Unstuck in Time: Vonnegut Documentary

I have just contributed. You should too.


Watch the video:


Fire Language

(a poem by Ann K. Schwader — original at http://www.thepedestalmagazine.com/gallery.php?item=23416)

What kindled in that cave were names of things
like sparks from stars.

Tongues struck against a thought
again, & then again, as foxfire quickened
in mute amino acids where mutation
sang out as hands had not.

No innovation
of stick or stone or bone, but flame incarnate
from brains no longer solitary, silent
in their pale chambers.

Spiraling those walls
with verbs & nouns, identity & action
united by synaptic galaxies,
we wrote our labyrinth.

Defined our pattern
as ever outward, going forth on fire.

—after Charles Sandison’s video installation Chamber

Mr. Penumbra’s 24-Hour Bookstore, by Robin Sloan

Book cover

Just finished it. Cute little book. I consumed it in two sittings of 5 hours each, pausing to digest it better (not because the reading was hard — it was delightfully easy — but because it deserves to be savored).

The review by Cory Doctorow says it is what “The DaVinci Code could be if its author loved the

I’m glad I did not read The DaVinci Code.

The book made me think of David Egger’s The Circle, with its fictional Google counterpart. In Mr. Penumbra’s, Google plays a major role too, and it is called Google.

But, unlike in The Circle, here Google is apparently not evil. It may actually be an important rung in the ladder that will let us climb all the way up to the Singularity.

But that’s not the focus. I think.

I suggest you read it and figure out what the focus is.

Of course, Umberto Eco’s The Name of the Rose also comes to mind.

You can find more about the book in Robin Sloan’s homepage.

There is also an extended interview with him on CBC.

The Life of the Artist in the Digital Age

by Julian Neuer


My fingertips possess fantastic powers.

The power to skip and hop over these keys, to form words and sentences, to surprise and amuse readers, even when the readers are just me.

The power to slide and dance over this trackpad, to trace lines and shapes, to enlarge and reduce them, to fill figures and backgrounds, to fill — to try to fill — empty spaces in life.

From my fingertips emerge laser rays, burning sparks, electronic ectoplasm, bucket-filled color gradients. Visible magic.

From my fingertips come the motions to conduct invisible orchestras, the cues to direct the actors planted in the crowd.

My fingertips set the pace. My fingertips point to destinations.

I raise my hands and they turn into long branches, reaching all the way to the clouds. Birds come to rest on my fingers, to converse, to plan their migrations. At night, when the birds are gone, my fingertips tickle the stars.

I let my arms fall to my sides, my hands dig deep into the ground. My roots grow so fast that they emerge on the other side of the world, only to meet the sky again. On my fingertips perch tall mountains, giant waves, fiery dragons, rising suns.

It’s been a long day. Back home, my head is heavy. I rub my eyelids with my fingertips and fall asleep. Now it’s time to dream.

Creative Commons License

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License.

Collage by Julian Neuer.