Above, find a docÂuÂment signed 50 years ago by Neil ArmÂstrong, Buzz Aldrin, and Michael Collins after they returned from the first manned trip to the moon. The three astroÂnauts came down in the PacifÂic Ocean and were takÂen to HonÂoluÂlu on July 24, 1969, where they supÂposÂedÂly signed this immiÂgraÂtion form, declarÂing a carÂgo of moon rocks and dust. PresÂiÂdent Nixon was good enough to let them back into the counÂtry.
The form, NASA spokesperÂson John YemÂbrick told Space.com, is authenÂtic. And, he says, it was a joke. He does not, howÂevÂer, say exactÂly when the form was signed, either on the day the crew splashed down or someÂtime afterÂward. They did not actuÂalÂly arrive in HonÂoluÂlu until the 26th. After their return,
The astroÂnauts were trapped inside a NASA trailÂer as part of a quarÂanÂtine effort just in case they brought back any germs or disÂease from the moon. They even wore speÂcial bioÂlogÂiÂcal conÂtainÂment suits when they walked out on the deck of the USS HorÂnet after being retrieved.
NASA transÂportÂed them to HousÂton, quarÂanÂtine trailÂer and all, and they emerged from isoÂlaÂtion three weeks latÂer.
AstroÂnauts these days mostÂly just need a showÂer when they touch down, although interÂnet savvy InterÂnaÂtionÂal Space StaÂtion astroÂnaut Chris HadÂfield did tell some cusÂtoms relatÂed stoÂries on a RedÂdit AMA—maybe nothÂing so weird as the curÂrent space snorÂkelÂing up there, but still a pretÂty great read.
Note: An earÂliÂer verÂsion of this post origÂiÂnalÂly appeared on our site in DecemÂber 2013.
RutÂger Hauer died last FriÂday at the age of 75, which means he enjoyed a life more than sevÂen decades longer than that of Roy BatÂty, the charÂacÂter he played in RidÂley ScotÂt’s Blade RunÂner. As a repliÂcant, an artiÂfiÂcial human being engiÂneered to perÂform intense physÂiÂcal labor, BatÂty has immense strength but an exisÂtence delibÂerÂateÂly limÂitÂed to a few years. SeekÂing an escape from his immiÂnent demise, he and a group of his felÂlow repliÂcants escape from their off-world minÂing colony to Earth, specifÂiÂcalÂly Los AngeÂles, where they intend to seek out their creÂator and demand an extenÂsion of their lives. And so it falls to HarÂriÂson Ford’s detecÂtive Rick Deckard, trained as a repliÂcant-huntÂing “Blade RunÂner,” to hunt them all down.
Hauer’s perÂforÂmance is arguably the film’s most memÂoÂrable, not least because of the manÂner in which BatÂty finalÂly accepts his own death even after sparÂing the life of the man tasked with terÂmiÂnatÂing him. “I’ve seen things you peoÂple wouldn’t believe,” BatÂty says. “Attack ships on fire off the shoulÂder of OriÂon. I watched C‑beams glitÂter in the dark near the Tannhäuser Gate. All those moments will be lost in time, like tears in rain. Time to die.”
Hauer, as Indiewire’s Zack Sharf notÂed in a rememÂbrance, rewrote that short monoÂlogue himÂself, havÂing “believed the origÂiÂnal speech was writÂten in a way that was too operÂatÂic, a tone he felt a repliÂcant would nevÂer use.” He kept the scripÂt’s “attack ships” and “C‑beams,” sensÂing in them a kind of techÂno-poetÂry, and added the tears in the rain, an image visuÂalÂly resÂoÂnant with the scene in which he delivÂers it.
“It didÂn’t come from me,” Hauer says of the “tears in the rain” line in the interÂview clip above. “It came from the poet in me, and there was a poet in Roy.” In using those words “to conÂclude Roy’s quest,” he says, “I was also anchorÂing myself, as an actor, in my own inseÂcure way. And for an audiÂence to carÂry that for 30 years was such love.” That audiÂence, he acknowlÂedges, kept Blade RunÂner alive even after its failÂure to perÂform back in 1982: “When the film came out, it was out of the cinÂeÂma, I think, in a week,” and some critÂics disÂmissed it as a waste of time. But Hauer underÂstood its appeal as “a realÂly sexy, erotÂic, carÂtoon-opera interÂestÂing movie, but it was ahead of its time.”
Blade RunÂner has long since takÂen its place in the panÂtheon of sciÂence ficÂtion cinÂeÂma, but Hauer’s filÂmogÂraÂphy conÂtains picÂtures of every othÂer sort of repÂuÂtaÂtion as well. A proÂlifÂic perÂformer givÂen to unconÂvenÂtionÂal choicÂes and disÂtincÂtive turns of phrase, he was rememÂbered on TwitÂter by proÂducÂer Jonathan SothÂcott as “one of those great actors who made rubÂbish watchÂable.” Though Hauer’s turns in picÂtures a varÂied as LadyÂhawke, Blind Fury, The HitchÂer (in which horÂror-mode Hauer, writes Stephen King, “will nevÂer be topped”), Sin City, and Hobo with a ShotÂgun won’t soon be forÂgotÂten, it will be as Roy BatÂty — the repliÂcant he has described as wantÂiÂng to “make his mark on exisÂtence” — that he’ll be rememÂbered. “At the same time I was doing this film, I saw the future,” he says of Blade RunÂner. And he lived to 2019, the once-disÂtant year in which Blade RunÂner is set, to see that future in real life.
Based in Seoul, ColÂin MarÂshall writes and broadÂcasts on cities, lanÂguage, and culÂture. His projects include the book The StateÂless City: a Walk through 21st-CenÂtuÂry Los AngeÂles and the video series The City in CinÂeÂma. FolÂlow him on TwitÂter at @colinmarshall, on FaceÂbook, or on InstaÂgram.
Maybe we take it for grantÂed that Virgil’s Roman epic, the Aeneid, is a sequel—long delayed—of Homer’s IliÂad, a clasÂsiÂcal advenÂture in verse, part legÂendary hisÂtoÂry, part fanÂtaÂsy, part myth. It is all these things, of course, but it also served some very speÂcifÂic purÂposÂes for its time, the impeÂrÂiÂal Rome of AugusÂtus, Virgil’s patron, on whose insisÂtence the Aeneidwas pubÂlished after the poet’s death. (VirÂgil himÂself wantÂed the manÂuÂscript burned.) The Aeneid was also politÂiÂcal and reliÂgious proÂpaÂganÂda.
Roman reliÂgion was, howÂevÂer, not mysÂteÂriÂous or remote but “intenseÂly pracÂtiÂcal,” busyÂing itself “with the everyÂday life of the peoÂple.” By this token, the faith AugusÂtus wantÂed to proÂmote was also intenseÂly politÂiÂcal, encourÂagÂing strict patriÂarÂchal hierÂarÂchies and a sense of sacred duty, the chief heroÂic burÂden Aeneus must bear—his pietas. VirÂgil wrote his hero, Mark RobinÂson argues in the aniÂmatÂed TED-Ed video above, as a modÂel for AugusÂtus, who appears in the poem when Aeneus descends into the underÂworld and has a vision of the future of Rome.
AugusÂtus is preÂsentÂed “as a vicÂtor enterÂing Rome in triÂumph… expandÂing the Roman empire.” He is hailed as “only the third Roman leader in 700 years to shut the doors of the temÂple of Janus, sigÂniÂfyÂing the arrival of perÂmaÂnent peace. But there’s a twist.” AugusÂtus did not read to the end, and apparÂentÂly did not notice Aeneus’s many flaws, draÂmaÂtized, RobinÂson sugÂgests, as a warnÂing to the emperÂor, or his subÂjects.
In secÂtions “that could be seen as critÂiÂcal, if not subÂtly subÂverÂsive of the emperor’s achieveÂments,” Aeneus strugÂgles to “balÂance merÂcy and jusÂtice.” The hero arrives as a refugee from the conÂquered Troy, carÂryÂing his aging father on his back and leadÂing his young son by the hand. He ends, proÂlepÂtiÂcalÂly, by foundÂing the great empire to come. But as many scholÂars have argued, throughÂout the poem “VirÂgil underÂmined the sense of gloÂriÂous progress, or even overÂturned it,” as MadeÂline Miller writes at Lapham’s QuarÂterÂly.
This modÂern readÂing of the Aeneidmay be conÂtroÂverÂsial, but the celÂeÂbraÂtion of AugusÂtus was embraced not only by the emperÂor himÂself but by ambiÂtious rulers “as disÂparate as ElizÂaÂbeth I, Louis XIV, and BenÂiÂto MusÂsoliÂni,” not to menÂtion “the FoundÂing Fathers, who genÂerÂalÂly preÂferred Homer.” PerÂhaps the poem’s endorseÂment by those in powÂer and those posiÂtioned to flatÂter them has long colÂored the recepÂtion of the Aeneid as an uncritÂiÂcal celÂeÂbraÂtion of empire.
The Aeneid is a founÂdaÂtionÂal epic in the WestÂern litÂerÂary traÂdiÂtion because of Virgil’s undeÂniÂable poetÂic skill in adaptÂing clasÂsiÂcal Greek forms into Latin, and because of its influÂence on hunÂdreds of poets and writÂers for hunÂdreds of years after. But perÂhaps, RobinÂson sugÂgests, “in wantÂiÂng the stoÂry pubÂlished, AugusÂtus had been fooled by his own desire for self-proÂmoÂtion.” Maybe the poem has also “surÂvived to ask quesÂtions about the nature of powÂer and authorÂiÂty ever since” it was first pubÂlished, to instant acclaim, in 19 BC.
BriÂan Eno debuted Music for AirÂports in 1978 and in terms of ambiÂent music he’s been remakÂing it ever since. This groundÂbreakÂing album was both comÂposed and left to chance. “ComÂposed” in that for each piece Eno selectÂed a numÂber of notes and simÂple melodÂic fragÂments that would work togethÂer withÂout disÂsoÂnance. And “left to chance” because each fragÂment was givÂen a tape loop of difÂferÂent length. Once Eno set the loops in motion, the piece creÂatÂed itself in all sorts of perÂmuÂtaÂtions and interÂsecÂtions.
Eno no longer uses tape loops, but he still believes in “genÂerÂaÂtive music,” creÂatÂing albums that are hour-long capÂtures of ranÂdomÂly genÂerÂatÂed tones that could conÂceivÂably go on forÂevÂer.
Dan Carr over at his site Reverb Machine has writÂten a deconÂstrucÂtion of two of the four pieces on Music for AirÂports, reverse engiÂneerÂing them to figÂure out their origÂiÂnal loops. And the best thing is, you can set the loops rolling and have your own verÂsion play out all day long if you wish.
The first, “2/1” is recÂogÂnizÂable from the choral voicÂes used in the score. Each loop conÂtains one note sung for a whole bar, but the note and the length of the tape conÂtainÂing the bar changes. This is the most basic of all the four tracks, but there is someÂthing quite magÂiÂcal when all sevÂen loops sync up.
The secÂond “1/2” conÂtains eight loops conÂtainÂing either a sinÂgle piano note, a melodÂic phrase, or a glisÂsanÂdo chord. (Although the artiÂcle doesn’t menÂtion it, it also conÂtains the choral loops of “2/1”)
You can play the loops at Reverb Machine simÂply by clickÂing on the arrow beneath each bar, or at the botÂtom “play all” or “pause all.”
For musiÂcians thinkÂing they’d like to make their own loops and folÂlow Eno’s methodÂolÂoÂgy, Dan includes some instrucÂtions.
In the comÂments secÂtion, musiÂcian Glenn Sogge notes that he took the loops and creÂatÂed his own deconÂstructÂed take on Eno’s clasÂsic, Blooms EngulfÂing DeconÂstructÂed AirÂports, which you can play at the top of this post. As he explains, the piece startÂed with downÂloadÂing the WAV files from Reverb Machine’s post. Then:
Beside the 15 clips of voicÂes and piano, 10 long loops were build from the 10 worlds of the BriÂan Eno & Peter ChilÂvers genÂerÂaÂtive music app Bloom: 10 Worlds (Android VerÂsion). A mixÂture of improÂvised clip-launchÂing and more stucÂture form resultÂed in 25 audio files that then mixed & masÂtered. In keepÂing with the Oblique StrateÂgies dicÂtum, “HonÂour thy error as hidÂden intenÂtion,” even a ranÂdom phone notiÂfiÂcaÂtion sound has been left in.
What do you think of Sogge’s tribÂute to the masÂter? Let us know in the comÂments.
Ted Mills is a freeÂlance writer on the arts who curÂrentÂly hosts the artist interÂview-based FunkZone PodÂcast and is the proÂducÂer of KCRÂW’s CuriÂous Coast. You can also folÂlow him on TwitÂter at @tedmills, read his othÂer arts writÂing at tedmills.com and/or watch his films here.
I first came to Jane Austen preÂpared to disÂlike her, reared as I had been to think of good ficÂtion as socialÂly transÂgresÂsive, experÂiÂmenÂtal, full of heavy, life-or-death moral conÂflicts and exisÂtenÂtialÂist anti-heroes; of extremes of dread and sorÂrow or alienÂatÂed extremes of their lack. Austen’s charÂacÂters seemed too perky and perÂfect, too cirÂcumÂscribed and wholeÂsome, too untrouÂbled by inner despair or outÂer calamiÂty to offer much in the way of interÂest or examÂple.
This is an opinÂion shared by more perÂcepÂtive readÂers than myself, includÂing CharÂlotte BronÂtĂ«, who called Pride and PrejÂuÂdice “an accuÂrate daguerreoÂtype porÂtrait of a comÂmonÂplace face.” BronÂtĂ« “disÂliked [Austen] exceedÂingÂly,” writes author Mary Stolz in an introÂducÂtion to Emma. The author of Jane EyreproÂnounced that “Miss Austen is only shrewd and obserÂvant,” where a novÂelÂist like George Sand is “sagaÂcious and proÂfound.”
A curÂsoÂry readÂing of Austen can seem to conÂfirm Brontë’s faint praise. ConÂsidÂer the first descripÂtion of her heroÂine matchÂmakÂer, Emma:
Emma WoodÂhouse, handÂsome, clever, and rich, with a comÂfortÂable home and hapÂpy disÂpoÂsiÂtion, seemed to unite some of the best blessÂings of exisÂtence, and had lived nearÂly twenÂty-one years in the world with very litÂtle to disÂtress or vex her.
No great, shockÂing disÂasÂters befall Emma. She is bufÂfetÂed neiÂther by war nor poverÂty, crime, disÂease, oppresÂsion or any othÂer essenÂtialÂly draÂmatÂic conÂflict. She ends the novÂel joinÂing hands in marÂriage with charmÂing genÂtleÂman farmer Mr. KnightÂly, conÂtent, maybe ever-after, in “perÂfect hapÂpiÂness.”
Rarely if ever in Austen do we find the torÂments, spirÂiÂtuÂal strivÂings, subÂlime and grotesque imagÂinÂings, proÂto-sciÂence-ficÂtion, and world-hisÂtorÂiÂcal conÂsciousÂness of conÂtemÂpoÂraries like William Blake, Samuel TayÂlor Coleridge, or Mary ShelÂley. Austen is “famous,” writes Stolz, “for havÂing lived through the periÂod of the French RevÂoÂluÂtion withÂout ever menÂtionÂing it in her writÂings.”
To see this as a criÂtique, howÂevÂer, is to seriÂousÂly misÂjudge her. “She did not deal in revÂoÂluÂtions of this order. Not a travÂeled woman, she wrote only of what she knew”: life in EngÂlish counÂtry vilÂlages, the traÂvails of “love and monÂey,” as she put it, the everyÂday longÂings, courÂteÂsies, and disÂcourÂteÂsies that make up the majorÂiÂty of our everyÂday lives.
We can see Austen doing just that in her own hand at the Jane Austen’s FicÂtion ManÂuÂscripts DigÂiÂtal EdiÂtion. A colÂlecÂtion of scanned manÂuÂscripts from the Bodleian, British Library, PierÂpont MorÂgan Library, priÂvate colÂlecÂtors, and King’s ColÂlege, CamÂbridge, this project “repÂreÂsents every stage of her writÂing career and a variÂety of physÂiÂcal states: workÂing drafts, fair copies, and handÂwritÂten pubÂliÂcaÂtions for priÂvate cirÂcuÂlaÂtion.”
This is priÂmarÂiÂly a resource for scholÂars; much of this work has been pubÂlished in printÂed ediÂtions, includÂing the JuveÂnilÂia (read some of that writÂing here) and unfinÂished drafts like The WatÂsons and her last, uncomÂpletÂed, novÂel, SanÂdiÂton. (One still-in-print 1975 ediÂtion colÂlects the three unfinÂished novÂels found at the digÂiÂtal colÂlecÂtion). Each digÂiÂtal ediÂtion of the manÂuÂscript includes a head note on the texÂtuÂal hisÂtoÂry, proveÂnance, and physÂiÂcal strucÂture, as well as a tranÂscripÂtion of the text. There is also an option to view a “diploÂmatÂic ediÂtion” that tranÂscribes the text with all of Austen’s corÂrecÂtions and addiÂtions.
Yet any Austen fan will appreÂciÂate seeÂing her witÂty, inciÂsive style change and take shape in her own neat script. In an age of superÂheroes, hisÂtorÂiÂcal and fanÂtaÂsy epics, and dystopiÂan fanÂtasies, we are beset by “the big Bow-Wow strain,” as WalÂter Scott self-effacÂingÂly called his own novÂels. In Austen’s writÂing, we find what Scott described as an “exquisÂite touch which renÂders comÂmonÂplace things and charÂacÂters interÂestÂing from the truth of the descripÂtion and the senÂtiÂment.” She wraps her truths in wicked irony and a satirÂiÂcal voice, but they are truths we recÂogÂnize as wise and comÂpasÂsionÂate in her domesÂtic draÂmas and our own.
Austen knew well that her setÂtings and charÂacÂters were limÂitÂed. She made no apoloÂgies for it and clearÂly needn’t have. “Three or four famÂiÂlies in a counÂtry vilÂlage,” she wrote to her niece Anna, “is the very thing to work on.” She also knew well the uniÂverÂsal tenÂdenÂcies that blind us to the variÂety found withÂin the everyÂday, whether our everyÂday is a sleepy counÂtry vilÂlage life or a tech-laden, 21st-cenÂtuÂry city.
She almost seems to sigh weariÂly in Emmawhen she observes, “human nature is so well disÂposed toward those who are in interÂestÂing sitÂuÂaÂtions” … so much so that we fail to notice what’s going on all around us all the time. She wrote neiÂther for monÂey nor fame, and her work wasn’t even pubÂlished with her name until after her death in July 1817, but she has since become fierceÂly beloved for the very qualÂiÂties BronÂtĂ« disÂparÂaged.
Austen didn’t miss a thing, which makes her novÂels as canÂny and insightÂful (and big-screen and fan-ficÂtion adaptÂable) as when they were first writÂten over two-hunÂdred years ago. Enter the Jane Austen’s FicÂtion ManÂuÂscripts DigÂiÂtal EdiÂtion here.
On August 11, 1992, the writer DouÂglas CouÂpÂland made an appearÂance at the grand openÂing of MinÂneapoÂlis’ Mall of AmerÂiÂca, the largest shopÂping mall on Earth. Against his interÂviewÂer’s expecÂtaÂtions, CouÂpÂland delivÂered a paean to the ostenÂsiÂbly hyperÂconÂsumerisÂtic scene around him, claimÂing that “future genÂerÂaÂtions are going to look at images of today here in MinÂnesoÂta and see them as a sort of goldÂen age of AmerÂiÂcan culÂture. The peace. The calm. The abunÂdance. The botÂtomÂless goodÂwill of everyÂone here. I’m unsure if it’s going to last much longer and I think we should appreÂciÂate it while it’s here.”
What made the 90s the 90s? “MonÂey still genÂerÂatÂed monÂey. ComÂputÂers were becomÂing fast easy and cheap, and with them came a sense of equalÂiÂty for everyÂone. Things were palÂpaÂbly getÂting betÂter everyÂwhere. HisÂtoÂry was over and it felt great.” From the end of the Cold War until the fall of the Twin TowÂers, North AmerÂiÂca and Europe enjoyed a staÂbilÂiÂty and prosÂperÂiÂty that, to many of us in the 2010s, now seems someÂhow implauÂsiÂble. But cinÂeÂma rememÂbers the 90s, espeÂcialÂly the cinÂeÂma of the decade’s final year, difÂferÂentÂly. Unlike “monÂster movies showÂing cold war anxÂiÂeties and 21st-cenÂtuÂry horÂror movies conÂveyÂing fears of acts of terÂror,” the films of 1999 “were not about surÂvivÂing the present, because the present was actuÂalÂly going well. They were about being tired of that staÂble present and lookÂing for a radÂiÂcalÂly difÂferÂent future.”
Those words come from “Why All Movies From 1999 Are the Same,” the video essay from Now You See It above. Those of us who were moviegoÂing that year rememÂber The Matrix, Office Space, Fight Club, AmerÂiÂcan BeauÂty, Being John Malkovich, and all of the othÂer major HolÂlyÂwood releasÂes feaÂturÂing “a main charÂacÂter tired of the staÂbilÂiÂty, monotÂoÂny, and uneventÂfulÂness of their life,” almost always involvÂing a steady, dull corÂpoÂrate job. That era, recall, was also when Scott Adams’ comÂic DilÂbert reached the top of the zeitÂgeist by satÂiÂrizÂing the eleÂments of office exisÂtence: incomÂpeÂtent bossÂes, slackÂing co-workÂers, and above all, cubiÂcles.
CallÂing 1999 “the year of the cubiÂcle movie,” this video essay describes its cinÂeÂmatÂic porÂtrayÂal of office-workÂer frusÂtraÂtions as “a perÂfect mirÂror of what AmerÂiÂca was like in the late 90s.” Not that those porÂtrayÂals were litÂerÂalÂly “the same”: the terÂmiÂnalÂly bored men of Fight Club “go to great lengths to manÂuÂfacÂture conÂflict and chaos”; Office Space makes comÂeÂdy out of susÂpenders and paper jams; Being John Malkovich “exagÂgerÂates the oppresÂsive corÂpoÂrate imagery in films like Office Space by creÂatÂing an absurd office with low ceilÂings” that “litÂerÂalÂly bears down on its employÂees”; AmerÂiÂcan BeauÂty “critÂiÂcizes the perÂceived staÂbilÂiÂty of the era, sugÂgestÂing that it’s simÂply a mask that hides the true self.”
And in The Matrix, of course, that veneer of staÂbilÂiÂty and prosÂperÂiÂty exist only to conÂceal the total enslaveÂment of humanÂiÂty. ModÂern humanÂiÂty may nevÂer cast off its dystopias, but it’s fair to say the dystopiÂan visions we enterÂtain today look quite a bit difÂferÂent than the ones we enterÂtained twenÂty years ago, and it’s also fair to say that many of us enterÂtain them while dreamÂing of the relÂaÂtive safeÂty, staÂbilÂiÂty, and prosÂperÂiÂty — real or imagÂined — that we enjoyed back then, not to menÂtion the secure desk jobs. But as the films of 1999 remind us, those very qualÂiÂties could also driÂve us into a kind of madÂness. CouÂpÂland may rightÂly call the 90s “the good decade,” but even if we could return to that time, we’ve got good reaÂsons not to want to.
Based in Seoul, ColÂin MarÂshall writes and broadÂcasts on cities, lanÂguage, and culÂture. His projects include the book The StateÂless City: a Walk through 21st-CenÂtuÂry Los AngeÂles and the video series The City in CinÂeÂma. FolÂlow him on TwitÂter at @colinmarshall, on FaceÂbook, or on InstaÂgram.
We may not see warp driÂves any time soon, but anothÂer piece of Star Trek tech, the uniÂverÂsal transÂlaÂtor, may become a realÂiÂty in our lifeÂtime, if it hasn’t already. Machine learnÂing “has proven to be very comÂpeÂtent” when it comes to transÂlaÂtion, “so much so that the CEO of one of the world’s largest employÂers of human transÂlaÂtors has warned that many of them should be facÂing up the stark realÂiÂty of losÂing their job to a machine,” writes Bernard Marr at Forbes.
But the fact that AI can do things humans can doesÂn’t mean that it does those things well. One Google researcher put the case plainÂly in an interÂview with Wired: “PeoÂple naiveÂly believe that if you take deep learnÂing and… 1,000 times more data, a neurÂal net will be able to do anyÂthing a human being can do, but that’s just not true.” AI transÂlaÂtors have advanced sigÂnifÂiÂcantÂly in the past few years, with Google’s TransÂlaÂtotron proÂtoÂtype (yes, that’s its real name), promisÂing to interÂpret “tone and cadence.” Still, AI transÂlaÂtions are often stiltÂed, awkÂward, and occaÂsionÂalÂly incomÂpreÂhenÂsiÂble approxÂiÂmaÂtions that no human would come up with.
Does AI’s limÂiÂtaÂtions with livÂing lanÂguage hinÂder its abilÂiÂty to deciÂpher very long dead ones, whose orthogÂraÂphy, gramÂmar, and synÂtax have been comÂpleteÂly lost? Yuan Cao from Google’s AI lab and Jiaming Luo and RegiÂna BarziÂlay from MIT put machine learnÂing to the test when they develÂoped a “sysÂtem capaÂble of deciÂpherÂing lost lanÂguages.” They took a very difÂferÂent approach “from the stanÂdard machine transÂlaÂtion techÂniques,” reports the MIT TechÂnolÂoÂgy Review, using less data instead of more, a techÂnique they call “minÂiÂmum-cost flow.”
The researchers testÂed their transÂlaÂtion machine on both the 3500-year-old LinÂear B and UgaritÂic, an ancient form of Hebrew, both of which have already been deciÂphered by peoÂple. Still, the AI was “able to transÂlate both lanÂguages with remarkÂable accuÂraÂcy,” with a rate of 67.3% in the transÂlaÂtion of cogÂnates in LinÂear B. The far oldÂer Bronze Age Minoan script LinÂear A, howÂevÂer (see it at the top), “one of the earÂliÂest forms of writÂing ever disÂcovÂered… is conÂspicÂuÂous for its absence.” No human has yet been able to deciÂpher it.
A lost lanÂguage transÂlaÂtor machine that only works on lanÂguages that have already been transÂlatÂed (it needs preÂexÂistÂing data on the progÂenÂiÂtor lanÂguage to funcÂtion) may not seem parÂticÂuÂlarÂly useÂful. Then again, it could be one step in the direcÂtion of what the authors call the “autoÂmatÂic deciÂpherÂment of lost lanÂguages,” those that humans can’t already work out on their own. Read the paper “NeurÂal DeciÂpherÂment via MinÂiÂmum-Cost Flow: From UgaritÂic to LinÂear B” at arXÂiv.
ConÂcrete or visuÂal poetÂry does not get much respect these days. TerseÂly defined at the PoetÂry FounÂdaÂtion as “verse that emphaÂsizes nonÂlinÂguisÂtic eleÂments in its meanÂing” arranged to creÂate “a visuÂal image of the topÂic,” the form looks like a clever but frivÂoÂlous novÂelÂty in our very seriÂous times. It has seemed so in times past as well.
When GuilÂlaume ApolÂliÂnaire pubÂlished his 1918 CalÂligrammes, his major colÂlecÂtion of poems after he fought on the front lines of the first world war, he includÂed sevÂerÂal visuÂal poems. CritÂics like Louis Aragon, “at his most hard-nosed,” notes Stephen Romer at The Guardian, “critÂiÂcized it sharply for its aesÂthetiÂcism and frivÂoÂliÂty.”
ApolÂliÂnaire also wrote of war as a dazÂzling specÂtaÂcle, a tenÂdenÂcy that “raised the hackÂles of critÂics.” One can see there is moral merÂit to the objecÂtion, even if it misÂreads ApolÂliÂnaire. But why should visuÂal poetÂry not credÂiÂbly illusÂtrate pheÂnomÂeÂna we find subÂlime, just as well as it illusÂtrates potÂted ChristÂmas trees?
Indeed, the form has always done so, argues proÂlifÂic visuÂal poet Karl KempÂton, until it took a “dystopiÂan” turn after World War I. In his vast hisÂtoÂry of visuÂal poetÂry, KempÂton reachÂes back into ancient BudÂdhist, Sufi, EuroÂpean, and IndigeÂnous culÂturÂal hisÂtoÂry. Forms of visuÂal poetÂry, he writes, “are assoÂciÂatÂed with ongoÂing traÂdiÂtions and numerÂous unfoldÂing pathÂways traceÂable to humankind’s earÂliÂest surÂvivÂing comÂmuÂniÂcaÂtion marks.”
Not as ancient as the examÂples into which KempÂton first dives, the pages here from a manÂuÂscript called the Aratea nonetheÂless show us a use of the form that dates back over 1000 years, and incorÂpoÂrates “nearÂly 2000 years of culÂturÂal hisÂtoÂry,” writes the PubÂlic Domain Review. “MakÂing use of two Roman texts on astronÂoÂmy writÂten in the 1st cenÂtuÂry BC, the manÂuÂscript was creÂatÂed in NorthÂern France in about 1820.”
The text that has been arranged into images wasn’t origÂiÂnalÂly poetÂry, though one might argue that arrangÂing it thus makes us read it that way. Instead, the words are takÂen from HygiÂnus’ AstroÂnomÂiÂca, a “star atlas and book of stoÂries” of somewhat uncerÂtain oriÂgin. The poems in lined verse below each image are by 3rd cenÂtuÂry BC Greek poet AraÂtus (hence the title), “transÂlatÂed into Latin by young Cicero.”
If this feels like hefty mateÂrÂiÂal for a litÂerÂary proÂducÂtion that might seem more whimÂsiÂcal than awe-inspirÂing, we must conÂsidÂer that the manuscript’s first—and necÂesÂsarÂiÂly few—readers would have seen it difÂferÂentÂly. The text is a visuÂal mnemonÂic device, the red dots showÂing the posiÂtions of the stars in the conÂstelÂlaÂtions: an aesÂthetÂic pedÂaÂgogy that threads togethÂer visuÂal perÂcepÂtion, memÂoÂry, imagÂiÂnaÂtion, and cogÂniÂtion.
“The pasÂsages used to form the images describe the conÂstelÂlaÂtion which they creÂate on the page,” the PubÂlic Domain Review writes, “and in this way they become tied to one anothÂer: neiÂther the words nor the images would make full sense withÂout the othÂer to comÂplete the scene.” We are encourÂaged to read the stars through art and litÂerÂaÂture and to read poetÂry with an illusÂtratÂed mythoÂlogÂiÂcal star chart in hand.
The Aratea is a fasÂciÂnatÂing manÂuÂscript not only for its visuÂalÂly poetÂic illuÂmiÂnaÂtions, but also for its sigÂnifÂiÂcance across sevÂerÂal spans of time. Its physÂiÂcal exisÂtence is necÂesÂsarÂiÂly tied to the British Library where it resides. One of the institution’s first artiÂfacts, it was “sold to the nation in 1752 under the same Act of ParÂliaÂment which creÂatÂed the British MuseÂum.”
“Part of a largÂer misÂcelÂlany of sciÂenÂtifÂic works,” includÂing sevÂerÂal notes and comÂmenÂtaries on natÂurÂal phiÂlosÂoÂphy, as the British Library describes it, the medieval text uses clasÂsiÂcal sources to conÂtemÂplate the heavÂens in a form that is not only pre-ChrisÂtÂian and pre-Roman, but perÂhaps, as KempÂton argues, dates to the oriÂgins of writÂing itself.
The VelÂvet UnderÂground, the band with which Lou Reed and John Cale achieved artisÂtic and culÂturÂal starÂdom under the manÂageÂment of Andy Warhol, sureÂly have more lisÂtenÂers now than they did when they were active in the 1960s and 70s. But few self-described VelÂvet UnderÂground enthuÂsiÂasts ever had the chance to see the group perÂform. Not in perÂson, anyÂway: last month we feaÂtured colÂor footage from their 1969 VietÂnam War protest conÂcert, and we’ve preÂviÂousÂly offered opporÂtuÂniÂties to glimpse them playÂing a 1966 Warhol-filmed show that got broÂken up by the cops, comÂposÂing “SunÂday MornÂing,” the openÂing track from that same year’s album The VelÂvet UnderÂground & Nico, and reunitÂing in 1972 to do an acoustic set on French teleÂviÂsion.
But what would it feel like to actuÂalÂly be at a VelÂvet UnderÂground conÂcert? The 1967 film above proÂvides a view of the band perÂformÂing, but even more so of their fans takÂing it in — not that they had many in those days. But what fans they had turned up over and over again to their shows at a club called The Boston Tea ParÂty, which had opened the same year.
Shot by Warhol, one descripÂtion says, it makes use of “sudÂden in-and-out zooms, sweepÂing panÂning shots, in-camÂera edits that creÂate sinÂgle frame images and bursts of light like paparazzi flash bulbs going off” that “mirÂror the kinesÂthetÂic expeÂriÂence of the ExplodÂing PlasÂtic Inevitable” — Warhol’s series of mulÂtiÂmeÂdia events put on in the mid-60s — “with its strobe lights, whip dancers, colÂorÂful slide shows, mulÂti-screen proÂjecÂtions, libÂerÂal use of amphetÂaÂmines, and overÂpowÂerÂing sound.”
As “one of only two known films with synÂchroÂnous sound of the band perÂformÂing live,” as well as the only one in colÂor, this half-hour of the VelÂvet UnderÂground expeÂriÂence capÂtured on 16-milÂlimeÂter (which you can also find on the InterÂnet Archive) conÂstiÂtutes an imporÂtant and vivid piece of the band’s recordÂed hisÂtoÂry. Today, any lisÂtenÂer who has ever takÂen an interÂest in the VelÂvet UnderÂground will have heard the clear-eyed drug song “HeroÂin” on The VelÂvet UnderÂground & Nico and the epic of debauchÂery “SisÂter Ray” on White Light/White Heat many times. But these HarÂvard kids and othÂers from more than half a cenÂtuÂry ago were getÂting down to them — if that is indeed the term for the behavÂior Warhol has capÂtured here — well before most of today’s VelÂvets-inspired rockÂers were even born.
Based in Seoul, ColÂin MarÂshall writes and broadÂcasts on cities, lanÂguage, and culÂture. His projects include the book The StateÂless City: a Walk through 21st-CenÂtuÂry Los AngeÂles and the video series The City in CinÂeÂma. FolÂlow him on TwitÂter at @colinmarshall, on FaceÂbook, or on InstaÂgram.
This post conÂtinÂues Open CulÂture’s curaÂtion of a new podÂcast series about popÂuÂlar media and how (and why) we conÂsume it. You may wish to lisÂten to the introÂducÂtoÂry episode first.
What counts as binge watchÂing? Why do we do it? Is it bad for us?
Mark, EriÂca, and BriÂan reveal their watchÂing habits (growÂing up and now) and marÂvel at crazy-high stats about how much peoÂple watch. We think about what peoÂple get out of this activÂiÂty, what shows work do and don’t taste good in bulk, and whether watchÂing is best done in soliÂtary despair or as a bondÂing expeÂriÂence as you waste the preÂcious hours of your life sitÂting next to anothÂer perÂson.
We touch on many shows includÂing The Office, Game of Thrones, BatÂtlestar GalacÂtiÂca (by way of PortÂlandia), Jane the VirÂgin, PretÂty LitÂtle Liars, Arrow, CSI, and CherÂnobyl (which we’ll devote the whole of Ep. 5 to).
For some of us, it’s been a litÂtle while since colÂlege days. For othÂers of us, it’s been a litÂtle while longer. We might find ourÂselves askÂing, if we hear news of on-camÂpus activism and unrest (sureÂly unheard of in our day)—
“Do they still read the clasÂsics down at old Alma Mater U.?”
Maybe that’s the probÂlem, eh? Too much MarxÂist theÂoÂry, not enough PlaÂto? Well, you may be pleased, or not, to learn that clasÂsics still regularly—routinely, even—appear on colÂlege sylÂlabi, includÂing both The RepubÂlicand the ComÂmuÂnist ManÂiÂfesto, in coursÂes taught all over the world, from San AntoÂnio to Tokyo to KarlÂskroÂna, SweÂden.
As we informed Open CulÂture readÂers in 2016, ColumÂbia University’s Open SylÂlabus Project culled data from over 1,000,000 sylÂlabi from uniÂverÂsiÂty webÂsites worldÂwide, to find out which books have been most freÂquentÂly taught over the past decade or so. Since then, that numÂber has risen to 6,000,000 sylÂlabi. Still, the most-taught books at the top of the list remain largeÂly unchanged.
William StrunkÂ’s clasÂsic writÂing guide EleÂments of Style sits at numÂber one. OthÂer top titles include calÂcuÂlus and anatoÂmy textÂbooks, othÂer works of EnlightÂenÂment phiÂlosÂoÂphy, and texts now cenÂtral to the WestÂern critÂiÂcal traÂdiÂtion like MarÂtin Luther King, Jr.’s “LetÂter from BirmÂingÂham Jail,” Michel Foucault’s DisÂciÂpline and PunÂish, and Edward Said’s OriÂenÂtalÂism.
The top 50 is almost totalÂly domÂiÂnatÂed by male writÂers, though some of the most freÂquentÂly-taught novÂelÂists include Jane Austen, Toni MorÂriÂson, Anne Moody, Leslie MarÂmon Silko, and Alice WalkÂer. The most-taught books tend to fall into either phiÂlosÂoÂphy, litÂerÂaÂture, textÂbook, or guideÂbook, but the overÂall range in this list of 165,000 texts encomÂpassÂes the entire scope of acadÂeÂmia around the globe, with more conÂtemÂpoÂrary study areas like genÂder studÂies, media studÂies, digÂiÂtal culÂture, and enviÂronÂmenÂtal studÂies promiÂnent alongÂside traÂdiÂtionÂal departÂments like physics and psyÂcholÂoÂgy.
A new interÂacÂtive visuÂalÂizaÂtion from Open SylÂlabus turns this trove of data into a colÂor-codÂed stipÂpling of difÂferÂent-sized dots, each one repÂreÂsentÂing a parÂticÂuÂlar text. Float over each dot and a box appears in the corÂner of the screen, showÂing the numÂber of sylÂlabi that have assigned the text, and a link to a proÂfile page with more detailed analyÂsis. Called the “Co-AssignÂment Galaxy,” the infoÂgraphÂic does what a list canÂnot: draws conÂnecÂtions between all these works and their respecÂtive fields of study.
The Open SylÂlabus Project was already an impresÂsive achieveÂment, a huge aggreÂgaÂtion of freely accesÂsiÂble data for scholÂars and curiÂous laypeoÂple alike. The addiÂtion of this user-friendÂly clusÂter map makes the site an even more indisÂpensÂable resource for the study of how highÂer eduÂcaÂtion has changed over the past decade or so, and how it has, in some respects, remained the same. Enter the Open SylÂlabus Project’s Co-AssignÂment Galaxy map here.
We're hoping to rely on loyal readers, rather than erratic ads. Please click the Donate button and support Open Culture. You can use Paypal, Venmo, Patreon, even Crypto! We thank you!
Open Culture scours the web for the best educational media. We find the free courses and audio books you need, the language lessons & educational videos you want, and plenty of enlightenment in between.