Log24

Wednesday, August 2, 2023

Adumbrating the Paradoxology

Filed under: General — Tags: , — m759 @ 12:04 pm

"William Blake's statement in The Marriage of Heaven and Hell
'Eternity is in love with the productions of time' is an adumbration
of the paradoxology of the game of hide-and-seek that Non-duality
is playing with and in celebration of itself in Ia divina commedia of
this night of its dream."

— Joseph Campbell in "The Inner Reaches of Outer Space" (©1986)

The above passage is from this journal on May 25 . . .
the release date for all eight episodes of FUBAR.

Terminator Zero: Rise of the Chatbots … Continues.

Filed under: General — Tags: , , — m759 @ 10:11 am

Quale  (Rhymes with Folly, not with Tale)

Filed under: General — Tags: , — m759 @ 1:04 am

Analogy . . . When A/B = C/D . . .

Illustration from a Log24 post tagged Quale


 

— and related material from the date  of the above Quale  post …

… as well as, from July 31, a version for the institutionalized —

Sunday, February 5, 2023

Dimensions

Filed under: General — Tags: , , , — m759 @ 2:01 am

A Logo for Riri

The above Nick Romano passage is from Knock on Any Door,
a 1947 novel by Willard Motley.  Another Motley novel about
Chicago, from 1958 . . .

Let No Man Write My Epitaph

Page 41

The city was a blue-black panther that slunk along beside them. The tall, skyscraper night-grass hemmed them in. The thousand neon animal eyes watched their going.

Page 67

The blue-black panther of a city watched their going. The un- blinking neon animal eyes watched their going. Thousands of neon signs lit their way. In an alley behind West Madison Street half an

Page 68

hour before, a bum, drunk, had frozen to death lying in the back doorway of a pawnshop. The blue-black panther crouched over him.

Page 70

First the creak of ice as an automobile goes by. Then the frown into your room of the red brick building across the street, its windows frosted over like cold, unfriendly eyes. Then a bum stumbling along trying to keep warm. Now a drunk, unevenly. And the wind like the howling voice of the blue-black panther, hunting, finding. And the clanging of impersonal streetcars. And each bar of neon, cold, dead. No message. The clown takes his bow and it is Christmas Day.

Page 79

The blue-black panther followed them, sniffing at their heels.

Page 106

Above them the blue-black panther lay on the roof of a tenement house, its feline chin on the cornice, its yellow-green eyes staring down onto the black night street of Maxwell. Its tail, wagging slowly back and forth, was like a lasso, a noose, sending little shivers of pebbles rolling loosely across the roof.

Page 154

Then he went down to the Shillelagh Club. Through the pane, in the crowded, noisy place, he saw her. She was sitting at a table near the back, alone. Her cigarette had fallen from her lips and rolled away from her on the table top. It had burned itself to a long gray ash. Her head hung loosely on her neck as if she was asleep. A half-empty glass of beer was in front of her. Please, Mother, please come out, he prayed to her. And he stood next door to the tavern, waiting, his small shoulders drawn in, his head down in shame. And often he walked to the window and stood on tiptoe. She was still there. In the same position. He waited. He would be late to school tomorrow. He waited, keeping the long vigil. He waited. Twelve years old. And the thousand neon-animal eyes stared at him savagely. He waited. The blue-black panther lashed out its tail, flicking its furry tip against his ankles. He waited.

Page 250

Alongside the blue-black patrol wagon the blue-black panther walks majestically.

Page 262

Outside the door the blue-black panther rubs its back like a house cat.

Page 409

Nick held the cigarette listlessly. The smoke curled up his wrist and arm like a snake. The blue-black panther licked his hand.

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