There are two modes of criticism. One which … crushes to earth without mercy all the humble buds of Phantasy, all the plants that, though green and fruitful, are also a prey to insects or have suffered by drouth. It weeds well the garden, and cannot believe the weed in its native soil may be a pretty, graceful plant.
There is another mode which enters into the natural history of every thing that breathes and lives, which believes no impulse to be entirely in vain, which scrutinizes circumstances, motive and object before it condemns, and believes there is a beauty in natural form, if its law and purpose be understood.
Wikipedia says this is from “Poets of the People” in Art, Literature and the Drama (1858). Although she says criticism is the mode, I see security.
“In the average house you have about 10,000 different objects and right now you have maybe three objects connected to the net – phone, computer and perhaps a rabbit,” he said.
“But we think that more and more objects are going to be connected,” said Mr Kitten.
A rabbit connected to the net? That is Jean-Francois Kitten, a spokesman for Violet, talking about a Nabaztag wi-fi rabbit gadget that can interpret RFID chips. Put a chip in front of the rabbit and it will “read” aloud. For example a book for children, or maybe a recipe for a cook.
The big question, I suppose, is whether Mr. Kitten will be tracking rabbit behavior. Is there a privacy-enabled rabbit?
German train, maybe from Munich, slowed with a exasperated squeal into a dusty dark soot colored station labeled Budapest. I don’t remember if I paused but soon I was standing in a small room below high black boards watching a blur of yellow letters, listening to the click of unfamiliar cities. It was early night and I was struggling not to feel scared, or maybe struggling to scare myself into believing I was on a genuine adventure and not just a poorly planned vacation. What if no one was there when I arrived? Where was I going? I had never heard of Miskolc until one fateful night in Paris.
Summer of 92. Illuminated, two towers of Notre Dame stared with a cold face. I joined a leisurely flow of tourists at the far side of the plaza who milled along, absorbing shades of grey and green. My fatigue boredom and curiosity led me to pause when I noticed a man sitting an uncomfortable distance from a woman. Their body language was awkward, as if in a disagreement. I reached a hand down to feel the unmistakable rough chill of granite and then sat down no more than twenty meters from them. I was drawn to look beside me and saw the woman had a kind but empty, longing stare very unlike those you might find on a faithful gargoyle observing above. The man spoke broken English. Too far to make out the conversation, I still surmised they were strangers. He harassed her as she tried to enjoy a peaceful evening alone.
Many apologies for my hiatus from my log. I confess I was working so much that I lost time. I’m back again with much to say…
Here’s a poem by Bertolt Brecht that I noted in the movie Lives of Others, (51:11). Thought this might help get things started again:
One particular day in blue-moon September
below a young plum tree, quietly
I held her, my silent pale love,
in my arms like a pleasant dream.
Above us in the beautiful summer sky
was a cloud that caught my eye.
It was a pure white and so far high.
but when I looked up, it had already gone.
The subtitles did not give the poem justice so I felt like writing my own. Harper’s has posted a more formal translation with an interesting continuation of the poem, as well as reference to the movie.
a blog about the poetry of information security, since 1995