Eat Death, Bloated Lackey of the Capitalist Toy Mongers!

This comic caught my eye and triggered the memory of first seeing it as a child in National Lampoon, possibly when it was published in 1970, but I would guess that I found a back-issue a few years later (feels like fifth grade). I get a big kick out of it. It could have been some recognition of the absurdities of the cold war, then at its height, but more likely some nascent (and life-long) fascination with argumentation, here a mockery of propaganda that skewers the absurdities of the then- (not that it has diminished) shrill ideological accusations.

Satire often survives its Zeitgeist of origin. These cartoons, many blogsworthy, are on the window of a certified public accountant, and what with the Sino-Walmart Pact (cooperative?) supplying most of the formerly-known-as Free World with cheap consumer goods made by — I had better stop.

North Center, Chicago.

Palestinian Lives Matter

Chicago street-level support of Palestine, mostly North Center and adjacent community areas.

Chicago (or Beirut?)-A Love Story

I saw this poster and thought of Beirut. Not so much is different, though I would change the rankings and add a few more than remove: in Beirut, the weather is fine (though people complain when it is not perfect), yes about “Dibs” (saving a parking spot that is legally public), potholes (though low priority), cars in the form of traffic, not bikes but scooters, beggars not bums, not rats (and we mostly like the many cats), the mess of dogs yes, not Cubs’s fans (not sure what the equivalent would be: riots, honk parades, politicians?), and trash absolutely, especially when it is not collected. Crime would not be worth listing, rather noise, corruption, banks, inflation, power cuts, banks, shortages of fuel, medicine, and bread, bureaucrats, banks, conspiracy theories, beggars, car bombs, banks, other’s sectarian parties, foreigners of “insert-your-most-hated-country-here,” and banks and politicians and banks again. But we love it.

Apologies to Johnny Sampson (I did buy some postcards)

On Wings of Song

As part of my “mostly secular book of hours” calligraphy project started during the lockdown, Heine’s lovely poem (also set to music by Mendelssohn) in some sort of bâtarde-Schwabacher with colored versals. One of the more cheerful, if still melancholy, choices, and very appropriate for difficult times. These are about A6 on upcycled stationary using Noodler’s black, a Pilot Plumix fountain pen, Chinese vermillion stick ink, Winton & Newton blue and green inks. The greatest time was spent designing the initial A.

Auf Flügeln des Gesanges,
Herzliebchen, trag’ ich dich fort,
Fort nach den Fluren des Ganges,
Dort weiß ich den schönsten Ort.

Dort liegt ein rotblühender Garten
Im stillen Mondenschein;
Die Lotosblumen erwarten
Ihr trautes Schwesterlein.

Die Veilchen kichern und kosen,
Und schaun nach den Sternen empor;
Heimlich erzählen die Rosen
Sich duftende Märchen ins Ohr.

Es hüpfen herbei und lauschen
Die frommen, klugen Gazell’n;
Und in der Ferne rauschen
Des heiligen Stromes Well’n.

Dort wollen wir niedersinken
Unter dem Palmenbaum,
Und Liebe und Ruhe trinken,
Und träumen seligen Traum.

Between the Easters

The title is inspired by Aravind Adiga’s book “Between the Assassinations,” a book I found by chance some years ago at the Beirut airport while waiting to depart on vacation. I confess the title alone entranced me into the purchase, yet its content is also powerful. During this long pandemic, an era of malaise and unpredictable and confusing events personally, locally, and globally, the title and themes frequently resurfaced in my mind. My normally robust ability to recall when events occurred was peculiarly and confusingly unreliable. This is likely one common manifestation of the pandemic Zeitgeist (Zeitgeist is a fascinating concept, and the recent rapid changes in the world show its utility). This week is itself between the Latin and Greek Easter Sundays, as they are known here. Two four-day weekends for me, extended holidays for children, and with the Islamic calendar precession, also Ramadan. A triple whammy in my high-school era terminology. There is also strong suppressive pressure from the economic collapse. Hence, much peace and calm to finish the last poem for my, mostly secular, ‘book of hours’ calligraphy project: “Komm, Du Süße Todesstunde” [BWV 161]. I would translate the beginning as “Come, sweet hour of death / There my spirit will eat honey from the lion’s mouth / Make my departure sweet /…” The cantata has particularly beautiful recorder roles and was an excellent venue for attempting Robert Koch’s Neuland script. That alphabet is not properly a script, as it was carved directly, but there are pen scripts that emulate it. The flat-edged approaches either require an extraordinary and challenging degree of manipulation or compromise by avoiding manipulation to an unsatisfying result. There is also a square-nib approach that was within my reach with a filed-down fude-nib pen (Duke Confucius). I will put a study page below: flat-edged pens for initial lines and the square nib for the body of the text. I am satisfied, but mostly from the learning: it is a bit clunky because of my limited skill, not because I intended to make it look like woodblock printing.

The other, very interesting development related here to BWV 161 and to being between the Easters was progress in understanding the scriptural support for the theme of welcoming death, as found in African-American Spirituals (gospel music) and also encountered in BWV 161: the raising of the son of the widow of Nain (Luke 7:11-17). The support seems tenuous to me, but it exists and is accepted. There is much to say on this, so let me only thank my friend and colleague for directing my attention to relevant documents and guiding my understanding of the interpretations.