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Damn: stringur gives 46 hits on Google,
BUT cosmicur has NO hits on Google.

The London Nobody Knows

Geoffrey Fletcher

I have no hesitation in admitting that the older I get the more London becomes an obsession with me, so much that I find myself ill at ease elsewhere, a feeling similar with Dr. Johnson. It is a good thing, I think, for artists, to have an obsession; more that one, indeed provided they can all be pursued. The obsession often supplies the driving force for unusual results. Turner, with his preoccupation with light, is a familiar example. Samuel Palmer, in the Shoreham years, was another. The intensity of the Pre-Raphaelites gave a special feverish poetry even to their hangers-on and imitators. Then there was John Martin, a second rate artist touched for a moment by a weird genius, Fuseli; and Toulouse-Lautrec whose special obsession was the life of Montmarte. Each had his particular idée fixe, and, declaring mine, I feel myself to be in good company.

When Dr. Johnson remarked that, from a variety of diversions, a man could avoid an unfortunate marriage more easily in London than elsewhere, he was understating his case. It is my belief that a man can do everything better in London - think better, say his prayers better, eat and cheat better, even enjoy the country better. The country can be graceless and dull and tiresome, as Aubrey Beardsley pointed out, and is, I think, best enjoyed in the imagination or in landscape paintings or on Hampstead Heath.

I feel sympathetic to those eighteenth-century poets who dwelt on the delights of a rural retreat, enthused over rustic glades, milkmaids, and swains, without leaving St James's Street and the Mall, It is possible, anyway, to take long country walks in London, through a chain of parkland and open space, and hardly ever take one's feet off the grass.

Poetry Please

This is not a blog
This from "The 240 Songs of Experience"

To hear no parts that move around,
And see a heaven in the simple design.
To hold John Cage in the palm of my hand,
And listen for an hour.

"epitipe" is a word that may come to mean "anagram" Sat Nov 20 22:28:13 GMT 2004

Bertrand Russell

      An elderly lady confronted Bertrand Russell at the end of his lecture on
                              orbiting planets, saying,

    "What you have told us is rubbish. The world is really a flat plate supported
                         on the back of a giant tortoise". 

    Russell gave a superior smile before asking what the turtle was standing on. 

    "You're very clever young man, very clever," replied the old woman, "but it's
                             turtles all the way down."

                                    -- re-told by Stephen Hawking

David Bohm

Extract from "Wholeness and the Implicate Order" (1980)

By thus introducing what is in effect the beginning of a hierarchy of similarities and differences, we can go on to curves of arbitrarily high degrees of order. As the degrees become indefinitely high, we are able to describe what have commonly been called 'random' curves - such as those encountered in Brownian motion. This kind of curve is not determined by any finite number of steps. Nevertheless, it would not be appropriate to call it 'disordered', i.e., having no order whatsoever. Rather, it has a certain kind of order which is of an indefinitely high degree.

In this way, we are led to make an important change in the general language of description. We no longer use the term 'disorder' but instead we distinguish between different degrees of order (so that, for example, there is an unbroken gradation of curves, beginning with those of first degree, and going on step by step to those that have generally been called 'random').

Man Mind

"The mind commands the body, and it obeys instantly; the mind commands itself, and is resisted."
 -- St. Augustine (354-430)

The present is the funeral of the past,
And man the living sepulchre of life.

 -- John Clare 1845

The best installations begin in the bathroom....

And to follow...


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