Beim \u78ba\u8a8d\u3059\u308b\u3001\u78ba\u304b\u3081\u308b when checking bei der Vergewisserung …m\u00fcssen…3,4,5? Merkmale auf dasselbe Ergebnis hinweisen (Quantit\u00e4t je nach Context, security level, charakter… komplizierte Aufstellung, sometimes a part of you wants to fail for certain reasons)<\/p>\n
– Gender: Knochenbau, Stimme, Name<\/p>\n
– Kanjiverst\u00e4ndnis: Lesart, Sinn, Bild, und dann im Satz Sinn ergeben<\/p>\n
Konsistent: bei zwei Lesarten verlangsamt sich das Merken=Abrufenk\u00f6nnen und verz\u00f6gert sich dementsprechend das Gef\u00fchl der Zweifellosigkeit um ziemlich genau das Doppelte.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
2021\/2\/5<\/p>\n
Darth Vader Wildschweingatter Sign\/twig stopper comb for small brook Sign<\/strong><\/p>\n \u800c\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \uff08\u3057\u304b\u3057\u3066\u3001\u3057\u304b\u3082\u3001\u305d\u3057\u3066\uff09\u00a0\u00a0 the sign has attracted me but until now I have not been able to synthesize its meaning. \u8010\u4e45 (\u305f\u3044\u304d\u3085\u3046) endurance i hit upon today in the context \uff12\uff14\u6642\u9593\u8010\u4e45\u30ec\u30fc\u30b9\u00a0 24hr endurance race, one of Mai’s Nagoya students is into it<\/p>\n and I think of Erwin Panofsky: The Ideological Precedents of the Rolls Royce Radiator<\/p>\n which I will now read – got it downloaded –<\/p>\n after noting that such a shape, I saw across the water several times from the train window when passing by the Walensee with its incredibly dark, steep coast on the other side. It is the boat loading site of a little quarry, only accessible from the water. The Walensee fascinated me so much that I got out of the train there once to spend a few days, on my way back from a reading in Switzerland. There I learned a little bit about the place. The Walensee is incredibly deep and indeed mysterious. The hamlets on the other side were destitute places, until they were discovered in the mid 20th century discovered as a „secret“ tourist place, for those who know. The towns are called Quinten, Quarten, Terzen (Oberterzen) from a Roman system. I hiked along the narrow path that goes up and down along the steep cliffside, and saw a farmer mowing a lawn with a heavy little motor mower, and couldn’t stop being scared for them to fall off. Where had I seen that before? A small area, from a slope across the way, someone mowing it, in a way that made me feel sick that they might fall down. The Niagara Falls! I must have been five. A grey day, cold wind, jetlag, and they were telling me that people went down locked in barrels, while I stared at the person mowing the lawn on the other side. <\/em><\/p>\n There are storms on the Walensee that come up very fast, and the winds, probably due to the steep mountains around, are irregular, so one might easily get caught in a bad, squally little place on the lake if the wind turned.<\/p>\n The quarry – there was some story about the quarry. After perusing the one book that I found at the place I stayed, I got the impression that I had learned the complete exhaustive history of every family in Au and Cadonau (?) the hamlets that are unreachable except by boat.<\/p>\n It is strange to have been in a place like that.<\/p>\n Somewhere around the middle of the way, I heard the tinkling of bells, glittery and golden, like the sunshine that glittered on the pebbles in the shallow lakeside coves that somehow I was unable to stop at. Having left the train of dates, speed, text, value, laptops, small talk, public transportation, money and jokes, I was still in a kind of trance, not falling all the way down since I had to continue with the train from the next day on. I would have tried to read or write, had I stopped by a cove; only continuously walking allowed me to just look at the surroundings, thinking nothing. I peered through the hedge of dwarf maples and saw a herd of goats with little bells at their throats, grazing, walking, gamboling up the slope, or scratching themselves with regular jerks of the tongue. For a while I stood and listened to the rhythms, stochastic, but guided by motoric constraints. For a long while. Finally, I whipped out my mobile phone and made a recording, so that I could go; the five minutes burning in my pocket.<\/p>\n The path led to Weesen, the town on the flat side of the lake, where the lake drains off through a marshy area. I had read in Quinten about the rise and fall of the marsh water level there, the canal in the 19th century. (It is also so odd, and a product of my resigned chaos or instable sense of importance that I gather information so manically, without any particular intent at all. As if it were simply a part of seeing, of informing my eyes.) Following the directions of the person behind the telephone number written on a touristic information board, I found the Hotel du Gare in Weesen with an old man somehow surviving in it. His wife was in hospital. He told me all about her, how she had climbed 4000m mountains all over the world. He let me choose one of three disgustingly dirty rooms, showed me and let me play the Hammond organ dug out from under heaps of dusty cross-stitched pillows, showed me photos of his wife and her festering sores. I awkwardly went down to the lake, shallow here, to swim and avoid the filthy showers. In the evening, friends from the town came to drink in front of the hotel. There was something frozen in the air. French, doing nothing about it.<\/p>\n The next morning I left dreaming about Erbschleicherei, but did nothing about it. Switzerland is too expensive. One night in that dirty room cost 60 Franken. I suppose, for Swiss prices, it is cheap. When I got back to Quinten to pick up the bag I had left at the pension, they were all in a flutter. Somehow I had not communicated properly that I intended to stay the night somewhere. They were just considering calling out a search. I wouldn’t have been the first reckless tourist who just walked up the mountainside and never returned. In a way, I felt a bit regretful at being so sensible. I had indeed considered walking up the mountain, before opting for the Hotel du Gare. But then I wouldn’t have heard the goat bells, nor seen the precarious mower.<\/p>\n Now to Panofsky.<\/p>\n Wait! Something else:<\/p>\n According to Kajiya Kenji\u52a0\u6cbb\u5c4b\u5065\u53f8, in the differentiation between synthetic and analytic Cubism, synthetic has two meanings. In one sense, synthetic refers to\u00a0 „Picasso’s and Bracque’s synthesis of Analytic Cubism’s fragmented facet planes and atomized motifs into large, flat, and more readable shapes. Second, and more frequently, it has been used to indicate the semiautonomous vocabulary of the pictorial elements. They are not formally fragmentary like Analytic Cubist facet planes, but rather independent and comprehensive in their form and meaning.“[1]<\/a><\/p>\n If taken at face word value, the analytics would be interested in the process, perhaps the deconstruction as a result; but the synthetics would be on the way to making something. Product-oriented. Commodifying Cubism. But camouflage is all for dissimulation. Dithering. In the West, Art is still heroic. Our whole value structure and payment structure is heroic, so it is hard to escape and survive. Or at least, the many who escape and survive no longer appear as successful artists. Prof. Kajiya, Vice Director of the Art Center at the University of Tokyo, has also written about an American intersectionality of art and interior design. All over the place, people are asking: What is ambience? How can there be ambience? And I still can’t find out if it is ambi like in ambidextrous, or ambiguous, or something to do with walking.<\/p>\n If the maenads who tore up Orpheus had left some treatises, Cubism might trace its roots to Ancient Greece as well as to Africa. As it is, the distinction between analytic and synthetic is so dubious to me as that between Dionysos and Apollo. Geht mir am Arsch vorbei, rutscht mir den Buckel runter, bzw. kommt einfach beide vorbei.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n