pill-bug

Via the Awesomer, we learn about this delightfully, rollie-pollie pedestrian bridge installed in Paddington back in 2004. Distinct from a draw-bridge, the design is called a rolling one technically though it looks more like curling. The perhaps unnecessary but wonderful articulation makes me think of the Paternostra elevators I’ve yet to ride in. The footbridge was designed by Thomas Heatherwick, who is also working to realise the “garden bridge” to brook the Thames.

wewelsburg oder brennpunkt

I still find myself reeling with the same feeling of creeping disbelief that I first encountered not so long ago in finding that the exploits and the ambitions of the followers of the Nazi party in regards to the esoteric (as portrayed in the Indiana Jones franchise) was not wholly a Hollywood conceit and much of the occult practises to this day rather defy popular portrayal.
On our way back from a trip to Amsterdam (more on this experience to come), H and I stopped at the enigmatic castle of Wewelsburg by Paderborn in Nordrhein-Westfalen. The uniquely triangular Renaissance structure was leased in perpetuity after 1933 by Schutzstaffel—abbreviated with the stylised runes SS—leader Heinrich Himmler as a school-house for cadets but was soon convinced by mystic Karl Maria Wiligut who conflated an otherwise ordinary piece of real estate due to its proximity to the Battle of the Teutoburger Wald to declare and expand this site as the centre of the world, specifically radiating from the norther tower, reconstructed with forced labour from a dedicated concentration camp as a crypt below and meeting hall above for the upper echelons of instructors and mentors.  Neither chamber was used to purpose.
Although no records exist that speak to the exact plans and use and proctors ordered the castle’s demolition at the end of the war, the tower for the most part remained intact (due to the reinforcement during reconstruction), the inlaid of dark green marble that represents black sun, the wheel of the sun—a triad of swastikas that form the months of the year and which may or may not have historical provenance beyond the Nazis.
The power of the symbol was defused by a collection of bean-bags and reading material that told of the more distant architectural history of Wewelsburg, and this is perhaps as it should be, though the fount of inspiration and mystery beyond romance is disdained completely at the peril of future generations, whom can be hosteled here too.

hasp and clasp

In the wake of the Brexit referendum and the gathering gale that follows, Briton—and the idea is spreading virulently, have adopted wearing safety-pins as a subtle sign of solidarity against racism and as a way to perhaps signal to others that there are still kindred souls about, informs Kottke and the Everlasting Blört. This small act—or the online equivalent of bracketing one’s handle with paper-clips—perhaps does not betray a surplus of Zivilcourage and resistance to existential threats require decisive action, especially on the part of those who’d never be directly party to such affronts in the institutional sense, but I think every little bit counts. What do you think? I’ll be wearing mine—also because it’s kind of punk.

aan de amsterdamse grachten

After a week like the last one, H and I needed to redeem a gift and spend the weekend in Amsterdam.
Even if the rhetoric were to cool down and the candidate were to conduct himself in a more becoming manner, for the partisans in the US that elevated the forty-fifth presumptive to high-office, that pot has already been stirred. Even if genuinely capable of healing the polar divide of the American people and its broader mission that validates nationalistic leanings, those who put him in office are not wanting to see a conciliatory, contrite candidate who might retract some of the more outrageous hyperbole. There will be consequences for each campaign promise not lived up to—and sooner rather than later.  Maybe the city’s reputation as Pinocchio’s Island of the Donkey Boys is not undeserved as it’s always prepared and equipped for a good time—and not necessarily one tinged with regret and near-misses, and I wonder if it’s not some apt metonym for the hard repelling to the right.
It’s a living community obviously but limned with the extremes of revelry and reflection—in the history, the museums whose curation is an ancient one, and its once pinnacled past as the richest spot on Earth due to mercantilism and a service economy, whose tulip-based stock exchange is a cautionary-tale. I wonder what it’s like for the denizens to cope in that sort of environment. I’d imagine that it would be pretty fun to switch—if it weren’t for the crush of tourists and vested interest to make the Amsterdam the backdrop of their expectations, and I’m sure that individuals with a certain threshold gravitate to such places on a more permanent basis as well. Amsterdam is no political surrogate so no matter and it was a treat exploring the alleyways and canals and watching the juxtaposition and wondering how those forces of Nature that drove different proclivities had the wind knocked out of their sails just here at that moment—just short of cancelling on another out.
The XXX that’s featured prominently all over the city—on its banners and emblems, is not the origin of an explicit rating or highly potent liquor though that might seem appropriate but three crosses (saltires) of Andrew the Apostle—patron of fishermen who was crucified, tortuously tethered on the more common x-shaped construction—but according to legend represents the triple threat to the city of fire, flood and pestilence and are probably of a mutable character, given the drift of the times.