The most sophisticated and effective aphrodisiac is the perfect scent from the fresh paper, ink and glue of a newly bound book taken to the locus of the senses by a deep breath followed closely by the feel of its weight in your hands. I don’t know what this is related to and it’s really closest, I guess, to the feeling of somebody whispering plans for the future from almost within your ear. It’s a promise made by somebody you trust. I could never seriously be in love with anybody who didn’t get excited about a new book. The unsorted rows and stacks found in a good used bookstore. Sure, there’s deep information on the internet but it’s so much more fun to underline a great passage you’ve discovered than to cut and paste in whatever font into a document that you have to plug in and wait before you can access it. By then it might be too late to be useful. The brain doesn’t have time to wait when it’s making its creative jumps. I imagine it’s similar to how pure theoretical mathematicians felt about pocket calculators when they first appeared. I doubt anybody cried for the loss of self-discovery of a perfect square root, whatever that might mean to somebody, but it’s like the last automaton in the last automobile factory turning off the lights when his shift is over because the machines don’t need lights to work. Hoy en dia, we seem to be tricked by the word “artesanal” to mean it was made strictly by loving hands in a loving environment that cares more for the quality of an item than the fast transfer of ownership and sale of the item. It’s cool to be artesanal, or in Brooklyn, to appear as though one is, swimming in the shallow end of irony with your beard and plaid shirts and suspenders.

Genti v’eran con occhi tardi e gravi,

Di grande autorita ne lor sembianti;

Parlavan rado, con voci soavi.– Dante

More or less:

Figures were there, with glances grave and slow,

And with a semblance full of majesty;

Seldom they spoke, with voices calm and low.

 

This is attributed to his pagan worthies in Limbo during his grand tour of the underworld.  Brevity is admirable.

There’s no art left in the business of business. This isn’t Richard Branson in the 1970s. This is stock manipulation and currency speculation. These are the tactics of bullies.

I watched Back to the Future Two last night. The similarities between Biff Tannen and his casino empire and Donald Trump are astounding. Of course, it seems that Biff is a more successful businessman, as his casino isn’t bankrupt. I’m sure Trump slipped a copy of Gray’s Sports Almanac to himself back in 1955.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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