Eggs Floating

This is a playful space, where I make so free as to share whatever words, images, on whatnot that I happen upon in my daily madness. Everything here should be safe for work, but it may not always be safe for all sensibilities. (i.e. in this space there may be swearing.)

Please visit our principal blog The Floating Egg for a range of writings.
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Tolkien’s ring of power is a plain gold ring, of course, and embodies a series of quite complex valences to do with binding, with vows and marriage. But at the same time as being a blank surface, the ring is also paradoxically (which is to say, magically) lettered. The ring, in other words, is a book. To be sure it is a short book; its whole text is the one ring charm. But a short book is still a book. Looked at this way, Lord of the Rings becomes a strangely self-destructive fable—a book about the quest to destroy a book, a long string of carefully chosen words positing a world in which words have magical power to huge evil. How few books there are in Middle Earth! Indeed, I’ve written elsewhere about not just the paucity of written texts in Tolkien’s world, but the way they keep getting misread. Gandalf scratches his rune at Weathertop; the hobbits misread it. The elven door in Moria, beautifully lettered, commands ‘speak friend and enter!’ and nobody understands its simple instruction. The fellowship find a dwarfish book in the mines, as scorched and battered as poor old Beowulf; but as they read it aloud (‘drums in the deep’, ‘we cannot get out’) it becomes true to them, and they repeat the words as suddenly, horribly, appropriate to their own predicament. The repeated theme is the danger of words; their slipperiness but also the ease with which they can move us directly into the malign world of the text. One ring to bind us all. Books are bound, too.
Adam Roberts packs more provocative insight into a blog post than almost anyone else can get into a book (burned or whole). (via ayjay)

amandapalmer:

no comment

So, really, there is nothing new under the sun.

nevver:

1984

Sounds like today, tight enough.

It is Sunday, and I am getting shit done.

wilwheaton:

bookoisseur:

Well we’re all going to die.

I, for one, welcome our new terrifying mechanical bovine overlords.

These things are beyond fascinating, beyond terrifying, beyond … well, just beyond.

TFE: So very tired of my social networks –

I am experiencing an acute onset of social network fatigue these days. No discernible single cause, no distinct bad experience that stands out as spoiling things for me. No, I am just tired of so many places to put things, and so many places to check for…

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prettyinpixiedust:

So i know i run dwarves differently than most GMs

but it seriously makes more sense to me than a patriarchy because imagine this - you exist in a culture with no outward indication of gender that places enormous value on caves and mining

and you finally leave and meet these weird tall people

and as you’re exchanging words and whatnot they’re all

"Where are your women?"

And you’re like, “what is a woman?”

and they say, “the weaker gender, beardless and gentle”

and you say “We have none”

because of course you don’t, you’re DWARVES

And the tall ones ask “Where do you come from?”

And you reply “Caves” because it is true both ways, you live in caves and you are born of those dwarves that carry caves within themselves, the most sacred of dwarves

and the tall people shrug and let it go because who cares, hide your women, they just want the trade agreements

and nobody ever realizes they were speaking to the women all along

This is a most excellent little piece.

I can’t help but feel an inherent sadness at the sight of a young bride standing alone on the sidewalk outside a small-town bar at one o’ clock in the morning, staring vacantly down the dark and empty street. I wonder if this is how she imagined the evening would go.

Art is not a mirror - it is a hammer.
John Grierson (via amandapalmer)