Sunday, January 22, 2017

Not even Texas remembers W

This is a photo from today's South Texas News story about the first President Bush.  His son (this guy) isn't mentioned in the story; there's no reason for his picture to be used.  It's not even captioned, like "former President's son".  We're clearly supposed to assume this is the Bush in the story.

Either they don't remember him in Texas anymore, or it means they gave up trying to tell everyone he kept us safe, and now they're hoping for simple oblivion for the man.  May it be so.

Sunday, January 15, 2017

Perry Mason blooper

Watching Perry Mason yesterday, paused it and got this.

Don't know where that oddly-placed speck came from-- digital blank or analog blot (I didn't make it, or even intentionally pause the machine at the right place)-- but it seems to be the episode where Raymond Burr was accidentally shot in the back of the head by a clumsy cast member.  

The show went on hiatus for retooling-- there was some talk of "Hamilton Burger, District Attorney" coming to the airwaves-- but a little bullet through the noggin wasn't about to stop Raymond Burr, and he returned unharmed the next fall.  The summer replacement was "Agent 13, Man of Mystery", starring Dave Ketchum.

I do have some odd Mason screen caps around here somewhere...

Wednesday, January 4, 2017

In Defense of Anonymity: Cut-up Clothing

The Guardian has an article about how fashions are evolving to stump facial recognition software by overloading it with data-- which we audio types know as "noise", specifically, irrelevant signal.  Try a shirt made out of this stuff!

Maybe the Cubists saw something back there...

This would also confuse a cat.

Tuesday, January 3, 2017

William S. Burroughs: Mr Bradley Mr Martin, hear us through the hole in thin air

** I don't know if this piece was ever transcribed;  I searched the Internet for quotes and nothing came up.  It originally appeared in Aspen magazine as a recording only.  The breaks and punctuation are mine, and hopefully reflect the author's intent.**

Mr Bradley Mr Martin hear us through the hole in thin air.  Thing police, all boardroom reports now are ended.  Fading out in _onolulu, _ew York, _aris, _ome, _oston.  The great wind, evolving turrets, towers, palaces.  Sound and image flakes fall.  His dogs that were his eyes, shut off, Mr Bradley, mister-- gone away.  Pulled the reverse switch.  Place no good, no bueno.  Turned off the Swedish river of Gothenburg, Saturday, March 17th, 1962, past time.  These colorless sheets are empty.  You never existed at all.

I smoke is all boy.  Goodbye to William.  Al hab.  Last twinges of a coffin posting this book where the awning flaps a distant thank you.  Explosion splits the boat.  SOS.  Five times SOS.  Hear this little time, five scars left the dawn.  Goodbye to Mr Martin, who never had courage to let go.

He heard your summons.  Time hiccups.  Last cigarette loud and clear.  Last flag fading.  Rings of Saturn in the morning sky, whatever remains could give no human contacts.  Front for the hot reward business.  Chinese youths sent the resistance vision to you tilting through pinball machine. Remember, I was the ship gives no flesh identity.  Lips fading.  Silence to say goodbye.

If you wanted a cup of tea with whatever remains, breadknife in the heart.  Fade quivering excuse for being.  Shadow American, look anyplace, empty new.  Our actors proffer the account.  Sheets are empty.

Many years ago, that breadknife in the war.  Inessential word from the past.  For I have known through faulty human equipment the vacant courage to let all messages in and out, to the mountain wind, loud and clear now.  Through faulty human equipment hustling myself; your stale overcoat not taking any dirty pictures.  Twisting hole in everybody, spilling out limestone john hamburger mary jackie bluenote.  Had enough movies.  No good, no bueno.

Yas, adios, meester.  I go home, having lost.  In sun I held the vacant courage to proffer the mountain wind.  And I can see the flesh words answer your summons, no more falling on all flesh.  Sheets are empty, the recordings remain.

Last human contact used as model for a bad move.  Other identities are a rubbish heap to life form A, better than shouts, no good no bueno.  Crime child, it's five times.  Had enough flak of absent world?

Child of Nova, the story over.  I fold distant fingers.  The Doctor on stage, hand falling.  Slow metal fires tap on the bloody sky.  I think now I go home.  Goodbye to William.  You and I fading.  Silence to say, you are yourself, Mr Bradley, Mr Martin, who never existed at all.  Silence to say goodbye.