So as you know, reading is really good for you. Unfortunately, the things with which reading helps you are all things that you need a certain level of in order to do it consistently. I friend sent me a copy of Farewell to an Idea after we had a conversation about the deeply shameful underrating of The Death of Marat, but I’m not in the right state of mind to dig into something like that. On the other hand, if I read some kind of bestseller, it doesn’t hold my attention and the cathexis that reading affords is lost.
After all sorts of fruitless casting about, I came up with a solution so obvious that I’m sort of ashamed that I hadn’t come up with it sooner: Swann’s Way. It’s also a book with which I feel a lot of sympathy these days, which is nice. Of course, reading about sleeping isn’t quite the same as sleeping so there are still some stumbling blocks, but overall it’s a huge improvement in my life.
So Seven Pillars of Wisdom continues to be very good. I think that I’m finding the character of the melodrama kind of illustrative. It’s interesting to contrast it to America’s current adventurism, provided you already feel like things are fucked, so a little additional grim is neither here nor there.
Also, enjoy this somewhat unconventional take on the difference between the French and the British.
Even in situations of poetry the French remained incorrigible prose-writers, seeing by the directly-thrown light of reason and understanding, not through the half-closed eye, mystily, by things’ essential radiance, in the manner of the imaginative British: so the two races worked ill together on a great undertaking.
So I’m still pretty dazed. I was not able to replicate the feat of working first thing in the morning, but I’m going to continue to go to bed at an hour that will accommodate that act should I miraculously recover from my lingering illness overnight. This evening I started on design stuff, although I was hampered by the fact that I don’t have a very clear vision of what I want the page to look like. Still, blocking out some functional regions isn’t nothing. Let’s go with Doyle again.
“But I am so frightened!’ I panted.
“We have retained Lestrade, whom you helped in the grounds very nicely, Doctor,” he remarked after a painful and lingering disease, was never so much as I bent over her face blanched with terror, her hands in his chair and let me have a confused memory, too, of having abstracted it from the road to the whip, but before I speak.”
I had brought up and down the street, and I should—”
“Yes, it was the horrid scar which had been drawn from him by a person on Monday, at eleven o’clock, to Duncan Ross, and I stay at home. Tell us the bet is off, that is it.” It was damp, marshy ground, as is in a friendly footing?”
Holmes rose and sat down at me. “I find it as the dropping of a government appointment in the moonlight, and it has been here. I gave a little cry of satisfaction. For a long building, which proved, upon my companion, “I am no doubt strike you.”
“Oh, Anstruther would do you conceal yourselves behind those. Then, when I found how I employed my morning, or I may say before this gentleman and ascertaining what part he has little time, but come!’
“Yes, it was a good deal of brandy and smoked a cigar after all the morning until four in the course of action. I surprised you by beating upon her face. More than once observed to be the position in which we might give the alarm. If you two will take wiser heads than yours or mine,” he remarked, and bowing in a yellow-backed novel, and moving my chair a little disturbed, ‘did you give your casting vote to?”
So I decided to do something crazy. This morning I woke up early and actually did MG work before signing in at Temboo. I think it was a success. I just messed around with the templates that generate the web page, but it’s important not to let that stuff fall by the wayside. Obviously, I don’t have a particularly strong design mentality, but I’m trying to get over that. In fact, making stuff look nice is probably what I’m going to be focusing on all week. We’ll see how it goes.
Here’s something from Sir Arthur Conan Doyle:
“Now, Mr. Holmes, and my wife as an old house, I may have afforded a finer field for the business to a more mysterious and inexplicable chain of events as narrated by this German who is at her and, as I have had to confess that I saw Arthur with the thick blue cloud-wreaths spinning up from him, and he had spent so short a time in Pentonville. One day he had not. Was there a few others which represent at least the initials of K. K. K. K. K. K., and why I did not advertise.”
“It missed him, then?”
“Oh, my God! Helen! It was no doubt that she alone had touched his heart. The devil knows best what he foresaw happened.”
“No, no; I call him a decidedly nautical appearance, and he seemed a different man to the roots of his chair, with his head on one side and looked back. It took all his strength of body and mind and fearless in carrying out her hand over his grounds and are residing alone in London.’
“Yes, sir. He and a perpetual smell of drink. Twice since I saw him motion like a pistol shot. Do you note the peculiar construction of the stairs, however, she met her end. Besides, there were no carpets and no confession could make out nothing save that the increased salary may recompense you for this last London season. I met him first at the rocket, rushed from the pool I heard a low, clear whistle, but the greeting appeared to read aloud to him.
“So much for the ugly wound upon my father.”
“My last client of the house where he was a few minutes he
So other aspects of life continue to keep me busy. I did bother to pick out another source text: Nostromo.
Decoud had died. But he could show an authorization from the mine; and, besides, there was a portentous sign; that the game of children. He gazed down upon each cart; of raised arms in a few coastguard cutters, there were incipient tears in his gig to one and all, like so many chances of existence are involved, a desire to leave things and all the departures and arrivals of the ground of her mind that nothing but a common cause, the symbol of the silver preyed on his way to the highest pitch, his eyes and looked on with compressed lips. The crowd stared literally open-mouthed, lost in Sulaco for a constantly diminishing quantity of snuff out of it (the print was small) he had supposed to be accepted. This feeling made the letters from Sulaco were not a gleam of a night or two.”
“Yes, everybody knows of now. I don’t ask what it behoved him to be alone—with his dead wife with a general and have been something final, and busied herself with a slightly different view,” the doctor asked, eagerly.
“God knows!” said Charles Gould’s polite silence; and when, stopping abruptly, he fell himself shot through the night he made that overland journey from London to Sta. Marta had credited him with an undismayed mind, but with a nail driven into her little feet, in white and enormous moustaches of the mothers with the most absurd fidelity. I am one of the whole Costaguana section of the main body, no stir of formless shapes on the march to Rome he had studied in Rome, and could not conceal her love for Antonia. For all his mad state he recognized his compadre and jumped up as if the tremendous disclosure of this reputation he
I have, however, been thinking about Markov Garden. In particular, I’ve been thinking that a big part of the problem is that in using Ruby’s built-in hash class to keep track of things at the top level, I’m dooming myself to really long insertion times once I get deep into a book (because if a book has a lot of words, you may well have to search through the entire list of keys in order to determine a new word has to receive its own entry.) I’ve been pondering paths around this, and think that I have a couple of reasonable candidates.
So I didn’t post last night because I was out with Matthew. In my defense, we spent a lot of time talking about Markov Garden, and I think that it helped to clarify some logistical questions. I am still mostly working on kind of clarifying things to myself, but I think I’ll be back to the web stuff tomorrow.
4. A ship at sea.’ He also subdivided the scenes as given by the lesser legs: if any be Trinculo’s legs, these are people of the isle is full of pleasure:
In few, they hurried us aboard a bark,
Calls her a nonpareil: I never saw a woman,
Trin. Nor go neither; but you’ll lie, like dogs, and yet say nothing neither.
For he’s a bastard one—had plotted with them
139. Scene iv. Pope.
O, my heart bleeds
205 Shall hoodwink this mischance: therefore speak softly.
Are nobly undergone, and most poor matters
105, 106. ambition growing] ambition Growing Steevens.
Come] Come forth Steevens.
To the dulling of my bones: I shall discharge
It sounds no more: and, sure, it waits upon
Ste. Trinculo, if you trouble him any more of this?
Seb. No; he doth but mistake the truth is that in Arabia
68. O] O my Pope. O thou S. Walker conj.
280, 281. business … hour.] hour … business. Farmer conj.
Rich garments, linens, stuffs and necessaries,
To whom I give a doit to relieve a lame beggar, they will lay out ten to see a dead Indian. Legged like a duck, I’ll be thy second.
Supposing that they always use to laugh at nothing still.
Pros. Before the time of servitude, ‘within two days,’ I. 2. 125 Trin. O, forgive me my sins!
320. come forth!] come forth, thou tortoise! when?
When it is baked with frost.
35 Chiefly that I
So I don’t remember if I covered this earlier, but the idea is that one day all of this will go up on the internet and you’ll be able to visit a web page and use it to goof off to your heart’s content. The reason that this matters now is that the parser is as good as it’s going to be until I figure out where all of this is getting hosted. For now, I’m going to go back to working on the web side of things for a while.
This used The Tempest as its source.
310 And thence retire me to a sailor, Go hang!
Seb. We would so, and after two days I’ll discharge thee.’
He’s but a lost monster.
Ari. Prospero my lord Antonio?
In dignity, and for the prize I’ll bring thee forth brave brood.
She said thou wast my daughter; and thy dog, and thy dog, and thy dog, and thy dog, and thy dog, and thy bush.
Ant. Ay, sir; where lies that? if ’twere a kibe,
Ari. All hail, great master! grave sir, hail! I come
There’s meaning in thy likeness: if thou beest a good dulness,
110 And to my proud earth;—why hath thy queen
60 Now useless, boil’d within thy skull! There stand,
Ceres’ blessing so is on you.
5 Fright me with urchin-shows, pitch me i’ the blood: be more abstemious,
Gon. All things in common nature should bring forth,
45 Did quarrel with the office of bottle-bearer.
120. Good … sons] Theobald suggested that these lines formed a rhyming couplet.
53. Scene iv. Pope.
Juno and Ceres whisper seriously;
Must fill, or else my project fails,
Till half an hour hence.
70 The manage of my life,
You sunburnt sicklemen, of August weary,
Having seen but him and Caliban: foolish wench!
Hast strangely stood the test: here, afore Heaven,
Courtsied when you have done yourself some wrong. See this phrase used in a month recount what thou else
And bring thee to
To hear the last of our sea-sorrow.
I’m sort of surprised that it broke things into individual lines but didn’t end up starting them with character names. Again, something vitally important is no doubt being expressed here.
Also, I’m home again.
So I discovered Ruby’s Iconv module, and can once again give you samples from Ulysses.
KITTY: (JUMPS UP) O, they played that on earth but he didnt know her so deeply that she could see what he never ate.
—Let’s hear the other hand a sixfooter or at least has been wardmaid there any letters for her time after at mass when my husband again into his armpit Bantam Lyons’ voice and hand it was a fellow into one of Britain’s fighting men who helped to close the seance.
What am I to Lenehan. You look as though they had only exchanged glances of the satellite of their lawful embraces. He is robed as a boy he being confined to his elders, wills to be any music. Pity. Who has the key. Buck Mulligan turned suddenly for an advertisement you must look at his summer residence in Dublin, number thirteen Fitzgibbon street: of his cometary orbit, beyond the sea, he said, laughingly, Stephen, that is another pair of greenish goggles which he described in his skull lent indeed a colour or a negress or a negress or a dozen gamehogs and cottonball barons. That’s the bucko that’ll organise her, take my leg for a wife. Quite a boy. Dion Boucicault business with pleasure. But who? That was a flower is born of two or four eyes conversing, Christus or Bloom his cider drank, Lidwell his Guinness, second gentleman said they would both have brekky, simple but perfectly served, for their lies then why don’t all women are always egging on to the baldpink lollard costard, guiltless though maligned.
—Tom Kernan was immense last night, he said.
A voiceless song sang from within the hall and down the steps from Leahy’s terrace prudently, Frauenzimmer: and down as far as politics themselves were concerned, he was at his age.
So I went to saw this tonight. It was a beautiful and moving production and a wonderful meditation on certain important things, but that’s not why I mention it. I mention it because it contained several Chinese songs translated in a way that would have made Walter Benjamin extremely happy. In addition to the inherent charm of such things, I also noted that the illumination that such a thing casts on its original text is not unlike the things I notice looking at chains made from texts to which I am attached. I’m not positive what there is to mine there, but I’m pretty sure it’s worth looking at more closely.
Something about the modifications that I made to the HTML parser since I last used Ulysses as an input text have made it more sensitive to encoding foibles than it was in the past. I guess that’s an important insight into my future. I should really start thinking about a consistent way to handle things like that. For now, another go-round with The Prince.
The Duke Valentino had returned from Lombardy, where he was using, would not be friendly to Pagolo Guinigi in command at Lucca, Castruccio set out for Imola at the summit where the Florentines’ lay, he decided not to err for fear lest they be permitted in a few little fishes, and I do not rule them; and although they formerly made some display and appeared valiant amongst themselves, and this alliance, which caused him to power, and I do not care, and I allow myself to be more loved; and unless extraordinary vices cause him to be able to injure the Bentivogli; and he who conspires against a few, but this they did not allow any of my death with more audacity command her.
Charles the Seventh,(*) the father of Alexander the Great Council was to Julius II finally formed the Holy League against France, and his glory; as also were strangled in the Florentines, and strengthened himself with the rest have failed. Pope Julius the Second Chancery, the Ten of Liberty and Peace. Here we are concerned with those events, and with arms in their day, have had no reason to fear them. But as in carrying them into a chamber hung with silk and paved with fine stones representing flowers and foliage of the expenses of it. A treaty was concluded with them against the quarters of the ability of Moses; that the fortresses, which he overcame with the mountaineers, and worked matters so in Pistoia that both his and others), it so came to a banquet and put them to take vengeance on his right hand, the bases of which it is one of those vices which will always be considered honest, and he who conspires against a few, but this not being possible, he
So this is the first text produced using the new Nokogiri-based HTML parser unassisted. The process of getting it to work found me looking at a lot of the individual paragraphs of Ulysses on their own, and it made me want to read the book again. We’ll see how long I hold on to that.
The Project Gutenberg EBook of Ulysses, by James Joyce — I — Stately, plump Buck Mulligan wiped again his gem, turned it and put it neatly into her mouth, asking: –What time is that? –Seven d., sir… Thank you, sir. Mr Bloom said. The drain, you mean. –Drain? Lenehan said. It was an infinite great fall of dung, the breeders in hobnailed boots trudging through the meshes of his body laid. Dolor! O, he did. And Jacky Caffrey shouted to look, look, look, look: you look for some money somewhere? Dilly said. Give me my Wordsworth. Enter Magee Mor Matthew,
This is the best one of these that I have put up by some distance.