- Do you have dysautonomia?
- Do you consider yourself an introvert and/or a Highly Sensitive Person? (click the link to take the Highly Sensitive Person quiz)
If you answered yes to both of these questions, please message me; I’d love to include your story an essay I’m writing on the overlap between these traits. The piece will be a work of literary nonfiction, not a scientific study, but I do hope it will raise some important questions.
Please signal boost! Every story matters.
stonehenge plan . “stonehenge today and yesterday”, frank stevens . heywood sumner illustrator . 1916
From Glenn Greenwald’s analysis of this Snowden-released Powerpoint presentation, evidently used to train intelligence agents how to use principles of stage magic to infiltrate online communities and shape internet discourse.
There are photos of UFOs in there.
Photographs. Of UFOs.
Jerry Casale remembers his little brother and bandmate in Rolling Stone.
Both Bob Casale and Alan Myers appear to have died from stomach problems.
River corpses are almost always police cases. Homicides and suicides. My dad was eight when the naked, bloated body of a woman surfaced near a crescent of sand north of Dyckman Pier. He’d told me this before. He and his friends were chasing each other through the crumbling asphalt at the end of Dyckman Street when they saw a police boat anchored off shore.
Sixty years later, plenty of women still float up to the Hudson’s surface like broken mermaids. Two were found along Manhattan’s tip a couple of months apart last spring, one again here at the pier. Men appear too, especially in the warmer months, when the heated water reinvigorates decomposition and gives their sunken bodies a gaseous lift. But they mostly emerge with their clothes still on."
— Lauren Dockett, "The Quiet Edge", part of an essay series on urban waterways.
Aleksandr (Sasha) Kolpakov (right) and Vadim Kolpakov (left, Sasha’s nephew), filmed by the classical seven-string guitarist Oleg Timofeyev.
Soviet singer-songwriters such as the famous Vladimir Vysotsky are routinely referred to as “bards,” but an earlier, perhaps more descriptive term for their work was “amateur songs” [самодеятельная песня]. Their approach to song was as lyricists first, singers second, and guitarists a distant last. (In our North American tradition, think Leonard Cohen more than Bob Dylan.)
But those guitars they hardly played are curious! Many of the best-known bards - including Vystotsky, and Bulat Okudzhava - accompanied themselves on the “Russian,” or seven-string guitar, an instrument that reputedly developed in the East parallel to the Spanish guitar in the West. Its traditional tuning is to an open chord, typically G major, though the bards sometimes changed that to minor, or to an open tuning without major or minor (like our DADGAD).
"Professional" players of the seven-string guitar are not bards, however; they are either classical players, or players of gypsy music. Indeed, the gypsy player Sasha Kolpakov might lead one to question the instrument’s “Russian” roots altogether - it seems so well suited to Roma music, and his technique not unrelated to that virtuoso of the Western six-string, Django…
Maybe I’m a Romantic but I think that Humanity is, essentially - at its heart - Good. And that much of the suffering in the world is actually exacerbated by our inability to get the help we want to give where it’s needed, when its needed. All of these folks who end up growing up suffering, hurt, damaged from the wreckage of our inability to make it right when it’s needed, when it can do the most good.
So much of our financial communication is stalled, hampered by these Obelisks, these gatekeepers, that by the time our contributions get where they’re needed, it’s often far too late. If those contributions even ever get there.
There are countless tales of charity money being absconded with by Warlords or opportunists. Piles of rotting clothing baking in the sun, sent by people with smiling faces who didn’t give a damn once they got their cut.
Dogecoin offers us a glimpse of a whole new world - a new perspective on sharing, on caring that, in my mind, literally re-defines what’s possible for Humanity as a whole."
— Weird apostrophes and capitalization aside, the optimism around the goofiest of the cryptocurrencies is infectious.
— Outside extols the manly virtues of hot chocolate.
IN A GARDEN
Gushing from the mouths of stone men
To spread at ease under the sky
In granite-lipped basins,
Where iris dabble their feet
And rustle to a passing wind,
The water fills the garden with its rushing,
In the midst of the quiet of close-clipped lawns.
Damp smell the ferns in tunnels of stone,
Where trickle and plash the fountains,
Marble fountains, yellowed with much water.
Splashing down moss-tarnished steps
It falls, the water;
And the air is throbbing with it;
With its gurgling and running;
With its leaping, and deep, cool murmur.
And I wished for night and you.
I wanted to see you in the swimming-pool,
White and shining in the silver-flecked water.
While the moon rode over the garden,
High in the arch of night,
And the scent of the lilacs was heavy with stillness.
Night and the water, and you in your whiteness,
From The Glebe, Vol 1, No. 5, published 1914.
Found in The Modernist Journals Project.