disinformed

Actual, malicious hacking is of course not the cultural heir to countless generations of superstition that evolved from mischievous spirits to gremlins and system bugs but the fact that the pedigree isn’t always knowable tends to flatten and conflate matters for everyone. It’s hard to know whether at work we’re not under some general assault or whether it’s just a matter of poor design and systemic overburdening whose annoyance over technical difficulties are little consolation insofar as oneself isn’t the target of an attack. Most routine disruptions are just that but lately things—both during work hours and at home—seemed to have turned a touch personal. We feel we reliably understand our catalogue of repertoire for correspondence and creation but when things start to appear to go missing and unindexed, I at least begin to feel gaslighted.
I began noticing that blog posts that I knew I had composed in the past—sometimes far beyond that relative horizon called “recent”—that I wanted to footnote a current topic with weren’t to be found, search internally and externally. Pictorial searches sometimes seem to net better yields but if I didn’t have faith in the fullness of my recollection and didn’t manage an independent archive myself, I would begin to question whether the missing pages existed in the first place. “I wrote about this topic before but Google says I didn’t.” A few other internet caretakers have also mentioned this in passing and I am reasonably sure that they’re experiencing the same sort of emphasis on currency and novelty that I have been—still one has to wonder how to define sabotage and subterfuge (or innocent incompetence and the over-confidence in our abilities) in a space where gravity and the laws of physics are subject to change. We tend to think of the architecture of basic services to be permanent and self-sustaining but there’s an awful amount of behind-the-scenes maintenance that goes into it and maybe we’ve just become too accustomed to a set of expectations, a frustration that betrays our impatience. When I heard of co-workers bemoaning that they were unable to search our email server exchange for older missives as reference, I was a little baffled and dismissive—that is, until I experienced the same glitch, which isn’t consistent seemingly or long-lived enough to properly investigate and work up any sort of relatable or repeatable remedy. Lack of information is a flavour of disinformation. If this undermining (real or perceived) is the work of an Evil Genius to torment, train or trick, it’s a pretty impressive vulnerability to exploit.

luftangriff

This evening and into the next morning marks the seventy-fifth anniversary of the deadliest and most destructive bombing attack by the Allied forces on the town of Kassel.
The attack punctuated a series of strategic air raids that had been periodically targeting manufacturing facilities and defensive infrastructure killed an estimated ten thousand civilians and the resulting fire engulfed the city for seven days afterwards. Counted with Dresden, Hamburg, Pforzheim and Darmstadt, Kassel had among the highest number of casualties from aerial bombing.

gca68

On this day, fifty years ago President Lyndon Baines Johnson signed into law the Gun Control Act of 1968, which focused on regulating the firearms industry and owners by restricting interstate trade in guns and weapons to licensed dealers and exporters.
The assassination of John Fitzgerald Kennedy nearly five years earlier prompted the legislation, which still languished in Congress and the Senate, when it was discovered that the president was killed with a rifle purchased by mail-order from a magazine. The murders of Martin Luther King, Jr and Robert Kennedy earlier in 1968 renewed the effort to change the law, which additionally mandated that buyers have licenses for and register their weapons and prohibited categories of persons, including felons and the mentally incompetent, from owning guns.

leaf-peeping

I took a stroll through the fields to the forest’s edge above our village watch the slow transition of the leaves to their autumn colour palette.  The sunshine was not as forthcoming as yesterday that bathed everything with a blushing golden hue in the mid-afternoon but the woods still put on a spectacular show for this opening act that is to be followed by several encores. 

untitled (questions)

Composed first in 1990, conceptual artist and collagist Barbara Kruger’s massive, declarative mural in Futura Bold Oblique that begs important and resonant questions will be reinstalled on the south wall of Los Angeles’ MOCO Temporary Contemporary building.
An anonymous donor is paying to have the installation recreated ahead of US mid-term elections and will remain up until at least 2020. The nine questions posed are anything but rhetorical devices and are as follows:

Who is beyond the law? Who is bought and sold? Who is free to choose? Who does time? Who follows orders? Who salutes the longest? Who prays the loudest? Who dies first? Who laughs last?

Learn more at Fast Company at the link above.

8x8

a benign and relatively common parasomnia: by an eerie coincidence, I experienced the “exploding head syndrome” drifting out of sleep this morning

let me reach, let me beach on the shores of tripoli: a look at the cultural impact and legacy of Enya Orinoco Flow

buchstabcenschrift: the rise and fall of Nazi Germany’s one time signature font—via Kottke’s Quick Links

moral compass: scenarios that make one wish for two trolleys

head in the sand: we are mostly ignoring dire and immediate climate-change warnings

god bless you, mister rosewater: Kurt Vonnegut, JR—sketch-artist

casualty rate: death by numbers examined from various angles

be a joyful rule-breaker: the reprisals of two interviews from Terry Gross and Pope of Trash, John Waters, made our day

velocità astratta + rumore

Arguably best known for his 1912 painting Dynamism of a Dog on a Leash which encapsulates all of the elements of Futurism—depictions of light, movement and speed, we are introduced to the portfolio of artist and educator Giacomo Balla (*1871 - †1958) via the serendipitous and unexpected discovery of murals from the artist, conserved for decades behind wallpaper and drop-ceilings.
Commissioned to decorate the fashionable and up-and-coming jazz club Bal Tic Tac in Rome in 1921, Balla’s racing vision of things to come matched the experimental nature of the musical acts and were feared lost to the ages when the property became a bank and was repurposed. In the near future, the space will become an exhibit hall. Learn more at the local—Italy’s English language daily at the link above.