minced oath or lightwater syndrome

Swearing came about as a linguistic loophole to prohibitions against blasphemy. Socrates’ frequent but rather timid exclamation of “by the dog”—referring to constellation of Canis Major and not “god” backwards, of course—was even known as the Rhadamanthine oath in order to forever ridicule that king’s embargo on invoking the names of the gods in vain.
All sorts of stealth cursing came about and though a lot of the inventions ring as old-fashioned and mincing profanity, which is almost equally unacceptable in polite-company as one’s dancing around the taboo and not making the effort to really distance oneself from vulgar language. Self-censorship’s euphemistic history extends as far back to when we first learned to mask our unmitigated reactions with language: consarnit, Sam Hill, Land of Goshen, Jesus wept (which is considered suitable as one is reciting the shortest verse in the Bible), ‘zounds for by Christ’ wounds and ods bodilns—by God’s nails. If we’ve somewhat matured in keeping our speech cultured (and possibly our own minds out of the gutter), it’s interesting then that we’re being drawn back into the phase of snickering humour by those filters we put in place to keep content age-appropriate and our immediate environment relatively smut-free. Those automated bowdlerisers (despite advances in the industry) perennially and incredulously inconvenience residents of the English towns of Sussex and Penistone and the titular village—as well as many unfortunately named persons—and the phenomena is called the Scunthrope Problem, after another municipality in Lincolnshire with Norse etymology. Keeping a swear-jar near at hand is a good motivator to be as colourful with one’s metaphors as possible or at least to retain adult-decorum.  Alright governor.

melee oder countermeasures

While the cadets of the Anti-Terror League are working to maintain order and accountability (somewhat in over-drive, being ignorant of the Boy who Cried Wolf troupe), the New Year’s Eve violence and harassment that was visited on revellers in Cologne (Köln), withheld from the public under a self-imposed media blackout, and the delayed and ridiculous official response, in stark contrast, demonstrate that terrorism does not only involve guns and bombs. The Burgermeisterin, who was rather propelled into office after being stabbed during the mayoral elections by an individual who vehemently disagreed with her stance on accepting refugees, offered a rather tepid piece of advice (opening herself up to attack) to scores of women who found themselves kettled groped, robbed and raped in the chaos of the celebratory night, to keep stranger-danger at arm’s length (Armslänge)—as sound and helpful as Duck and Cover.
A state-sponsored broadcaster is also under fire for its editorial decision to practise self-censorship and not report the incident until several days later, arguing that the news would incite more of the nascent fears, stereotyping and scapegoating of the newly arrived masses of refugees—given that the coordinated perpetrators were identified as such. It certainly does fuel the outrage and angst, and seems to me to blame the victims and exonerate the offenders. It has been argued that the Cosplay Caliphate relish such division and distress and want people to feel that refugees are an assault on Western lifestyle and culture so more of the alienated and disenfranchised will fight for their cause. Now—however, I’m not sure what to think. It is scary and defies good-governance—above and beyond protection and defence but down to the fundamentals of civility and security. That awful and polarising term no-go zones is even being thrown around, going far beyond welcoming and accommodation to question going out in public. Vigilance, I think, does not make such demands.

octopus’ garden in the shade

An inventive diver vacationing in Noli—by Finale Ligure, was inspired to construct underwater green-houses that fulfil all the requirements of their terrestrial counterparts. These installations, called Nemo’s Garden and were part of last year’s Milanese design expo, are balloons anchored to the sea floor with a bubble of air, forming a protective cavity that can range from the size of a single plant up to rows and fields I suppose, which are pretty self-sustaining—with fresh water filtered through osmosis from the surrounding aquatic environment and temperatures and luminosity remain almost constant.

quill and feather

A design student is exploring the limits of textiles and wearable technology in with prototype apparel that can be calibrated to respond like the skin’s involuntary, galvanic reflexes (blushing and goosebumps) or even respond to the temperament of the beholder.
While I agree that in vulnerable situations sometimes we could benefit from thicker, second-skin and armour, taking cues from the animal kingdom, it would strike me as really bizarre if a woman’s hemline suddenly dropped to conform with the disapproving glance of an on-looker—or even more extreme, having one’s little black-dress shape-shift into a cocooning burqa or simply what another wants to see. I hope that this technology evolves in useful ways and does not make us all into fashion-victims, instead of well look what she was wearing—that’s begging for it rather subject to the sensibilities of others. What do you think?

6x6

op-art: 8-bit watercolours of classical masterpieces

annual: the year in pictures as captured by the official White House photographer

waschbär: little raccoon wets a piece of cotton candy only to have it dissolve

perfect for beaufort cheese: Alpine village is being powered by left-over whey

expatriate: one American candidacy is becoming awful diplomacy abroad

umschlag: author and illustrator Edward Gorey’s whimsically decorated correspondence

post-production or the great oz has spoken

This intriguing and detail oriented edition of the iconic classic The Wizard of Oz had been circulating for a few days, but I wasn’t really curious enough (to my loss) to watch this wonder until I got more of the backstory about the creator, who is a dyed in the wool fan-fiction, expanded universe—probably best known for his continuance of the original Star Trek series with pitch-perfect staging—artist plus a bit of a primer about what exactly is going on from this brilliant interview from Dangerous Minds. Scene for scene, the dissecting and reassembly (with even the dialogue alphabetised) really helped the master dissembler to appreciate details that would not otherwise materialise.

ishtar or 48 hours later

Despite how well the ancient Mesopotamian Epic of Gilgamesh establishes and wields all the classical reverberating hallmarks of myth, the story of a tyrannical king sent a wild man by the gods to curb his oppressive-tendencies—is really strikingly unknown compared to other influential works of cultural heritage. Only really rediscovered and promulgated to audience of any size after World War I, I guess it should not be surprising that the only cemented reference to the friendship fostered between King Gilgamesh and Enkidu I really ever encountered until recently was in that brilliant episode of Star Trek the Next Generation (“Darmok” it was called and perhaps the literature of ancient Sumer might not gain wide-spread status until the twenty-fourth century ) where CPT Picard encounters an alien race whose language muddles the Universal Translator. Finally realising that their speech is drawn from their native mythological canon, using allegory and allusion, CPT Picard reaches out to his fellow captain through the story of Gilgamesh. As a post-script, Picard reads a bit of Homer and wonders—never quite knowing the context or what the fallen alien captain was trying to tell him, if better understanding of his own mythological legacy might make them better explorers. As a foil to the very photogenic but committed bachelor and demi-god Gilgamesh, the gods fashion the savage Enkidu, whose disruption to the countryside seems almost as repulsive to the beleaguered subjects of Uruk as the king’s persecution within the city walls.
Hoping to civilise and tame Enkidu, Gilgamesh arranges for him to be seduced by a temple harlot—and the marathon love-making session seems initially to have worked, as Enkidu cleaned up pretty well too and the animals seems to reject his company afterwards. The former wild scourge dispatched, Enkidu even settling down and becoming a shepherd, Gilgamesh was free to continue his reign of terror more or less unabated. Learning of the king’s deportment while tending his flock, Enkidu resolved to intervene all the same. After a long battle, the two realise that they are of equal strength and sort of a buddy cop movie relationship ensues. The two go off questing together and Gilgamesh is transformed and forgets his old ways on their adventures. Eventually the pair encounter the goddess Ishtar, who has a reputation as somewhat of a vamp to compliment Gilgamesh’s former rakish but reformed ways, and when the king begs off her advances, the scorned goddess demands the Bull of Heaven be visited on Uruk to dealt the land with earthquakes, droughts and plagues. Ishtar’s contingency plan (if the king of the gods refused to unleash this Kraken) was to raise a zombie army to devour the living. Enkidu and Gilgamesh, however, are able to slay the beast—further enraging the gods, who decide one of them must pay for this transgression with his life and Enkidu wastes away, ageing rapidly for weeks, denied a warrior’s death and only a bleak, dusty afterlife to look forward to. Inconsolable, Gilgamesh gives his companion full funerary honours and resolves himself never to die—especially not to succumb to the ravages of old age and dotage (mortal himself despite his divine parentage), and embarks to find the immortal couple, rumoured to have ridden out the Great Flood, and learn the secret to eternal life. Wandering the wilderness, still wracked with grief, Gilgamesh adopts the habit of his departed friend and wears animal hides and is admitted into this Garden of Eden where the couple has taken up residence, rather grudgingly as they try to dissuade him from seeking this lot. Possibly to prove that their immortality was a unique gift and perhaps a curse, the couple Utnapishtim (meaning the Far Away) and Siduri (the patroness that gave mankind beer, rather as a consolation prize) put Gilgamesh to several impossible tests—like staying awake for a week straight or fetching the sprig of a rejuvenating plant from the bottom of the ocean only to loss it later. The king grows more sorrowful when he realises his efforts are in vain. The couple summons Enkidu’s ghost which restores Gilgamesh’s mood and makes him more receptive to their lecturing, which includes the advice to be the best ruler that he can be and create a legacy for himself so that he’ll always be remembered for his good deeds. This is the sort of immortality that man can aspire to and over-reaching can only end in heart-ache. The themes and the architypes of course pervade all myth and legend to follow but this foundational work I think deserves more exposure and study.