To the sooty albatross, I take my hat off!

Upon first impression, the sooty albatross is instantly labeled simple and cartoon-like. However, the bird is perhaps one of the most confident, stylish and independent of breeds.

Still, I see monsters

(in photo: Christopher Morley...?)

“It is conventional to call ''monster'' any blending of dissonant elements. I call ''monster'' every original inexhaustible beauty.” (Alfred Jarry)

Happy Birthday Bill!

Wishing William Clark, American explorer, soldier, territorial governor and friend of the 'Indian', a happy 240th birthday.

Moose . . . Indian . . .

Henry David Thoreau (July 12, 1817 - May 6, 1862), known by his philosophical friends as the "Kosher Camper" allegedly spoke the words "Moose, Indian" to cap off a life full of wisdom which also included sayings such as, "a man is rich in proportion to the number of things he can afford to let alone". Why these words in particular were his final, puzzles some, while to others it makes perfect sense. Unfortunately, because the context in which the words were spoken is unknown, it is impossible to know the intended meaning, though speculation leads to a number of different interpretations. Thus, a list of possible scenarios in which these words may have emerged, has been compiled:

1. Thoreau was in the midst of a wooded glen with his pup when he spotted an unusual animal, which at first he thought was a moose, and then an Indian, right before he was suddenly struck by one of those fabled Chupacabra's. His body was found seemingly unharmed, save for two bite marks and the fact that it had been drained of all its blood.

2. Thoreau was playing Pictionary with some friends, and becoming overly excited while attempting to guess at Ralph Waldo Emerson's strange rendition of a tea kettle, he lost consciousness.

3. Thoreau was looking out on Walden Pond and as he realized the true nature of his existence and the oneness of the universe, all the fragments of his life flashed before himself, with only two symbolic words able to escape his lips, as he slipped into ethereal dreams.

On Ice

"I can assure you, it's really just another weather balloon. . ."

The Shoes Make The Man

Genius

"Everybody knows the thing about an infinite number of monkeys... An infinite number of monkeys is put to work at an infinite number of typewriters and eventually one of them produces a great work of literature. In what language I don't know. But what about an infinite number of writers in an infinite number of cages? Would they make one monkey sound? One genuine chimp noise? Would they eventually swing by their toes from an infinite number of money bars?" (DeLillo)

Turn of the Century

A Simple Style

A sincere ignorance of fashion keeps one fashionable.

(second; collage by Max Ernst)

Devious Horseman

In response:

Who enjoys being the recipient of bad new? From taxes to notices, the often foreboding feeling of knowing something is coming, something that only the mailman can bring to fruition, is naturally terrifying for some. You owe money, your car is being repossessed, you are being sued, you are needed for jury duty. The hands of the mailman deliver these horrors, so while one may await the mailman, it is often with trepidation and hesitation. All this aside, the mailman works a courageous and noble job, a sentient of the establishment and a failing union.

Sincerely, Jonah Rumpert
Kansas City, Missouri

I recieve mail; therefore I am.

The role of the mailman is alarmingly underplayed in relation to the value of service he offers to such an auspicious yet thankless society. Already about and conducting his business hours before the most esteemed of men have awoken from their luxurious slumbers, this invisible agent of information is with a light heart dispatching the paltry dialogues of indolent and entitled individuals, which cannot wait until a later time in the day, for nothing pleases the average person more than opening the mailbox shortly after waking and discovering that someone has cared to relay their sentiments and magically succeeded! What would there be to read otherwise? The newspapers are far too impersonal. The mailman of course is above all this. He knows the world as gathered from his own perspective and therefore needs not be bothered by someone else's feeble attempts at imparting knowledge. He is like a ghost, up at dawn and ahead of the world, reveling in his own narrow window of silence, until all is muddled by the noise of envelopes opening and the outflow of their contents, signifying a job well done and a withdraw from the world until tomorrow. He executes his influence merely out of duty, but lives with the mirth that accompanies the dignity of not needing to be reminded. His pursuits are surely of a noble nature.

The Great Blondin

Jean Francois Gravelot, or as he called himself, "The Great Blondin," arrived in Niagara in 1858 after fleeing his native France under mysterious circumstances. He soon became obsessed with the idea of crossing the Falls by way of tightrope. On June 30, 1859, after extensive training he finally accomplished his goal, walking across a 1,100 foot long and 3 inch in diameter manila rope stretched from Niagara, New York to Oakes Garden, Ontario. Using nothing to support himself but a 30 foot pole for balance, he walked across Niagara Falls in twenty minutes. He crossed it eight more times that summer, culminating on August 14, when he accomplished the act while simultaneously carrying his manager, Harry Colcord, on his back. Bravo!

Plight of the lumberjack

One would not be altogether incorrect to consider the pursuits of the modern lumberjack futile. The lumberjack cuts down trees, which are then sent to a factory where they are stripped of their bark, condensed to a pulp and bleached white, from which we derive paper. If all goes accordingly, a person of esteem is then relied upon, if he may be so generous, to scribble some particular marks on the paper, as a reward to the grateful lumberjack for his hard work. Alas, the refined tree remnants make a full circle and return to the hands of the lumberjack, who goes on with this routine without realizing the seemingly absurd irony of it all.

Life of Luxury

If all clockmakers were to suddenly vanish from the earth, we’d better hope our watches don’t break! - Cliffroy, Thompson. Forth Worth, Texas. 1935.

One Day You'll Love Me

A modern tale of the vicious lust for love, the maudlin and the beautiful.
Dreams of walking in a solemn procession, for the sake of boredom, oh the things you'll say. The dust on the record, Debussy's Suite Bergamasque, cracks and seems to snap back at me. The acrid smell of dust which had accumulated over time on the album sleeve irritates my eyes. I resolve, I fuck with the rotations per minute for the sake of boredom, oh the things i'll do. It's raining outside, but it's sunny inside and the fridge stays cold amidst the warmth. I woke up early, why? To spend time with John and Evelyn, although I doubt the sincerity of their words. Cynical, I doubt it. Existential, probably. Vices, definitely.

Holy Fuck, Put'er dere pal

If the shoe fits, bill it!

When it comes to making the perfect shoe, there's nobody who does it better than us. The Bill family is one of the last remaining eminent patrons of quality footwear, and as the great grandson of founding shoe craftsman Walpole Bill, i can assure you, your shoes will speak for themselves!

Eurdith Bill

An Imperialist's Sun Sets in Algiers

"Unpack your things, put the picture frame beside your bed.
Your shoes are dirty from walking the red road sands.
And it's to late - the show has already begun,
Everyone can see it in the sun."

The Prophetic Groundhog Appears From His Burrow

Tomorrow is today.
- Ragwort, Toby. Antwerp, Belgium. 2076.