floor and down the hall and ended fainting on the wall with a vision of ultimate cunt and come eluding the last gyzym of consciousness,

who sweetened the snatches of a million girls trembling in the sunset, and were red eyed in the morning but prepared to sweeten the snatch of the sunrise, flashing buttocks under barns and naked in the lake,

who went out whoring through Colorado in myriad stolen night-cars, N.C., secret hero of these poems, cocksman and Adonis of Denver—joy to the memory of his innumerable lays of girls in empty lots & diner backyards, moviehouses’ rickety rows, on mountaintops in caves or with gaunt waitresses in familiar roadside lonely petticoat upliftings & especially secret gas-station solipsisms of johns, & hometown alleys too,

who faded out in vast sordid movies, were shifted in dreams, woke on a sudden Manhattan, and picked themselves up out of basements hung-over with heartless Tokay and horrors of Third Avenue iron dreams & stumbled to unemployment offices,

who walked all night with their shoes full of blood on the snowbank docks waiting for a door in the East River to open to a room full of steam-heat and opium,

who created great suicidal dramas on the apartment cliff-banks of the Hudson under the wartime blur floodlight of the moon & their heads shall be crowned with laurel in oblivion,

who ate the lamb stew of the imagination or digested the crab at the muddy bottom of the rivers of Bowery,

who wept at the romance of the streets with their pushcarts full of onions and bad music,

who sat in boxes breathing in the darkness under the bridge, and rose up to build harpsichords in their lofts,

who coughed on the sixth floor of Harlem crowned with flame under the tubercular sky surrounded by orange crates of theology,

who scribbled all night rocking and rolling over lofty incantations which in the yellow morning were stanzas of gibberish,

who cooked rotten animals lung heart feet tail borsht & tortillas dreaming of the pure vegetable kingdom,

who plunged themselves under meat trucks looking for an egg,

who threw their watches off the roof to cast their ballot for Eternity outside of Time, & alarm clocks fell on their heads every day for the next decade,

who cut their wrists three times successively unsuccessfully, gave up and were forced to open antique stores where they thought they were growing old and cried,

who were burned alive in their innocent flannel suits on Madison Avenue amid blasts of leaden verse & the tanked-up clatter of the iron regiments of fashion & the nitroglycerine shrieks of the fairies of advertising & the mustard gas of sinister intelligent editors, or were run down by the drunken taxicabs of Absolute Reality,

who jumped off the Brooklyn Bridge this actually happened and walked away unknown and forgotten into the ghostly daze of Chinatown soup alleyways & firetrucks, not even one free beer,

who sang out of their windows in despair, fell out of the subway window, jumped in the filthy Passaic, leaped on negroes, cried all over the street, danced on broken wineglasses barefoot smashed phonograph records of nostalgic European 1930s German jazz finished the whiskey and threw up groaning into the bloody toilet, moans in their ears and the blast of colossal steamwhistles,

who barreled down the highways of the past journeying to each other’s hotrod-Golgotha jail-solitude watch or Birmingham jazz incarnation,

who drove crosscountry seventytwo hours to find out if I had a vision or you had a vision or he had a vision to find out Eternity,

who journeyed to Denver, who died in Denver, who came back to Denver & waited in vain, who watched over Denver & brooded & loned in Denver and finally went away to find out the Time, & now Denver is lonesome for her heroes,

who fell on their knees in hopeless cathedrals praying for each other’s salvation and light and breasts, until the soul illuminated its hair for a second,

who crashed through their minds in jail waiting for impossible criminals with golden heads and the charm of reality in their hearts who sang sweet blues to Alcatraz,

who retired to Mexico to cultivate a habit, or Rocky Mount to tender Buddha or Tangiers to boys or Southern Pacific to the black locomotive or Harvard to Narcissus to Woodlawn to the daisychain or grave,

who demanded sanity trials accusing the radio of hypnotism & were left with their insanity & their hands & a hung jury,

who threw potato salad at CCNY lecturers on Dadaism and subsequently presented themselves on the granite steps of the madhouse with shaven heads and harlequin speech of suicide, demanding instantaneous lobotomy,

and who were given instead the concrete void of insulin Metrazol electricity hydrotherapy psychotherapy occupational therapy pingpong & amnesia,

who in humorless protest overturned only one symbolic pingpong table, resting briefly in catatonia,

returning years later truly bald except for a wig of blood, and tears and fingers, to the visible madman doom of the wards of the madtowns of the East,

Pilgrim State’s Rockland’s and Greystone’s foetid halls, bickering with the echoes of the soul, rocking and rolling in the midnight solitude-bench dolmen-realms of love, dream of life a nightmare, bodies turned to stone as heavy as the moon,

with mother finally ******, and the last fantastic book flung out of the tenement window, and the last door closed at 4 A.M. and the last telephone slammed at the wall in reply and the last furnished room emptied down to the last piece of mental furniture, a yellow paper rose twisted on a wire hanger in the closet, and even that imaginary, nothing but a hopeful little bit of hallucination—

ah, Carl, while you are not safe I am not safe, and now you’re really in the total animal soup of time—

and who therefore ran through the icy streets obsessed with a sudden flash of the alchemy of the use of the ellipsis catalogue a variable measure and the vibrating plane,

who dreamt and made incarnate gaps in Time & Space through images juxtaposed, and trapped the archangel of the soul between 2 visual images and joined the elemental verbs and set the noun and dash of consciousness together jumping with sensation of Pater Omnipotens Aeterna Deus

to recreate the syntax and measure of poor human prose and stand before you speechless and intelligent and shaking with shame, rejected yet confessing out the soul to conform to the rhythm of thought in his naked and endless head,

the madman bum and angel beat in Time, unknown, yet putting down here what might be left to say in time come after death,

and rose reincarnate in the ghostly clothes of jazz in the goldhorn shadow of the band and blew the suffering of America’s naked mind for love into an eli eli lamma lamma sabacthani saxophone cry that shivered the cities down to the last radio

with the absolute heart of the poem of life butchered out of their own bodies good to eat a thousand years.

II

What sphinx of cement and aluminum bashed open their skulls and ate up their brains and imagination?

Moloch! Solitude! Filth! Ugliness! Ashcans and unobtainable dollars! Children screaming under the stairways! Boys sobbing in armies! Old men weeping in the parks!

Moloch! Moloch! Nightmare of Moloch! Moloch the loveless! Mental Moloch! Moloch the heavy judger of men!

Moloch the incomprehensible prison! Moloch the crossbone soulless jailhouse and Congress of sorrows! Moloch whose buildings are judgment! Moloch the vast stone of war! Moloch the stunned governments!

Moloch whose mind is pure machinery! Moloch whose blood is running money! Moloch whose fingers are ten armies! Moloch whose breast is a cannibal dynamo! Moloch whose ear is a smoking tomb!

Moloch whose eyes are a thousand blind windows! Moloch whose skyscrapers stand in the long streets like endless Jehovahs! Moloch whose factories dream and croak in the fog! Moloch whose smoke-stacks and antennae crown the cities!

Moloch whose love is endless oil and stone! Moloch whose soul is electricity and banks! Moloch whose poverty is the specter of genius! Moloch whose fate is a cloud of sexless hydrogen! Moloch whose name is the Mind!

Moloch in whom I sit lonely! Moloch in whom I dream Angels! Crazy in Moloch! Cocksucker in Moloch! Lacklove and manless in Moloch!

Moloch who entered my soul early! Moloch in whom I am a consciousness without a body! Moloch who frightened me out of my natural ecstasy! Moloch whom I abandon! Wake up in Moloch! Light streaming out of the sky!

Moloch! Moloch! Robot apartments! invisible suburbs! skeleton treasuries! blind capitals! demonic industries! spectral nations! invincible madhouses! granite cocks! monstrous bombs!

They broke their backs lifting Moloch to Heaven! Pavements, trees, radios, tons! lifting the city to Heaven which exists and is everywhere about us!

Visions! omens! hallucinations! miracles! ecstasies! gone down the American river!

Dreams! adorations! illuminations! religions! the whole boatload of sensitive bullshit!

Breakthroughs! over the river! flips and crucifixions! gone down the flood! Highs! Epiphanies! Despairs! Ten years’ animal screams and suicides! Minds! New loves! Mad generation! down on the rocks of Time!

Real holy laughter in the river! They saw it all! the wild eyes! the holy yells! They bade farewell! They jumped off the roof! to solitude! waving! carrying flowers! Down to the river! into the street!

III

Carl Solomon! I’m with you in Rockland

where you’re madder than I am

I’m with you in Rockland

where you must feel very strange

I’m with you in Rockland

where you imitate the shade of my mother

I’m with you in Rockland

where you’ve murdered your twelve secretaries

I’m with you in Rockland

where you laugh at this invisible humor

I’m with you in Rockland

where we are great writers on the same dreadful typewriter

I’m with you in Rockland

where your condition has become serious and is reported on the radio

I’m with you in Rockland

where the faculties of the skull no longer admit the worms of the senses

with you in Rockland

where you drink the tea of the breasts of the spinsters of Utica

I’m with you in Rockland

where you pun on the bodies of your nurses the harpies of the Bronx

I’m with you in Rockland

where you scream in a straightjacket that you’re losing the game of the actual pingpong of the abyss

I’m with you in Rockland

where you bang on the catatonic piano the soul is innocent and immortal it should never die ungodly in an armed madhouse

I’m with you in Rockland

where fifty more shocks will never return your soul to its body again from its pilgrimage to a cross in the void

I’m with you in Rockland

where you accuse your doctors of insanity and plot the Hebrew socialist revolution against the fascist national Golgotha

I’m with you in Rockland

where you will split the heavens of Long Island and resurrect your living human Jesus from the superhuman tomb

I’m with you in Rockland

where there are twentyfive thousand mad comrades all together singing the final stanzas of the Internationale

I’m with you in Rockland

where we hug and kiss the United States under our bedsheets the United States that coughs all night and won’t let us sleep

I’m with you in Rockland

where we wake up electrified out of the coma by our own souls’ airplanes roaring over the roof they’ve come to drop angelic bombs the hospital illuminates itself imaginary walls collapse O skinny legions run outside O starry-spangled shock of mercy the eternal war is here O victory forget your underwear we’re free

I’m with you in Rockland

in my dreams you walk dripping from a sea-journey on the highway across America in tears to the door of my cottage in the Western night

San Francisco, 1955—1956

Grenadier - Advanced Dungeons & Dragons (AD&D) Dwellers Below

* Box Cover

Rust Monster, Intellect Devourer, Doggleganger, Cave Fisher, Otyugh, Aspis, Yuan Ti, Beholder, Roper

I've always had a thing for glasses - even though my sight is actually fine - so I thought I would try out a cute librarian meets flamenco dancer look, matching the glasses and hair with my baby blue Dotti party dress that swayed around my hips and barely covered my bum as I had a dance in the living room!

Church of St Peter and Paul, Memorials to Newson Garrett, Memorial to Louisa Garrett, Faith Hope and Charity, Marble, Ellen Mary Rope, 1903

Both monuments are set on the east wall, close to the south aisle. That to Newson Garrett (1812-1873) was commissioned by his children and records that he spent nearly forty years at Aldeburgh, where he was concerned with the town’s welfare. The handsome inscription, framed in coloured marble, is set under a broken pediment, supported by acanthus, and set within shouldered architraves. It stands above that for his wife. Here Faith (Fides), holding a shield with the cross of St George, stands behind Hope (Spes) holding a laurel wreath over the plaque with the inscription. On the other side Charity (Caritas) protects a young boy and praying girl while supporting the wreath with her finger tips. The soft almost shimmering treatment of the marble and the fine low relief, although not the drapery style, was derived from Italian fifteenth century marble reliefs, notably those of Desiderio da Settignano.

Newson Garrett, born in Leiston to the Garrett family of metal workers, was ambitious and when his elder brother, Richard (1807-1866), inherited the family business he moved to London. He was befriended by Richard's father-in-law, John Dunnell and married another of his daughters, Louisa. In 1838 he moved back to Suffolk, following the death of their third child, and in 1841 purchased the Snape corn and coal merchant's business and shipping interests of Robert Fennel and settled his wife and young family in Aldeburgh, building Alde House in 1852. Two years later he designed and built the maltings at Snape Bridge, later converted into the home of the Aldeburgh Music festival, started by Benjamin Britten and Peter Pears. Newson and Louisa Garrett's ten surviving children inherited intellect and determination in full measure. Three of their six daughters achieved notable firsts: Elizabeth Garrett Anderson was Britain's first legally qualified woman doctor; Millicent Fawcett, first president of the National Union of Women's Suffrage Societies; Agnes Garrett, London's first woman interior designer. Their brother Sam, president of the Law Society, was the first to employ female pupils. Christine Clark, ‘Garrett, Newson (1812–1893)’, Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, Oxford University Press, 2004 [www.oxforddnb.com/view/article/59154, accessed 3 May

2014]

via Instagram ift.tt/2kuW1Lg

Copyright© 2011 Child of the King Photography

This image is protected under the United States and International Copyright laws and may not be downloaded, reproduced, copied, transmitted or manipulated without written permission.

PLEASE ...PLEASE...PLEASE

JUST A REMINDER

NO INVITES OR GRAPHICS

Thanks for your visits and kind comments!!!!!

~ Robert Brault

i can't wait to leave.

only four months left.

i let so many people walk all over me

and i'm tired of it.

when i talk to you, i feel like a lot gets resolved.

but then, the moment we end the conversation, it's like i'm putting everything in a bag and shaking it until i'm blue in the face.

honestly, i don't know what to do.

i feel horrible all the time, and i feel like i'm doing everything wrong.

i guess i'll just do what comes naturally, or try to at least.

:/

"Paris is a mighty schoolmaster, a grand enlightener of the provincial intellect." -- Mary Elizabeth Braddon

Set description for more info.

Photography by Ryan Wood

"Intelligence is a natural phenomenon -- just as breathing is, just as seeing is. Intelligence is the inner seeing; it is intuitive. It has nothing to do with intellect. Never confuse intellect with intelligence, they are polar opposites. Intellect is of the head; it is taught by others, it is imposed on you. You have to cultivate it. It is borrowed, it is something foreign, it is not inborn. But intelligence is inborn. It is your very being, your very nature"

One day, a courtesan of unearthly beauty appeared at the Emperor’s court. Her skin was like silk and porcelain, and her eyes gleamed like polished onyx. Her body exuded an enchanting scent, and her robes were immaculate. She quickly endeared herself to the Emperor and his concubines; her unequaled grace was matched by a glittering wit and astonishing intellect, and though she appeared to be no older than twenty, there was no question that she could not answer. There seemed to be no limit to her knowledge and strange wisdom, and she was well-versed on every topic, from astronomy to Buddhist teachings. So profound was the Emperor’s fascination with this woman that he kept her by his side, day and night. One night, the Emperor and his court attended a performance of poetry and music at the serene Seiryoden. A strong gust of wind suddenly tore through the Leaping Tiger Garden into the performance hall, shaking the bamboo reeds and extinguishing the lanterns. The room was plunged into darkness, save for a warm, golden light that emanated from within the mysterious woman’s robes. She was aglow like the rising sun. Enthralled, the Emperor declared to his ministers that this woman must be an incarnation of the Buddha, and he named her Tamamo-no-Mae. Deeply in love and profoundly devoted, the Emperor exchanged weighty vows with his favored mistress, and showered her with gifts and affection.

Within months, the Emperor became ill. He was listless, his sword-hand faltered, his skin took on a grey cast, and his muscles began to sag. Horrified, his ministers went to all the priests and soothsayers in the land, begging them for answers. They had none. The ministers appealed to the people, begging them to raise their voices in prayer. The people loved the Emperor, and sent their prayers to the Gods. The Emperor’s condition did not change. Finally, the renowned astrologer, Abe no Yasuchika, divined the cause of the Emperor’s infirmity: Tamamo-no-Mae. She was not born of woman; her true form was that of a hundred-year-old, forty-two-foot-tall, two-tailed fox demon. Disguised as a beautiful courtesan, the demoness hoped to slowly kill the Emperor, and then take his place. Knowing that she was exposed, Tamamo-no-Mae fled the palace.

Horrified, the Emperor sent the greatest warriors in the land, Kazusa-no-Suke and Miura-no-Suke, to pursue and slay his former mistress. The creature was wily and elusive, and after many weeks of hunting, the warriors began to fear that they would be unable to bring the demon to justice, thus shaming themselves and their families. They vowed that they would commit suicide if they failed in their quest, and they prayed to the Gods for assistance. That night, a beautiful woman appeared to Miura-no-Suke in his dreams. Her lovely face was marred by weeping, and she begged the warrior to spare her life. He refused, and cut the woman down. Upon waking, he realized that the dream was an omen – they would find and kill the foxwoman this day – and the warriors resumed their hunt with renewed enthusiasm. The hunters spotted the fox on the Plains of Nasu, and Miura-no-Suke fired an arrow into her heart. She fell, and her body transformed into the Sessho-seki, the Killing Stone.

Tamamo-no-Mae’s scent is soft skin musk, brushed by white tea leaf, rice flower, black locust flower, white sandalwood kodo soke, dry ginger, benzoin gum, and Amacha.

7/26 Hands.

"Often the hands will solve a mystery that the intellect has struggled with in vain." -Carl Jung

Description: "The Deaf, Dumb, and Blind Girl" Julia Brace article, continued.

Full text: Article continued:

Transcend even the sagacity of a spaniel. Yet keeping in view all the aid which these limited facilities have the power of imparting, some of the discoveries and exercises of her intellect are still, in a measure, unaccountable.

As the abodes which from her earliest recollection she had inhabited were circumscribed and humble, it was supposed that at her first reception into the Asylum she would testify surprise at the comparative spaciousness of the mansion. But she immediately busied herself in quietly exploring the size of the apartments, and the height of the staircases; she even knelt, and smelled to the thresholds; and now, as if by the union of a mysterious geometry with a powerful memory, never makes a false step upon a flight of stairs, or enters a wrong door, or mistakes her seat at the table.

Among her various excellencies, neatness, and love of order are conspicuous. Her simple wardrobe is systematically arranged, and it is impossible to displace a single article in her drawers, without her perceiving and restoring it. When the large baskets of clean linen are weekly, brought from the laundress, she selects her own garments without hesitation, however widely they may be dispersed among the mass. If any part of her dress requires mending, she is prompt and skilful in repairing it and her perseverance in this branch of economy greatly diminishes the expense of her clothing.

Since her residence at the Asylum, the donations of charitable visitants have been considerable in their amount. These are deposited in a box with an inscription, and she has been made to understand that the contents are devoted to her benefit. This box she frequently poises in her hand, and expresses pleasure when it testifies and increase of weight; for she has long since ascertained that money was the medium for the supply of her wants, and attaches to it a proportionable value.

Through her habits are peculiarly regular and consistent, yet occasionally some action occurs which it is difficult to explain. One morning, during the past summer, while employed with her needle, she found herself incommoded by the warmth of the sun. She arose, opened the window, closed the blind, and again resumed her work. This move-

Publisher: The Juvenile Miscellany. Vol IV, No. 11. Press of Putnam and Hunt, Boston.

Date: 1828

Format: text

Digital Identifier: AG54-JB-0010

Rights: Samuel P. Hayes Research Library, Perkins School for the Blind, Watertown, MA

From Geoffrey Farmer’s "The Intellection of Lady Spider House" at the Art Gallery of Alberta

"Down a dark dead end Farmer calls the Alley of Immigration, there is an opportunity to peer through a black curtain for perhaps the most bone-chilling moment of the experience: an encounter with David Hoffos’s lifelike projection Marianne Sitting, from the Scenes from the House Dream series. The woman sits on the floor, tapping her toe, checking her watch and – wow – looking directly at you, it seems." The Globe and Mail,Oct. 30, 2013

Tesla design models have influenced our intellects with clean power, high safety ratings and a wide array of 21st century technologies. Tesla, the purveyor of premium electric cars utilizes supercar acceleration and cat-like reflexes to also appeal to our lust for power and the primal urge to control and direct it. The Model 3 will begin pricing at $35,000 which is roughly half the cost of a base Model S. The base car will accelerate 0-60 mph in less than 6 seconds, enjoys an electric range of at least 215 miles per charge, seats five comfortably and provides storage from front and rear trunks. Expect deliveries yearend 2017.

For nearly 50 years, biophysicist and inventor Mária Telkes applied her prodigious intellect to

harnessing the sun’s power. She designed and built the first successfully solar-powered house

in 1949 but was perplexed by the knotty scientific challenge of developing a reliable and

economical way to store captured solar energy. She was also beset by rampant sexism and

fought pitched battles with her boss and colleagues — all men — at MIT’s Solar Energy Fund.

Despite these obstacles, Telkes persevered, helping to build another experimental solar-

powered house in 1971. Upon her death in 1995, she held more than 20 patents.

All photos in this set should be credited to Rahoul Ghose/PBS

In Memory of

Ferdinand Rudolph Hassler

Born at Aarau in the Canton of Argovie, Switzlerland

Oct 6, 1770

Having filled with honor both in his native and adopted country

offices of high trust and responsibility,

Died in Philadelphia

Nov, 20, 1843

In the most of his labors as Superintendent of

The United States Coast Survey

and

Standards of Weights and Measures

both great national work from their origin entrusted to

and conducted by him with distinguished reputation and success.

Strict integrity and love of truth with strength

and activity of intellect, characterized him as a man

whilst his various scientific writing as well as

the national works projected by him are alike

memorial of his laborious life and of his contribution

as a man of scientific instruction and improvement

of his fellow men.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"The first superintendent of the United States Coast Survey, Ferdinand Rudolph Hassler was a Swiss-born and educated mathematician who came to the United States in 1805. His contributions to the Lewis and Clark expedition involved corrections and alterations to the maps and calculations of longitude and latitude made by the Captains. He was born in Aarau, Switzerland, 6 October 1770, and was educated in nearby Bern. He attended the University of Bern intending to study jurisprudence, but met Johann George Tralles, a German mathematician, who inspired Hassler to study science and mathematics.

In 1793, Hassler traveled to Paris to study astronomy under some of the foremost scientists in Europe at the time. He returned to Switzerland five years later, when the French invaded his country. He held several public offices during the French occupation, including the attorney general for Switzerland. However, in 1803, the French took control of geographically related surveys, and Hassler decided that he could not work under them. He and his family emigrated to the United States in 1805, settling in New York.

In 1807, President Thomas Jefferson appointed Hassler professorial position at the United States Military Academy at West Point on a recommendation from the Secretary of the Treasury, Albert Gallatin. Hassler taught mathematics, but apparently did not develop a good rapport with his students. He only taught the brightest students, and did not spend time with those who had less aptitude for math. In 1809, the Secretary of War William Eustis told Hassler that the government did not approve of civilians teaching at the Military Academy. Hassler resigned his position on 14 February 1810. He took another position as a Professor of Natural Philosophy and Mathematics at Union College in Schenectady, NY, in March, 1810. He again found that teaching did not well suit his tastes, nor did his style of teaching effectively inspire his students to study.

In 1812, congress appointed Hassler the superintendent of the first United States Coast survey. They sent him to France and England to collect supplies for his endeavor. The English, however, detained Hassler, thinking him an enemy spy. He returned to the United States in 1815, at which time the survey formally began. Two years later, dissatisfied with his work, Congress suspended the survey. Hassler tried his hand at farming in upstate New York, and then traveled to Richmond to privately tutor the children of wealthy families. He also started writing textbooks which included Analytical Trigonometry, Elements of Geometry, Systems of the Universe, and Elements of Arithmetic. He also compose an article for the publication of the American Philosophical Society, Transactions, in 1828. In that piece, he defended his methods for the Coastal survey. Many respected scientists read the article and approved of his methods, and wrote to express their support for his leadership of the project.

In 1830, President Andrew Jackson appointed Hassler as the gauger for the United States, determining the standards for weights and measures for the country. Two years later, Hassler resumed his work as the superintendent of the Coast survey. He served in both of those capacities until his death on 20 November 1843.

Information from:

"Ferdinand Rudolph Hassler." www.dean.usma.edu/math/about/history/hassler.htm. 19 October 2003.

White, James T., ed. "Ferdinand Rudolph Hassler." Appleton's Cyclopaedia of American Biography. New York: Appleton and Co, 1887-89. www.famousamericans.net/ferdinandrudolphhassler. 2001 "

www.vcdh.virginia.edu/lewisandclark/biddle/biographies_ht...

museum.nist.gov/exhibits/ex1/room2.html

' t h e y ' by jem on [ finally woken ]

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

T H E Y suck, devour, and ingest your essential powers, the inner strength, thanks to which you are human. T H E Y devour poeple, but leave them looking perfectly healthy on the outside. T H E Y suck out just the insides, leaving an ashen [Nothing]ness inside. T H E Y suck out fantasy, inspirations and intellect, as if it were everyday food or a refreshing drink. T H E Y are able to adjust to circumstances better than any other living creature. It's impossible to avoid T H E M; T H E Y are everywhere. It's T H E Y who fixed things so that in the eternal war between the darkness and the light a soulless gloom always wins. T H E Y discovered the near truth, which is worse than the blackest lie. If the human race really is doomed to extinction, it will be solely thanks to T H E M.

A hundred times I tried to logically refute T H E I R existence. But I reached the opposite goal -- I unarguably proved that T H E Y really exist. The simplest proof -- an argument ad adsurdum. Let's say T H E Y don't exist. There is no such subspecies of live creatures whose sole purpose is to kanuk people, to take away their intellectual and spiritual powers; that kingdom of sullen, flat faces doesn't exist.

Let's say none of that exists.

Then how can you explain humanity's structure, all the world's societies, all human communities, their aspirations and modes of existence? How can you explain that always and everywhere, as far as you can see, one idiot rules a thousand intelligent people, and they quietly obey? Whence comes the silent gray majority in every society? Would a person who wasn't kanuked think of vegetating in a soulless condition and say that's the way everything should be? Why is it always enough to arrest a thousand for the just cause of a million to be doomed? Who raises and sets all governments on the throne, who hands the scepter to Satan's servants -- to all sorts of Stalins, Hitlers or Pol Pots? How do thousands, even millions of people disappear in the presence of all, and the others supposedly don't even notice? How does humanity manage to forget its history and repeat that which has already caused catastrophe more than once? Where does everyone's intelligence and memory disappear to at such moments? What instills the tendency in a human to betray the seekers of justice, knowing perfectly well that they are seekers of justice? Where does that secret desire come from, when a person is up to their neck in sh!t, to use all his strength to drown another who's still trying to scramble out? How could censorship, whose sole purpose is to hide the truth, exist in a human society that hasn't been kanuked?

Why doesn't a single theory answer these simple questions? Why do all the great philosophical systems, all the Hegels and Kants together, fail to explain these basic things? Why?

Maybe that's the way, and just that way, that man unavoidably is? Maybe all of these horrifying things aren't the province of theory, but rather axioms that you'll neither prove nor disprove? Maybe a soulless doom is programmed into all of us from the start? Every nation has the kind of government it deserves, and so on?

I cannot bear assumptions like that, assumptions that acrimoniously belittle people. I can't bear them! But an investigator must be calm and objective, must rely only on facts.

Children deny those revolting assumptions. The very existence of children. A foolish boy who tries to boss the neighborhood kids around will be ridiculed immediately. There is no silent gray majority in the world of children. You could arrest a thousand, a million children, but as long as at least one remains alive and free, there will be a child's view of justice in the world, there will be someone to shout that the king is naked. An unspoiled child tries to be more like the stronger or smarter ones, not to pull them down. No, no, a human isn't born a kanukas!

The ruination takes over later, when children are taught to rat on others, when they learn it's not worth ridiculing the kid with pretensions to be a little king, since he's the boss's son. When someone convinces them (convinces without presenting any arguments) that it's imperative to participate in the idiotic play of life, even knowing it's idiotic. Convinces them there is no choice -- either float in the ship of fools, or drown.

How can you explain all of this, supposing T H E Y don't exist?

ERGO: T H E Y EXIST.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

_excerpt from ' v i l n i u s_ p o k er ' a novel by _ l i t h u a n i a n _ a u t h o r _ r i c a r d a s_ g a v e l i s .

Also known as Brain Demons, Cerebriliths use their psionic powers to feast on the intellect of mortal men.

Women: by curves of emotion

~ .James Joyce

All the photos this week were taken at, or around the Ottawa Convention Centre.

I like this one bigger

Manufacturer: Grenadier

Line: AD&D "Solid Gold" line

Set: Dwellers Below

Figure: Intellect devourer

Base markings: none

Release date: 1980

Sculptor: Andrew Chernak

Painter: Spooktalker

Date painted: 2009

In this image, Duncan Rawlinson brilliantly blurs the lines between photography and modern AI-powered image generation tools to produce a visually captivating portrayal of OpenAI's ChatGPT.

Rawlinson starts with his signature photographic method, leveraging his prowess in capturing the nuances of his subjects. His choice of the Phase One XF IQ4 150MP Camera ensures an unmatched level of detail, a testament to his commitment to quality.

From this photographic foundation, Rawlinson skillfully transitions to the digital art realm. The AI's "head" and its complex neural network are not captured through the lens, but through the precise and calculated application of AI image generation tools. These tools allow him to visualize an abstract concept like a neural network, converting it into tangible lines and nodes, interweaving through the AI's head.

The creation process is thus a symbiotic dance between high-resolution photography and AI-driven digital art. Rawlinson marries the tactile realism of photography with the boundless possibilities of AI-powered graphic design. The result is a unique hybrid image, demonstrating how AI can be used as an artistic tool to bring abstract concepts to life.

By creating the image in his signature style, Rawlinson adds a layer of artistic interpretation to the AI's representation. He invites the viewer to appreciate not only the AI's intricate complexity but also the novel way in which traditional photography can be elevated by modern AI tools. This image stands as a testament to the intersection of art, technology, and human creativity.

Duncan.co/synthetic-intellect-a-visual-ode

It is not often that I get to actually meet one of my Flickr friends. Nocturnal.Intellect is actually someone I have know from the Yahoo 360 days when she used to blog and I actually read. She used to live in the Phoenix area and comes back every year for a visit. We had a chance to get together in Scottsdale before she and Dean headed out on a few days of sightseeing.

In Memory of

Ferdinand Rudolph Hassler

Born at Aarau in the Canton of Argovie, Switzlerland

Oct 6, 1770

Having filled with honor both in his native and adopted country

offices of high trust and responsibility,

Died in Philadelphia

Nov, 20, 1843

In the most of his labors as Superintendent of

The United States Coast Survey

and

Standards of Weights and Measures

both great national work from their origin entrusted to

and conducted by him with distinguished reputation and success.

Strict integrity and love of truth with strength

and activity of intellect, characterized him as a man

whilst his various scientific writing as well as

the national works projected by him are alike

memorial of his laborious life and of his contribution

as a man of scientific instruction and improvement

of his fellow men.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"The first superintendent of the United States Coast Survey, Ferdinand Rudolph Hassler was a Swiss-born and educated mathematician who came to the United States in 1805. His contributions to the Lewis and Clark expedition involved corrections and alterations to the maps and calculations of longitude and latitude made by the Captains. He was born in Aarau, Switzerland, 6 October 1770, and was educated in nearby Bern. He attended the University of Bern intending to study jurisprudence, but met Johann George Tralles, a German mathematician, who inspired Hassler to study science and mathematics.

In 1793, Hassler traveled to Paris to study astronomy under some of the foremost scientists in Europe at the time. He returned to Switzerland five years later, when the French invaded his country. He held several public offices during the French occupation, including the attorney general for Switzerland. However, in 1803, the French took control of geographically related surveys, and Hassler decided that he could not work under them. He and his family emigrated to the United States in 1805, settling in New York.

In 1807, President Thomas Jefferson appointed Hassler professorial position at the United States Military Academy at West Point on a recommendation from the Secretary of the Treasury, Albert Gallatin. Hassler taught mathematics, but apparently did not develop a good rapport with his students. He only taught the brightest students, and did not spend time with those who had less aptitude for math. In 1809, the Secretary of War William Eustis told Hassler that the government did not approve of civilians teaching at the Military Academy. Hassler resigned his position on 14 February 1810. He took another position as a Professor of Natural Philosophy and Mathematics at Union College in Schenectady, NY, in March, 1810. He again found that teaching did not well suit his tastes, nor did his style of teaching effectively inspire his students to study.

In 1812, congress appointed Hassler the superintendent of the first United States Coast survey. They sent him to France and England to collect supplies for his endeavor. The English, however, detained Hassler, thinking him an enemy spy. He returned to the United States in 1815, at which time the survey formally began. Two years later, dissatisfied with his work, Congress suspended the survey. Hassler tried his hand at farming in upstate New York, and then traveled to Richmond to privately tutor the children of wealthy families. He also started writing textbooks which included Analytical Trigonometry, Elements of Geometry, Systems of the Universe, and Elements of Arithmetic. He also compose an article for the publication of the American Philosophical Society, Transactions, in 1828. In that piece, he defended his methods for the Coastal survey. Many respected scientists read the article and approved of his methods, and wrote to express their support for his leadership of the project.

In 1830, President Andrew Jackson appointed Hassler as the gauger for the United States, determining the standards for weights and measures for the country. Two years later, Hassler resumed his work as the superintendent of the Coast survey. He served in both of those capacities until his death on 20 November 1843.

Information from:

"Ferdinand Rudolph Hassler." www.dean.usma.edu/math/about/history/hassler.htm. 19 October 2003.

White, James T., ed. "Ferdinand Rudolph Hassler." Appleton's Cyclopaedia of American Biography. New York: Appleton and Co, 1887-89. www.famousamericans.net/ferdinandrudolphhassler. 2001 "

www.vcdh.virginia.edu/lewisandclark/biddle/biographies_ht...

museum.nist.gov/exhibits/ex1/room2.html