Trying to get this cast in either brass or nickel silver.
Meanwhile I found a company who says they can machine them from brass.
Will make shtars much nicer to make.
On September 19, 2021, as part of the SUPERBOOTH non-activities, I delivered a lecture at Patch Point on the topic of Bauhaus versus Hornbach. Here is a description of the lecture:
I will procure a laser pointer to narrate twenty slides about the history of the bauhaus movement and its relationship to hornbach. My words will be mangled/backworded by cocoquantus that we sell at patch point, a solid group of interesting people.
I did not procure a laser pointer, and I did not pursue a slideshow with projector, so the program became the usual, a narrated benchmark test procedure of cocoquantus. In retrospect, I realize that I realized quite a few things about the oranging sector, and what it means to be an orange store, of home materials or synths. And since this is an orange blog, it seems important to document here. So here's the google slides, what could have happened was awesome:
Ernest Hemingway wrote a modern fly-fishing
story early in the career; it was obviously a crucial metaphor to him
and potent with analogy to war and industry. Fly-fishing is, in fact,
ancient, as we will detail later in the chapter on Aelian. Hemingway
lived at a time when modern plastics and composite materials
revolutionized fly-fishing, yet it tied to the ancient technique of
fooling a fish and eating it; there still is violence, perhaps more
because of the efficient way that plastic line casts.
Fishing, in "The Great Two Hearted River" is a metaphor for the war technologies of World War I. That war was the most efficient to be known thus far, an exponential growth from previous ones due to technology. Fly-fishing, too, became more exponentially more efficient. Yet, the protagonist eats only an onion sandwich for most of the book: he is post-haunted in the ruins of war. For this reason, we call him the Onion Sandwich Man. Let us perform a psychoanalysis of this "onion-sandwich-man" (OSM).
He is a deep individual, not just simply surviving in the wild. He may be in a wild place, but he is wilder inside and this makes him a complicated individual. He is not fly-fishing the wilderness, but a burning town. It's not just survival, it's chaos magic. There's a non-rhythmn with his actions and how he catches fish: the first one he released so gently, the second one was big and he lost it. The third he kept. Finally he gutted them. Only later in the book is tension released when he slaughters the fish.
He eats a simple, onion sandwich. This act of improvisation marks him as magical, an alchemist of sulfury into savory. The onion sandwich itself is a red flag of chaos, the sulfur smell added to his breath, makes him rub up against others disjointedly, the sulfur smell is a symbol of noise and tumultuous change. The only scent allowed on one's flies should be garlic, rubbed on your hand and your sandwich.
The town is burning and he's eating an onion sandwich: that is a flag of chaos magic. That is, the art of contingency, leveraging weather (a sudden freshet or riffling breeze) or circumstance: burning town, only an onion to be found. It is said that the gods do not mark fishing as time wasted (even when skunked), because the fisher is engaging in the chaos computer (programmed by god), learning patience, and awareness to sudden opportunities.
Tying flies is a natural technology, that has been mixed with synthetic technologies: plastics research, nail polish, and electronics parts such as wire and Mylar bag. After the world wars, surplus materials such as copper wire became widespread in flies. My uncle was in a radio shack on Guam, did not see much action but many water buffalo, and repaired electronics in the morning. It was boring, but using his hands, he created a nice little shack. The same in his guest bedroom, using ostrich herls and rooster capes, he prepared to meet nature again with his new nylon lines. Time flies with these materials is learning how to be at peace with them.
The onion sandwich man is surplus personality from war; he is trying to finding out how to be at peace. He's at odds with the water, at best adapting to it. there he encountered stange animals in mud ventures. He never told me any war stories, just about the muddy electronics shack, and the yellowstone cutthroat.
would it mean to be Ernest Hemingway in a world of global weirding? You
still have your short sniped sentences, and the sharks are still there,
but your sport has chaotic storyline. The good fish are gone and the
weird fish remain. In his twenties, Hemingway sought a storyline in Spain, drinking and bullfighting with his hipster friends. His fishing trip there was completely sullied by polluted waters, but in his fictional trip (The Sun Also Rises), the trout were fat, eager and ripe.
Classic fly-fishing is considered dry, or on the surface, wet, or just beneath the surface. However, some forms have evolved, based on solid foundations in entomology, to go deep beneath the surface: imitating the chironomid. This midge, or tiny fly, starts its life on the very bottom of the lake as a worm, quickly evolving into a mysterious vertical larva in the water column. It is deep, and still, yet it has a mysterious hand gesture: it is named for this gesture. It part of the art of flyfishing to transform one's own hand gestures into an imitation of this creature of the deep, tethered by a long and slender line.
My first experience with chioronomids confirms that esoteric is chaos magic. fly fishing is a quest for the esoteric and chironimids are the most esoteric. At Lava Lake, dinner and breakfast was trout, we didn't bring eggs. Bright green midges in its tummny. Powerbait and lead go hand-in-hand, fly fisherman are against the use of lead in the lake. Midges eat lead.
The 1948 theory of communication (Claude Shannon) specifies noise as a blockage perpendicular to the narrative flow from transmitter to receiver. In paper circuits, however, noises are central; they are the cellular signal sources, interlocked rhizomally. It is a philosophical leap to shun information and communicate with alingual noises. The ideal circuit board limits noise, but in paper circuits, noise is unlimited.
In the Shannon’s 1948 model, the ideal synthesizer has a “silent channel”: a path of communication insulated from outside interference. In a paper circuit, there is no silence and there is no single channel; variously connected noises are like landmarks on its map.
John Cage wrote “4’33”, his infamous “silent piece”, to draw attention to the often ignored noises in the concert hall - a cough, a shuffle. Schematized as an imaginary synthesizer, the hall is full of nodes twittering in relation to each other. The typical modern synthesizer abstracts electronic sound shapes and places them against silence. In contrast, the handmade paper circuit is defined by its materials. Rather than the interaction of shapes and silence, it is a rich mulch of noises interlocking with other noises.
Some thoughts on the transition from 2020 to 2021, happy new year and new global warmings! Furthermore, the numbers symbolize the transition from the 20th century to the 21st, and this will mark drastic changes. One drastic change that has long been coming has been the recognition of disc golf as the one true golf.
Scottish golf as expressed in America, became a sadist exploitation of nature, just ask the creeks next to golf cemeteries. Halogenated aromatic lawn chemicals (HALCs) persist; they never go away. They wash into the creek generating an unnatural ressish stinking slime. This golf symbolizes the 20th century exploitation of nature for the sake of made-up traditions. Greenwashing is a corporate information system of exploiting the goodwill generated by grassroots environmental movements.
The disc golf course is another made-up tradition, but it seeks harmony within the natural environment. Take Portland, Oregon, home of giant fir trees. Disc golf accomodates them, and protexts their bark, and allows casts and curves among their trunks. This course requires no chemicals, and adapots to any location, sonoran desert or eastern beech forest.
An amateur disc golfer putters about in the woods. It is an urban forest dérive, a drift among the pines. My cast always becomes a bonk, and I wander into some mushrooms. Like the STALKER, who throws nuts into the high grass to dictate his chaotic destination, a random cast is my path through the loamy woods.
The original Americo-Scots misinterpreted the game to think it was timed; you drive to your target and run, hustling over the dunes, to achieve a timed par: with two dimensions of success, how few and how fast. Try the timed par, recognize the chaos magic of the true golf: pay tribute to the flying saucers of our alien friends with your disc.