10/31/08
10/23/08
Here is Mars
An ant so unlike all other living ants that it was given an extraterrestrial name has been discovered in the Amazon rain forest, biologists announced today.
The tiny new species is the only known surviving member of an ant lineage that separated from the main family more than a hundred million years ago, DNA analysis revealed.
The pale, eyeless ant appears to be adapted to living underground, possibly surfacing at night to forage.
Its long mandibles suggest that the 0.08-inch-long (2-millimeter-long) animal is a predator, most likely of soft-bodied creatures such as termite larvae.
Christian Rabeling, a graduate student at the University of Texas in Austin, found a single specimen of the new species, thought to be a worker ant, in tropical soils near Manaus, Brazil.
Rabeling's team named the new creature Martialis heureka—"Martialis" means "of Mars"—after Harvard biologist and ant expert Edward O. Wilson, who was not part of the study team, commented on its unearthly appearance.
(Read a 2006 profile of Edward O. Wilson, who has been dubbed "Darwin's natural heir.")
"This beast is totally new to science," Rabeling said.
He and colleagues describe the new ant in a paper published online this week in the journal Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences.
(Source: Scott Norris on National Geographic News)
9/13/08
8/29/08
Blue Line Swinger// Yo La Tengo. Live 1995, Santa Monica, Ca.
You, you won't talk about what we see when the lights are out
And I'm willing to hold your hand while you're lost,
while you're so full of doubt
Walk for miles, on your own loose ends, I'll find you there
I'll find you there
You, you walk up thin blue lines possible with reality
And I, I see through small red eyes,
glowing still at your uncertainty
Out of darkness you will come around, I know you will
I know you will
And I'll find you
And I'll find you there
7/25/08
7/10/08
7/9/08
Brecht is full of love
For all men are agreed that today the "discontinuity" of personality is a fact. Whether this "discontinuity" takes the form of "alienation", "self division", discord between the "id", the "ego" and the "super ego", or between the "unconscious" or "subconscious" and the "conscious", thinkers of all schools are united in their assertion that the contradictions between human aspirations and goals and their fulfillment within our social system have become sharpened to the point of explosion.
(Brecht in Germany, The Epic Theater)
(Brecht in Germany, The Epic Theater)
7/7/08
7/6/08
𝄐
Jazz presumes that it might be nice if the four of us, while playing this complicated song together, might somehow be free and autonomous as well. Tragically, this never quite works out. At best we can only be free one or two at a time, while the other dudes hold onto the wire.
Rock and roll, on the other hand, presumes that the four of us -- as damaged and as anti-social as we are -- might possibly get it to-fucking-gether, man, and play this simple song. And play it right, okay? Just this once, in tune and on the beat. But we can't. The song's too simple, and we're too complicated and excited. We try like hell, but the guitars distort, the intonation bends, and the beat just moves, imperceptibly, whether we want it to or not. Thus we create this hurricane of noise, this finitely complicated fractal filigree of delicate distinctions.
I mean look at the Stones. Keith Richards is always on top of the beat, and Bill Wyman, until he quit, was always behind it, because Richards is leading the band and Charlie Watts is listening to him and Wyman is listening to Watts. So the beat is sliding on those tiny neural lapses, not so you can tell, of course, but so you can feel it in your stomach. And the intonation is wavering too, with the pulse in the finger on the amplified string. This is the delicacy of rock and roll. And it has its virtues, because jazz only works if we're trying to be free and are in fact together. And rock and roll works because we're all a bunch of flakes. That's something you can depend on, and a good thing too, because in the Twentieth Century that's all there is: jazz and rock and roll. The rest is term papers and advertising.
Dave Hickey
Rock and roll, on the other hand, presumes that the four of us -- as damaged and as anti-social as we are -- might possibly get it to-fucking-gether, man, and play this simple song. And play it right, okay? Just this once, in tune and on the beat. But we can't. The song's too simple, and we're too complicated and excited. We try like hell, but the guitars distort, the intonation bends, and the beat just moves, imperceptibly, whether we want it to or not. Thus we create this hurricane of noise, this finitely complicated fractal filigree of delicate distinctions.
I mean look at the Stones. Keith Richards is always on top of the beat, and Bill Wyman, until he quit, was always behind it, because Richards is leading the band and Charlie Watts is listening to him and Wyman is listening to Watts. So the beat is sliding on those tiny neural lapses, not so you can tell, of course, but so you can feel it in your stomach. And the intonation is wavering too, with the pulse in the finger on the amplified string. This is the delicacy of rock and roll. And it has its virtues, because jazz only works if we're trying to be free and are in fact together. And rock and roll works because we're all a bunch of flakes. That's something you can depend on, and a good thing too, because in the Twentieth Century that's all there is: jazz and rock and roll. The rest is term papers and advertising.
Dave Hickey
7/4/08
6/30/08
6/23/08
6/16/08
6/3/08
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