fallslikesnow

"Ghost capital, real city of varied stones, the great gray place of winds and wynds, old, new and festive by turns, between the river and the hills with its own stone stump, that frozen flow, that fractured plug of ancient matter that fascinated him. He came to stay in Sciennes road, just liking the name, not knowing the place. It was handy, both for the university and the Institute, and if he pressed his face against the window of his cold, high-ceilinged room he could just see one edge of the Crags, gray-brown corrugations above the slate roofs and smoke of the city." From The Bridge by Iain Banks . The above quote comes about half way through the book. The city is Edinburgh, the Institute is the Grant Institute of Geology. I read this book for the first time as a first year geology student at Edinburgh University, living in a high-ceilinged flat on Sciennes Road. When I read the words above I pressed my face to the cold window and saw the edge of Arthurs Seat and a ...

Five years ago I went to see godspeed you! black emperor at the Lemon Tree in Aberdeen, Scotland. At the time I was waiting on a job offer in Houston, TX, USA so I could be re-united with my wife and children (the job and the adoption came through a week and a month later respectively). The Lemon Tree was (maybe still is) a pub - the band sets up in a corner on the same level as the audience. There is room for 200 people at most. It's as basic a set-up as can be imagined. There were two support bands that night - a tough gig for anyone given who the main band was. The first band were forgettable in the extreme. The second band were sigur ros . It's hard to state the effect of seeing them play had on an audience who had never heard of them before. Jaws dropped. At least two people I saw started crying. No-one went to the bar . It was a life-changing moment. One all the more powerful for the fact that GSYBE came on next and played an awesome set which seemed almost irreleva...

The sea is calm to-night. The tide is full, the moon lies fair Upon the straits;--on the French coast the light Gleams and is gone; the cliffs of England stand, Glimmering and vast, out in the tranquil bay. Come to the window, sweet is the night-air! Only, from the long line of spray Where the sea meets the moon-blanch'd land, Listen! you hear the grating roar Of pebbles which the waves draw back, and fling, At their return, up the high strand, Begin, and cease, and then again begin, With tremulous cadence slow, and bring The eternal note of sadness in. Sophocles long ago Heard it on the Ægean, and it brought Into his mind the turbid ebb and flow Of human misery; we Find also in the sound a thought, Hearing it by this distant northern sea. The Sea of Faith Was once, too, at the full, and round earth's shore Lay like the folds of a bright girdle furl'd. But now I only hear Its melancholy, long, withdrawing roar, Retreating, to the breath Of the ni...

The New York Times : "In recent years, neuroscientists have found evidence that psychopathy scores reflect physical differences in brain function. Last April, Canadian and American researchers reported in a brain-imaging study that psychopaths processed certain abstract words - grace, future, power, for example - differently from nonpsychopaths."

"I understood this myself when I read your novel The Time Machine. All human conceptions are on the scale of our planet. They are based on the pretension that the technical potential, although it will develop, will never exceed ‘terrestrial limit’." "If we succeed in establishing interplanetary communications, all our philosophies, moral and social views will have to be revised." V.I. Lenin in conversation with H.G. Wells from Emerald City

Silver in the Moonlight Chapter One “Between the lighthouse and the hills At the crossroads that none can see When the moon is full, through the eye in the stone Turn east to come to me” Tom woke struggling to breathe, as though his sleep had been ended by some large beast leaping on his chest. His room was dark, lit only by the dim starlight through his window, and the only sound was the heaving of his chest. As his panic slowly ebbed away he struggled to hold onto the one thing he knew to be important from the dream that had caused it – the clear, unarguable knowledge that in moonlight blood looked like molten silver. The next day, he rose after spending the rest of the night trying to sleepily sort through the feelings this dream fragment had left him with. Fear certainly, but also a strange kind of exultation, as though he has been given a piece of knowledge that few others possessed and fewer still could use. That idea brought him to a halt as he absently pulled on...

USA Coastal Waters, 29 deg 14' N, 92 deg 24' W 03-05-2002 Losses At some point over the last three years I lost something. Exactly what is hard to put into words, perhaps because no word exists for it.. This thing that I have lost was an ability, a way of looking at the world, perhaps a blind spot of some kind - whatever, it had, I suspect, no independent existence of its own, but was rather defined by the place where other, more "concrete", psychological and emotional entities intersect. It had something to do with: mental and emotional flexibility; curiosity about the world around me; a set of precious memories that served to glow with significance and a kind of holiness and provided an anchor when times were hard; many other things, some or all of which may be referred to subsequently. As I said above, the lost thing partakes of all the above qualities and more, but had a flavour of its own. It manifested as a kind of clear-sighted and realistic optimis...

We hit the tarmac running. The chopper blades still turning, we ran through the smells of half burned aviation fuel and rain under a sky so low it looked like the ceiling of a hospital room. We claimed our bags and jumped in a taxi for the railway station. When the sun is out Aberdeen can look like some slightly grim town out of faerie: the granite sparkles and accentuates the fanciful touches of the architecture. The delicate crenelations along the top of a terrace of shops; the impractical turretts on a dour family home. On days like this one the city looks like it was carved out of heavy dark cloud: at any time it could collapse into vast pools of dirty water. We caught the train. "I anticipated a greater degree of total non-linearity there my friend," said Shawn. "We dodged bullets both metaphorical and psychological, although thankfully not literal." East Scotland raced past outside the window. Wasted little towns, falling apart as we passed. "...

"'Tis ane of their Tenets, that nothing periƒheth, but (as the Sun and Year) every Thing goes in a Circle, leƒƒer or greater, and is renewed and refreƒhed in its Revolutions; as 'tis another, that every Bodie in the Creation moves, (which is a ƒort of Life;) and that nothing moves, but [h]as another Animal moving on it; and ƒo on, to the utmoƒt minuteƒt Corpuƒcle that's capable to be a Receptacle of Life." The Secret Commonwealth of Elves, Fauns and Fairies by Robert Kirk and Andrew Lang [1893]

A description of the Khazars (in this context possibly meaning the Huns?) from "The History of the Caucasian Albanians" by Movses Dasxuranci(a.k.a. Moses Kałankatuaçi; tr. C.J.F. Dowsett,Oxford, 1961), written around 1000AD. (stolen mercilessly from the excellent idiocentrism and found via languagehat ). "thumb-cutters" and the Turkish Khazars. The Khazars: "bestial, gold-loving tribes of hairy men.... an ugly, insolent, broadfaced, eyelashless mob in the shape of women with flowing hair....demented in their satanically deluded tree-worshipping errors in accordance with their northern dull-witted stupidity, addicted to their fictitious and deceptive religion....There we observed them on their couches like rows of heavily laden camels. Each had a bowl full of the flesh of unclean animals, and dishes containing salt water into which they dipped their food, and brimming silver cups and beakers chased with gold which had been taken from the plunder from T...

North of Edinburgh, across the Firth of Forth lies the Kingdom of Fife. The word "kingdom" is only applied ironically these days, Fife not having been independent for 800 years or so. Still, there is something that sets this bulbous peninsula apart, the south-east corner (the “east neuk” of Fife) most of all. Low, sandy hills sweep gently down to the slowly curving shore. The only straight lines to be seen are man made and there are few enough of those. True, the streets that run straight up from the sea in the little villages sprinkled along the coast could have been laid along tightened fishing lines, but the houses along side them have the sillouhetes of half risen loaves of bread. Precarious lumps of glittering granite, they look as though they could collapse at any minute although none has stood for less than 200 years. The beaches are quietly pleasant during good weather and attritionally awful in bad. The sand is just a shade too pale to be called golden, the grains ...

Testament Dig my grave and raise my barrow By the Dnieper-side In Ukraina, my own land, A fair land and wide. I will lie and watch the cornfields, Listen through the years To the river voices roaring, Roaring in my ears. When I hear the call Of the racing flood, Loud with hated blood, I will leave them all, Fields and hills; and force my way Right up to the Throne Where God sits alone; Clasp His feet and pray... But till that day What is God to me? Bury me, be done with me, Rise and break your chain, Water your new liberty With blood for rain. Then, in the mighty family Of all men that are free, Maybe sometimes, very softly, You will speak of me? Taras Shevchenko Translated by E. L. Voynich London, 1911

"In 1525, during the night between Wednesday and Thursday after Whitsuntide, I had this vision in my sleep, and saw how many great waters fell from heaven. The first struck the ground about four miles away from me with such a terrible force, enormous noise and splashing that it drowned the entire countryside. I was so greatly shocked at this that I awoke before the cloudburst. And the ensuing downpour was huge. Some of the waters fell some distance away and some close by. And they came from such a height that they seemed to fall at an equally slow pace. But the very first water that hit the ground so suddenly had fallen at such velocity, and was accompanied by wind and roaring so frightening, that when I awoke my whole body trembled and I could not recover for a long time. When I arose in the morning, I painted the above as I had seen it. May the Lord turn all things to the best." Albrecht Dürer, 1525

Exultation is the going Of an inland soul to sea, -- Past the houses, past the headlands, Into deep eternity! Bred as we, among the mountains, Can the sailor understand The divine intoxication Of the first league out from land? Emily Dickinson

CHILDREN born of fairy stock Never need for shirt or frock, Never want for food or fire, Always get their heart’s desire: Jingle pockets full of gold, Marry when they’re seven years old. Every fairy child may keep Two strong ponies and ten sheep; All have houses, each his own, Built of brick or granite stone; They live on cherries, they run wild— I’d love to be a Fairy’s child. Robert Graves (1895–1985). Fairies and Fusiliers. 1918. [found via the totally rocking Robert Graves Trust website. Graves is pretty unknown as a poet these days, sadly. I read one of his poems at my fathers funeral so you will probably understand that we were both fans. Graves reputation nowadays rests almost entirely on the Claudius books (which he regarded as potboilers) and The White Goddess - a very odd attempt to come up with a kind of grand synthesis of myth, poetry and the psychological impulses behind all forms of creativity. He described it himself as being "a histor...

The derived SI unit for bad English accents is the Van Dyke and was introduced in 1981 when it became clear it was required in the film casting industry. Its definition in terms of base units is complex, but it was constructed such that 1 vD should be equivalent to an objective measurement of the accent of Dick Van Dyke in the movie Mary Poppins ("Gor bloimey Mairry Poppins!"). For all practical purposes 1 vD is vastly too large for general usage. More usually, English Accent Awfulness (EAA) is measured in milli Van Dykes ("Paltrow got her EAA down to 6 mvD in that take") or micro van Dykes ("Zellweger is easily in the micro vD range"). Unconfirmed reports do suggest of localised readings of up to 5 GvD at the Texas RenFaire.

Herodotus 4.150-8 I have no idea what this means. google has been useless. Anyone want to help? The above posted to askmetafilter on November 7.

So, I am totally desperately unhappy. In case anyone is interested, I am hurt. I am not the best person available. [added 10-13-04. Damm, people are actually reading this stuff. Must be more careful about letting the despair show...]

Bagpipe Music by Louis Macneice It's no go the merrygoround, it's no go the rickshaw, All we want is a limousine and a ticket for the peepshow. Their knickers are made of crepe-de-chine, their shoes are made of python, Their halls are lined with tiger rugs and their walls with head of bison. John MacDonald found a corpse, put it under the sofa, Waited till it came to life and hit it with a poker, Sold its eyes for souvenirs, sold its blood for whiskey, Kept its bones for dumbbells to use when he was fifty. It's no go the Yogi-man, it's no go Blavatsky, All we want is a bank balance and a bit of skirt in a taxi. Annie MacDougall went to milk, caught her foot in the heather, Woke to hear a dance record playing of Old Vienna. It's no go your maidenheads, it's no go your culture, All we want is a Dunlop tire and the devil mend the puncture. The Laird o' Phelps spent Hogmanay declaring he was sober, Counted his feet to prove the fact and f...

I. CAPTIVITY YOUR yen two wol slee me sodenly, I may the beaute of hem not sustene, So woundeth hit through-out my herte kene. And but your word wol helen hastily My hetres wounde, whyl that hit is grene, Your yen two wol slee me sodenly, I may the beaute of hem not sustene. Upon my trouthe I seyy yow feithfully, That ye ben of my lyf deeth the quene; Foe with my deeth the trouthe shal be sene. Your yen two wol slee me sodenly, I may the beaute of hem not sustene, So woundeth hit through-out my herte kene. Geoffrey Chaucer (1340-1400)