I Sing The Body Electric

Posted in History, Library of Congress, Poem by chamblee54 on May 31, 2022









I sing the body electric,
The armies of those I love engirth me and I engirth them,
They will not let me off till I go with them, respond to them,
And discorrupt them, and charge them full with the charge of the soul.

Was it doubted that those who corrupt their own bodies conceal themselves?
And if those who defile the living are as bad as they who defile the dead?
And if the body does not do fully as much as the soul?
And if the body were not the soul, what is the soul?
The love of the body of man or woman balks account,
the body itself balks account,
That of the male is perfect, and that of the female is perfect.

The expression of the face balks account,
But the expression of a well-made man appears not only in his face,
It is in his limbs and joints also, it is curiously in the joints of his hips and wrists,
It is in his walk, the carriage of his neck, the flex of his waist and knees,
dress does not hide him,
The strong sweet quality he has strikes through the cotton and broadcloth,
To see him pass conveys as much as the best poem, perhaps more,
You linger to see his back, and the back of his neck and shoulder-side.

The sprawl and fulness of babes, the bosoms and heads of women,
the folds of their dress, their style as we pass in the street,
the contour of their shape downwards,
The swimmer naked in the swimming-bath, seen as he swims through
the transparent green-shine, or lies with his face up and rolls
silently to and from the heave of the water,
The bending forward and backward of rowers in row-boats,
the horse-man in his saddle,
Girls, mothers, house-keepers, in all their performances,
The group of laborers seated at noon-time with their open dinner-kettles,
and their wives waiting,
The female soothing a child, the farmer’s daughter in the garden or cow-yard,
The young fellow hosing corn, the sleigh-driver driving his six horses
through the crowd,
The wrestle of wrestlers, two apprentice-boys, quite grown, lusty,
good-natured, native-born, out on the vacant lot at sundown after work,
The coats and caps thrown down, the embrace of love and resistance,
The upper-hold and under-hold, the hair rumpled over and blinding the eyes;
The march of firemen in their own costumes, the play of masculine muscle
through clean-setting trowsers and waist-straps,
The slow return from the fire, the pause when the bell strikes suddenly again,
and the listening on the alert,
The natural, perfect, varied attitudes, the bent head, the curv’d neck
and the counting;
Such-like I love—I loosen myself, pass freely, am at the mother’s breast
with the little child,
Swim with the swimmers, wrestle with wrestlers, march in line
with the firemen, and pause, listen, count.
I knew a man, a common farmer, the father of five sons,
And in them the fathers of sons, and in them the fathers of sons.
This man was a wonderful vigor, calmness, beauty of person,
The shape of his head, the pale yellow and white of his hair and beard,
the immeasurable meaning of his black eyes,
the richness and breadth of his manners,
These I used to go and visit him to see, he was wise also,
He was six feet tall, he was over eighty years old, his sons were massive,
clean, bearded, tan-faced, handsome,
They and his daughters loved him, all who saw him loved him,
They did not love him by allowance, they loved him with personal love,
He drank water only, the blood show’d like scarlet
through the clear-brown skin of his face,
He was a frequent gunner and fisher, he sail’d his boat himself,
he had a fine one presented to him by a ship-joiner,
he had fowling-pieces presented to him by men that loved him,
When he went with his five sons and many grand-sons to hunt or fish,
you would pick him out as the most beautiful and vigorous of the gang,
You would wish long and long to be with him, you would wish to sit by him
in the boat that you and he might touch each other.

I have perceiv’d that to be with those I like is enough,
To stop in company with the rest at evening is enough,
To be surrounded by beautiful, curious, breathing, laughing flesh is enough,
To pass among them or touch any one, or rest my arm ever so lightly
round his or her neck for a moment, what is this then?
I do not ask any more delight, I swim in it as in a sea.

There is something in staying close to men and women and looking on them,
and in the contact and odor of them, that pleases the soul well,
All things please the soul, but these please the soul well.

This is the female form,
A divine nimbus exhales from it from head to foot,
It attracts with fierce undeniable attraction,
I am drawn by its breath as if I were no more than a helpless vapor,
all falls aside but myself and it,
Books, art, religion, time, the visible and solid earth,
and what was expected of heaven or fear’d of hell, are now consumed,
Mad filaments, ungovernable shoots play out of it,
the response likewise ungovernable,
Hair, bosom, hips, bend of legs, negligent falling hands all diffused,
mine too diffused,
Ebb stung by the flow and flow stung by the ebb, love-flesh swelling
and deliciously aching,
Limitless limpid jets of love hot and enormous, quivering jelly of love,
white-blow and delirious juice,
Bridegroom night of love working surely and softly into the prostrate dawn,
Undulating into the willing and yielding day,
Lost in the cleave of the clasping and sweet-flesh’d day.

This the nucleus—after the child is born of woman, man is born of woman,
This the bath of birth, this the merge of small and large, and the outlet again.

Be not ashamed women, your privilege encloses the rest,
and is the exit of the rest,
You are the gates of the body, and you are the gates of the soul.

The female contains all qualities and tempers them,
She is in her place and moves with perfect balance,
She is all things duly veil’d, she is both passive and active,
She is to conceive daughters as well as sons, and sons as well as daughters.

As I see my soul reflected in Nature,
As I see through a mist, One with inexpressible completeness,
sanity, beauty,
See the bent head and arms folded over the breast, the Female I see.

The male is not less the soul nor more, he too is in his place,
He too is all qualities, he is action and power,
The flush of the known universe is in him,
Scorn becomes him well, and appetite and defiance become him well,
The wildest largest passions, bliss that is utmost, sorrow that is utmost
become him well, pride is for him,
The full-spread pride of man is calming and excellent to the soul,
Knowledge becomes him, he likes it always, he brings every thing
to the test of himself,
Whatever the survey, whatever the sea and the sail
he strikes soundings at last only here,
(Where else does he strike soundings except here?)

The man’s body is sacred and the woman’s body is sacred,
No matter who it is, it is sacred—is it the meanest one in the laborers’ gang?
Is it one of the dull-faced immigrants just landed on the wharf?
Each belongs here or anywhere just as much as the well-off, just as much as you,
Each has his or her place in the procession.

(All is a procession,
The universe is a procession with measured and perfect motion.)

Do you know so much yourself that you call the meanest ignorant?
Do you suppose you have a right to a good sight,
and he or she has no right to a sight?
Do you think matter has cohered together from its diffuse float,
and the soil is on the surface, and water runs and vegetation sprouts,
For you only, and not for him and her?

A man’s body at auction,
(For before the war I often go to the slave-mart and watch the sale,)
I help the auctioneer, the sloven does not half know his business.

Gentlemen look on this wonder,
Whatever the bids of the bidders they cannot be high enough for it,
For it the globe lay preparing quintillions of years without one animal or plant,
For it the revolving cycles truly and steadily roll’d.

In this head the all-baffling brain,
In it and below it the makings of heroes.

Examine these limbs, red, black, or white, they are cunning in tendon and nerve,
They shall be stript that you may see them.

Exquisite senses, life-lit eyes, pluck, volition,
Flakes of breast-muscle, pliant backbone and neck, flesh not flabby,
good-sized arms and legs,
And wonders within there yet.

Within there runs blood,
The same old blood! the same red-running blood!
There swells and jets a heart, there all passions, desires, reachings, aspirations,

(Do you think they are not there because they are not express’d
in parlors and lecture-rooms?)

This is not only one man, this the father of those who shall be fathers
in their turns,
In him the start of populous states and rich republics,
Of him countless immortal lives with countless embodiments and enjoyments.

How do you know who shall come from the offspring of his offspring
through the centuries?
(Who might you find you have come from yourself,
if you could trace back through the centuries?)

A woman’s body at auction,
She too is not only herself, she is the teeming mother of mothers,
She is the bearer of them that shall grow and be mates to the mothers.

Have you ever loved the body of a woman?
Have you ever loved the body of a man?
Do you not see that these are exactly the same to all in all nations
and times all over the earth?

If anything is sacred the human body is sacred,
And the glory and sweet of a man is the token of manhood untainted,
And in man or woman a clean, strong, firm-fibred body, is more beautiful
than the most beautiful face.

Have you seen the fool that corrupted his own live body?
or the fool that corrupted her own live body?
For they do not conceal themselves, and cannot conceal themselves.

O my body! I dare not desert the likes of you in other men and women,
nor the likes of the parts of you,
I believe the likes of you are to stand or fall with the likes of the soul,
(and that they are the soul,)
I believe the likes of you shall stand or fall with my poems,
and that they are my poems,
Man’s, woman’s, child, youth’s, wife’s, husband’s, mother’s, father’s,
young man’s, young woman’s poems,
Head, neck, hair, ears, drop and tympan of the ears,
Eyes, eye-fringes, iris of the eye, eyebrows, and the waking
or sleeping of the lids,
Mouth, tongue, lips, teeth, roof of the mouth, jaws, and the jaw-hinges,
Nose, nostrils of the nose, and the partition,
Cheeks, temples, forehead, chin, throat, back of the neck, neck-slue,
Strong shoulders, manly beard, scapula, hind-shoulders,
and the ample side-round of the chest,
Upper-arm, armpit, elbow-socket, lower-arm, arm-sinews, arm-bones,
Wrist and wrist-joints, hand, palm, knuckles, thumb, forefinger,
finger-joints, finger-nails,
Broad breast-front, curling hair of the breast, breast-bone, breast-side,
Ribs, belly, backbone, joints of the backbone,
Hips, hip-sockets, hip-strength, inward and outward round,
man-balls, man-root,
Strong set of thighs, well carrying the trunk above,
Leg-fibres, knee, knee-pan, upper-leg, under-leg,
Ankles, instep, foot-ball, toes, toe-joints, the heel;
All attitudes, all the shapeliness, all the belongings of my or your body
or of any one’s body, male or female,
The lung-sponges, the stomach-sac, the bowels sweet and clean,
The brain in its folds inside the skull-frame,
Sympathies, heart-valves, palate-valves, sexuality, maternity,
Womanhood, and all that is a woman, and the man that comes from woman,
The womb, the teats, nipples, breast-milk, tears, laughter, weeping,
love-looks, love-perturbations and risings,
The voice, articulation, language, whispering, shouting aloud,
Food, drink, pulse, digestion, sweat, sleep, walking, swimming,
Poise on the hips, leaping, reclining, embracing, arm-curving and tightening,
The continual changes of the flex of the mouth, and around the eyes,
The skin, the sunburnt shade, freckles, hair,
The curious sympathy one feels when feeling with the hand
the naked meat of the body,
The circling rivers the breath, and breathing it in and out,
The beauty of the waist, and thence of the hips,
and thence downward toward the knees,
The thin red jellies within you or within me, the bones and the marrow
in the bones,
The exquisite realization of health;

O I say these are not the parts and poems of the body only, but of the soul,
O I say now these are the soul!

Text for this adventure is from the Project Gutenberg.
The text was reformatted by Chamblee54.
“I sing the Body Electric” was written by Walt Whitman.
An audio version of this poem is available from Librivox.
Pictures from The Library of Congress.









Must Be Trolling Us

Posted in GSU photo archive, Weekly Notes by chamblee54 on May 30, 2022

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I did a google search, did playing cards come before tarot cards. I saw a promising result, and clicked on it. I was the five millionth person to click on that link, and was invited to download a virus. ~ @theericklouis The father of one of the victims from the Texas shooting was pro gun and literally championing kyle rittenhouse on FB… The tweet author has a screen name I cannot repeat. He posted a picture of the man, holding up a picture of his daughter. You can’t make this up. ~ @atrupar Herschel Walker’s solution to school shootings involves “a department that can look at young men that’s looking at women that’s looking at social media.” ~ I have glimpsed the gates of hell, where unrepentant souls endure the horrors of sin away from God, shut out from grace, tormented by unyielding guilt and shame. – Yes we’ve all been to Cincinnati @ContraPoints ~ @chamblee54 @GlennLoury and @JohnHMcWhorter have a dialog every two weeks. The show has been running since W was president. They are usually fun to listen to, if you don’t mind thinking. Here are two selections from this week’s show. They did not say the magic word this week. “tucker is a very effective conservative he’s the rachel maddow of the right” “the idea that what he said is that to be mexican is to be a rapist is an athletic interpretation of what he said” ~ pictures today are from “The Special Collections and Archives, Georgia State University Library.” ~ selah

He Lied

Posted in GSU photo archive, Politics, Race by chamblee54 on May 29, 2022









There is a discussion at Bloggingheadstv about the recent events in Baltimore MD. The featured speakers, Glenn Loury and John McWhorter, have been heard from before. This is a thought provoking discussion. If you are multi tasking, you might not get much done. The temptation to stop and take notes will be great. This is a repost.

At BHTV, you can create a sound bite, known as a dinglelink, when something gets your attention. This chat produced three dinglelinks. These serve to illustrate the points that are going to be made. There are other things that could be said, but most people have a limited attention span.

At 23:19, the men are discussing one of the witnesses to the Micheal Brown shooting. Dr. Loury starts to talk loud, and says “he lied.” This is a problem.

During the Ferguson fiasco, America was hit over the head with a lot of talk, often at top volume. There was the spectacle of a crowd of people walking into a funeral with their hands in the air. A great deal of the shouting was based on lies. If you question these lies, you can expect to be called a racist. The little boy said he saw a wolf.

If you think Dr. Loury gets worked up in the first clip, wait until he talks about the #Baltimoreuprising. Dr. Loury does not like the expression. He might have a point. The disturbance was a reaction from a population in pain. It was not the first step in a revolution.

One of the popular memes of this “conversation about race” is complaining about “media double standards.” Complaints about profit motivated media are popular with both liberals and conservatives. In the Baltimore banter, videos of white people misbehaving after sporting events are shown, and the stern voiced commenter wonders why the media does not treat these people as harshly as the Baltimore crowd.

With the #Baltimoreuprising hashtag, this media commentary goes up a notch. When drunken white sports fans act out, it is a riot. When poor urban people loot stores, it is the #Baltimoreuprising. There is no telling where this will end up.

The last clip shows Dr. McWhorter asking if poor people are going to demand, of their neighborhoods, “no more thugs.” It is apparent that Dr. McWhorter does not read the same people on facebook that others do. The word “thug” is now considered a racist slur. Instead of attacking the problem, twitter nation is attacking the word that describes the problem. Pictures today are from “The Special Collections and Archives, Georgia State University Library”.









Bishop Talbert Swan

Posted in Library of Congress, Undogegorized by chamblee54 on May 28, 2022

Bishop Talbert Swan @TalbertSwan “Calling a Black POTUS married 25 yrs to 1 wife with 2 children, no mistresses, affairs or scandals, ‘the antichrist’ but a racist white POTUS married thrice, 5 kids by 3 women, mistresses, affairs & scandals, ‘God‘s anointed,’ proves your religion is white supremacy.” @chamblee54 “This tweet indicates that your religion is sophomore logic.” I posted a screenshot of this exchange on facebook, and got a reply. “Luther I’m not sure what you’re trying to say here. Or maybe I just don’t want to know” Let the fun begin.

Bishop Talbert Swan is a professional Jesus worshiper, who uses the word “Bishop” as his title. BTS is the author of Closing the Closet: Testimonies of Deliverance from Homosexuality. Last year saw Bishop Talbert Swan permanently banned from Twitter for ‘hateful conduct’ “Although Twitter did not specify what Tweet got him banned, Swan believes it was a Tweet he sent out in May in response to someone asking him to follow Candace Owens … “I responded by writing ‘No thanks, I’m on the no coon diet’,” he said.” If you want to know more about BTS, google is your friend.

Lets break down the tweet that started this. I tried to find out who said both that BHO was the Anti-Christ, and then said that DJT was G-d anointed. This is a problem with twitter hypocrisy theater … there is seldom an actual person who said all these terrible things. If you google “Barack Obama Anti-Christ,” one of the results is from Snopes: Is Barack Obama the Anti-Christ?

“Calling a Black POTUS married 25 yrs to 1 wife with 2 children, no mistresses, affairs or scandals, ‘the antichrist’” The mixed race BHO is, indeed, married to his first wife. Either BHO did not fool around, or had the grace not to get caught. This neither proves, nor disproves, that BHO is the Anti-Christ. Nor is it the complete story. BHO did some good work. He also enabled America’s military to murder thousands of Muslims in Asia and Africa. Maybe any POTUS is the Anti-Christ.

“but a racist white POTUS married thrice, 5 kids by 3 women, mistresses, affairs & scandals, ‘God‘s anointed,’” BTS capitalizes Black, but says white in lower case, preceded by a value-added slur. Admittedly, DJT is a gnarly character, with an exuberant marital history. DJT is about as much God anointed as BHO is Anti-Christal. “Thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over.”

“proves your religion is white supremacy” The comments made by “you” about BHO and DJT indicate that “you” say foolish things. It does not prove anything. It certainly does not prove that “your religion is white supremacy.” Is WS a tax exempt organization? Does WS have ministers, a deity, rituals, prayers, and sunday morning traffic jams? Do you show your faithfulness to WS by saying stupid things about crooked politicians?

There is my response to consider. It is a satire of the preceding tweet. I said indicate, rather than prove, for obvious reasons. I said sophomore logic because fecal references are redundant. The word sophomore is derived from “Greek sophos (wise) + mōros (foolish.)” While the wisdom of the BTS tweet is obscure, the foolishness is obvious.

Pictures today are from The Library of Congress. This is is a repost.

The Ride

Posted in Georgia History, Library of Congress, Undogegorized by chamblee54 on May 27, 2022









In the modern workplace, there are subjects you don’t want to talk about. Discussions of religion, politics, race, and celebrity footwear can spark unwanted controversy. The question then arises, what can you talk to people about? What do you have in common with a diverse group of people?
One subject, usually safe for conversation, is your ride in to work. In an freeway crazy place like Atlanta, everyone has a story. Last week, PG took notes on his ride. What follows is the journey one day, from a Brookhaven house to the Vinings office complex. The day is April 30. The next day is May Day. The parade has been cancelled, due to lack of communists.
7:41 am Leave the house. The idea is to report at 8:30 am. You want to allow a few extra minutes for unforeseen problems. The good news is that, in the morning, going west on I285 is against traffic. East bound, or the inner loop, is a traffic nightmare.
7:43 am /0.3 miles Turn the corner on Eighth Street, and the start of New Peachtree Road. In the pre-marta days, Eighth Street went over the tracks to Peachtree Road. When PG was a kid, there was a sign for the railroad crossing. There was no red flashing light.
7:44 am The Southern Crescent passes on the Norfolk Southern line, next to New Peachtree. The train is going to New Orleans. The people on that train are probably having more fun than you.
7:45 am/1.1 miles This is the first red light. You turn left onto Clairmont Road. Peachtree Dekalb Airport is down the hill, across the street. At certain times of the year, you can see the sun rising over the airport on your morning run.
7:47 am/1.4 miles You have gone over the wonderful bridge. In the pre-marta era, to get from the end of Clairmont, to Peachtree Industrial, you had to make a left turn, cross the railroad tracks on a bridge made from telephone poles, and cut through the Krystal parking lot. Now, a bridge takes you over all this. At the end of the bridge, you take a left turn onto Peachtree Industrial Boulevard.
7:48 am/1.7 miles Turn right onto Johnson Ferry. You will probably need to slow dawn for the traffic ahead of you. Welcome to Atlanta.
7:53 am/2.4 miles This is the confluence of Johnson Ferry Road and Ashford Dunwoody Road. When these roads were built, they took farmer Jones to church once a week. Now, they are lined with subdivisions. For some reason, these two busy thoroughfares merge, go forward on two lanes for about a hundred yards, and then split up. There are lots of angry soccer moms making left turns.
7:54 am/2.6 miles When you get to the fork in the road, take it. If you lean left here, you head towards Cobb County. This stretch of road is a long downhill run, a bridge over Nancy Creek, (7:56 am/3.7 miles,) and a long uphill climb. This is all on two lanes, with double yellow lines in the middle. The speed limit is 35 mph. At least once a week, there will be an SUV behind you that wants to go faster. This is bad for the composure of everyone involved.
7:58 am/4.5 miles There is a red light at Peachtree Dunwoody Road. You are in Fulton County now. This is the area known as pill hill. There are three major hospitals, and enough medical office buildings to cause insurance apoplexy. The traffic creeps ahead at a stealthy pace.
8:00 am/ 5.0 miles A bridge takes you over Highway 400. You are not the only person who is over Highway 400. At least you are not on it.
8:00 am/ 5.1 miles Turn right onto Glenridge. If you had gone forward at the light, Johnson Ferry would have turned into Glenridge. This can get complicated.
8:01 am/5.3 miles Turn left, and get onto I285. This is exit 26 of the Perimeter. This is a seminal moment of the Atlanta experience. You are no longer ITP, or OTP, but OnTP.
8:03 am/6.2 miles You go under Roswell Road, exit 25. This is the first disappearing lane. The far right lane is exit only. If you are to continue, you must go over one lane.
8:06 am/10.4 miles You cross the Chattahoochee River, and enter Cobb County.
8:07 am/11.1 miles I75 is approaching. I285 splits in two, with one part dedicated to the exchange of vehicles, and the other half going merrily forward. You need to get in one of the two lanes to the left. This is scary for people who like to drive the speed limit. As someone said to PG once, “you gotta be as crazy as they are.”
8:08 am/12.1 miles This is the reunification of I285. Since you get off at the next exit, you need to go from the far left side, to the far right side. You have 1.4 miles to do this. This competitive lane changing is complicated by the appearance of uphill entry ramps. You settle into a lane, and discover a speeding pickup truck making a surprise appearance on your bumper. However tempting alcohol might be at this time, it is not recommended.
8:10 am/13.5 miles You get off I285. Paces Ferry Road is exit 18.
8:15 am/14.7 miles You get through the concrete obstacle course, find a parking spot, and turn the car off. The work day is about to begin.









5:32 pm Start the vehicle. You are the only person that warms the vehicle before driving.
5:40 pm/0.3 miles Get out of the parking deck. Turn onto a side street.
5:42 pm/1.2 miles Turn right, and take a bridge over I285. On snow jam day, this part took 45 minutes. The pace on I285 below is not much faster.
5:44 pm/1.7 miles You are across the street from Cumberland Mall. Turn right.
5:49 pm/3.0 miles You turn left after crossing I75. You go into a series of concrete ramps. They will take you to I285.
5:58 pm/9.1 miles You exit I285 at Roswell Road, exit 25. This is your first opportunity to do so.
6:00 pm 9.8 miles You turn left onto Glenridge Road. You sometimes have to wait through a few lights. The idea is to get here by 6:00 pm. It can take a half hour to go the last quarter mile on I285, and go through this light.
6:03 pm/10.3 miles You turn onto a side road, which takes you over Highway 400.
6:07 pm/11.8 miles At the bottom of the hill, you turn left onto Windsor Parkway, and cross Nancy Creek. You will go up a long hill, and the traffic will creep and crawl.
6:13 pm/12.7 miles At the top of the hill you get to a four way stop. This is the reason the traffic continues to progress, however slowly. This is Lynwood Park. It was formerly the oldest black neighborhood in Dekalb County. The location has led to gentrification. It is now another trendy neighborhood, just what Atlanta needs more of.
6:19 pm/13.9 miles Turn left onto Peachtree Road. .
6:21 pm/14.3 miles Turn right under the railroad tracks. You are almost home.
6:23 pm/15.0 miles Home. Pictures are from The Library of Congress. This is a repost.









Surviving The McMansion Next Door

Posted in Library of Congress, Undogegorized by chamblee54 on May 26, 2022









Many houses in the metro area are doomed. When you have a little fifties tract house sitting on platinum land, the future is obvious. If you are happy in your little house, you might have neighboring houses torn down. Construction can be a painful process.
PG got a document, Homeowner Survival Kit During Construction. Some of the text is reproduced below. There were document copies, which are available here.
The rules in these emails are for pre-Brookhaven Dekalb County. You might want to do a little research, and see what the rules are for your area. The different governments have different departments governing construction. Some are going to be more responsive than others.
1- Zones are highlighted for your area. If you see unsafe or dangerous acts, call your zone inspector, or chief, and register your complaint.
2- If your property, fences, plants trees, home, is damaged, first get name of worker/equipment operator, supervisor, and finally company, make complaint, then determine who is liable for repairs, and, more importantly, who will pay.
3- Obtain business cards from all vendor companies, or names and phone numbers from the signs or equipment. You may need them later.
4- Keep a log of various operations, i.e. grading, silt fencing, foundation, footing, framing, waterproofing, etc., again for future reference.
5- If workers use yard as toilet immediately call area building inspector. There should be a porta potty installed for every ten workers.
6- Female homeowner should dress appropriately to discourage negative attention by workers.
7- Remember, these suggestions are only a few of the possible acts that may be violations of the international residential code for one and two family dwellings, 2000, which is in use in GA currently. DeKalb County, and Brookhaven, also have building codes.
8- The development department officials work for you, the tax payer. Don’t hesitate to call any one of them if you feel there is a need.
Pictures are from The Library of Congress. This is a repost.







I Used to Be Charming Part Five

Posted in Book Reports, GSU photo archive by chamblee54 on May 25, 2022

This is the fifth, and final, installment in the chamblee54 serial book report on I Used to Be Charming, by Eve Babitz. The pictures today are from “The Special Collections and Archives, Georgia State University Library.” The other four parts of this series are available: one two three four

It’s an old cliche about drug abuse … life becomes boring when you quit using. That might be true with Miss Eve. She got scared because of AIDS, and got cleaned up from her druggie ways. She started taking dance lessons, and got into ballroom dancing. When she tried to commit suicide by Tiparillo, the physical activity of dancing aided her recovery.

Hippie Heaven (Vogue October 1992) was the first story that made me want to take notes. “Especially the red rayon forties dress, cut on the bias, that I’d worn the nights I waited in the Troubadour bar in West Hollywood, looking for trouble like Jim Morrison.” Lord, whatever happened to Eve? Writing for Vogue about a dress “cut on the bias.” This is the Dowager Groupie, talking about clothes. Even Eve’s sister Mirandi … who started out as Miriam … made leather suits for Jimbo.

Eve says something about Leicester Square, in London. The Rolling Stones did a song, Cocksucker Blues. They owed a pesky record label one more song, so they decided to give them something they would never play on WQXI. So Mick says something about hanging out in Lester Square, but it turns out to be Leicester Square.

Scent of a Woman (Vogue March 1997) is where Eve finally gets her mojo back. Vogue published SOAW a few weeks before Eve’s catastrophic fire.

Some say that smell is the most animal of our senses. Aromas get directly from the nose to the brain, without the mental filters navigated by sound and sight. In SOAW, Eve discusses the various perfumes of her life. When she was young, the only perfume she felt comfortable with was Here’s My Heart, by Avon. True, it did not make her smell like old stationary, as Chanel N°5 did, but you don’t get more uncool than Avon.

“My great aunt sold Avon when I was a kid, and she and my conservative-about-fragrances mother (the one who flushed my Evening in Paris down the toilet) approved this for me. It was OK, girly, kind of little girly and nowhere near as exciting as Evening in Paris, but I liked it all right. It made me think I was missing something in fragrances, but it was enjoyable to wear.” Avon introduced Here’s My Heart in 1957. Nobody is sure when it was discontinued.

One afternoon in the sixties, Eve went swimming at the house of a Hollywood somebody. In the bathroom, there was a bottle of Le De by Givenchy “Le De came about when Hubert (Givenchy) chose decided to gift his friend (Audrey Hepburn) with a perfume; actually he commissioned two, the other being L’interdit (created in 1957 and commercialized in 1964) and they were hers alone for a whole year. In 1958 the idea of launching perfume under the aegis of his house saw Le De being introduced to the market while L’Interdit was immortalised in … Breakfast at Tiffany’s.”

“And then the unthinkable happened. They took Le De Givenchy off the market — or at least they cut back its distribution to the point where it became impossible to find. This is something Andy Warhol would have picketed Givenchy with me for. (Andy Warhol had an extremely funny section in his autobiography The Philosophy of Andy Warhol (From A to B and Back Again,) in which he says that whenever a product is “improved,” the manufacturer should leave the original, unimproved product on sale, too, because a lot of people don’t want what they already like pulled from the shelves.”

Amazon has a terrific one star review of the Warhol book. “I bought this due to a need for additional references. It’s written by warhols assistant and is filled by drivel, pompousism and things you may say on acid trips while your in a room wrapped in tin foil. Save your money and if you a want book about Andy warhol use one of the autobiographies written by an author after Andy died and has no connection to him or his factory friends.”

The last fun chapter is I Used To Be Charming. IUTBC is about the fire, on April 13, 1997. “I had just finished brunch with my mother; my aunt Tiby; my sister Mirandi; and my cousin Laurie. Mirandi would be driving my mother back to her place, where I was also living at the time, and I looked forward to smoking the Tiparillo I’ve been saving for the ride in peace and quiet. The cigar was one of those fashionable but hideous cherry-flavored ones I loved because smoking them made me feel like Clint Eastwood; everyone else hated them. I grabbed one of the wooden matches, struck it against the sandpaper side of the box, when all of a sudden the match fell from my hand. The gauzy skirt I’d put on to go out dancing later went up in flames; my panty hose melted to my legs. Thank God for sheepskin Uggs, which protected my lower legs from burns.”

When Eve struck that match, in a 68 VW bug, her life changed. There were a lot of rude comments about cigars. Tiparillos in particular have a curious market niche. One ad campaign had a picturesque young lady working the crowd, with her pitch “Cigars, cigarettes, Tiparillo’s?” “The modern smoke, found in all the right places, with all the right people.”

Another ad campaign asked the oh-so-modern question ”Should a gentleman offer a Tipparillo to a lady?” A later campaign produced a TV classic. “In 1970 the Federal Trade Commission banned cigarette commercials from American airwaves. However, cigars did not fall under the FTC ban, and so we have these two commercials from 1973 for Tiparillo cigars, which — if you believe the ads — must be offered to a lady, which will be appreciated more than “candlelight and small talk.”

Fiorucci, the book takes up the last 48 pages of IUTBC. Eve wrote text for a collection of graphics from the Fiorucci fashion emporium. Fiorucci closed its retail stores in the eighties, and is mostly known today because it rhymes with Gucci. “Zeigt und erklärt, wie und warum Fiorucci in den 70ern und 80ern bigger than life war. Das Buch ist Kunst, Marketinghandbuch und Poesiealbum in einem.”

Georgia Primary

Posted in Georgia History, GSU photo archive, Politics by chamblee54 on May 24, 2022

The excuses were exhausted. It was time to vote. The polling place is a short walk from the house, which came in handy. There are two districts voting at this precinct. I went to the wrong one first. Walking to the other side of the school, I was mumbling about republican voter suppression.

I got to the cafetorium, and let the lady scan my ID. When she asked me to choose a republican or democratic ballot, I realized that I left my reading glasses at home. This is the first election after cataract surgery, and I am not in the habit of taking reading glasses everywhere I go. Another trip down the path was required.

The Republicans usually have more action than Democrats. Their ballot had a couple of races that I knew about, and a host of judges, commissioners, and school board members. When in doubt, vote against the incumbent. If there is no incumbent, vote for the the person with the coolest name.

Advisory Questions are a festive part of the primary election experience. “Biological males who identify as females have begun competing in female sports. Should schools in Georgia allow biological males to compete in female sports?” Republicans know how to have a good time.

After the selections are made, you print a paper ballot. This is a two sided copy, with a QR code, and your choices. You take this ballot to a box, where you feed it to a set of rollers. This is a new system, and has not been used in a high volume election yet. To this voter, it seems like a lot of moving parts. There are many parts that can break down, and lead to lengthy delays in voting. Pictures today are from “The Special Collections and Archives, Georgia State University Library.”

Bob Dylan

Posted in Georgia History, GSU photo archive, History, Holidays, Music by chamblee54 on May 24, 2022

This is a repost. Pictures are from “The Special Collections and Archives, Georgia State University Library”. Today is Bob Dylan’s eighty first birthday. This tribute is composed primarily of three previously published pieces of work. Some people think Bob Dylan is a piece of work.

This compendium was assembled in 2016. On David Bowie’s in 2016, PG created a computer playlist, and assembled a few blog posts into a birthday celebration. Three days later, David Bowie was dead. PG decided to do the same thing to Bob Dylan on his birthday. Instead of dying, Bob Dylan won the Nobel prize. A similar effort on RuPaul’s birthday had no effect on the performer.

It was a late may morning in Atlanta GA, and a slack blogger was searching his archives. Yes, Issac Asinov never got writers block, and when he wasn’t going to the bathroom he was typing, but that is a lifestyle choice. Easy writing makes tough reading. So, anyway, in the may archive for 2011 there was a post about Bob Dylan’s seventieth birthday. People were taking bets on whether he would make it to thirty, and here he is at seventy nine.

Hibbing MN is a cold place. At least it can claim to be the birthplace of Robert Allen Zimmerman. That’s Allen, with an e, and double L, just like hell. The original initials were RAZ, which might be a good trivia question, or, with a silent W in front, radio station call letters. The problem is, he legally changed his name to Bob Dylan, with no known middle name. Those initial are BD.

On May 24, 1941, the curly haired wonder boi arrived. The world was a different place. Europe was in flames, and eyeing the young men of America as fresh cannon fodder. This was twelve years, eleven months, and eighteen days before PG graced the planet. A twelve year old in Hibbing MN would have no reason to think of a newborn baby in Atlanta GA.

The first time PG heard of Bob Dylan was probably at the record rack of Zippy’s dime store in Cherokee Plaza. There was an album of his greatest hits, and it came with a poster. The poster had a drawing of the man, with psychedelic waves of hair cascading in multi colored glory to the edges. PG never did buy the LP.

The former Mr. Zimmerman was never big on top 40 am radio. Somebody somewhere was getting a headache over those lyrics, but Atlanta GA was not somewhere in those days. By this time, Mr. Dylan had crashed his motorcycle, and gone into hiding. As the counter culture exploded (if only someone had disinfected that counter) the curly haired poet was in hiding, the subject of much speculation. At one point, people were stealing his garbage, and claiming to find evidence of investment in munitions firms. The neoscience of Dylanology continues to this day.

As PG got older and stupider, he heard more and more Bob Dylan music. In the summer of 1972, there was a performance at the Concert for Bangladesh. A couple of albums released during this era sucked, and some people stopped caring about Bob Dylan.

At the start of 1974, a tour was announced. The Band was to be the backing group. The circus came to the Omni, and PG got some of the mail order tickets. He couldn’t find anyone to use the second ticket, and sold it to a stranger outside the arena.

The show was nothing special. Bob Dylan excels at writing, is ok in the studio, and blah on stage. Georgia Governor Jimmy Carter was at the show, and was said to look bored. Mr. Dylan was invited to the Governor’s mansion after the show, and talked to the Governor. A lot of people in Georgia were surprised that Jimmy would want to run for President.
As the Seventies went me me meing into sex and drugs oblivion, Bob Dylan regained both his writing touch, and love of the spotlight. The Rolling Thunder tour happened, he got back together with Joan Baez, divorced his wife, became born again, became more Jewish, counted money, and generally lived the life. PG did his own version of all that, without Joan Baez or being circumcised again.

In the winter of 1991, America was consumed by war fever. Saddam Hussein had been elevated to next Hitler status, and had to be taught a lesson. One night, Bob Dylan played on a music awards show, and performed “Masters of War”. He played a discordant version of that ditty, with the result that few understood what he had said. By this time, Mr. Dylan had assembled a band, and gone out on the “Never Ending Tour”. A Bob Dylan concert had gone from being a special event, to being another name on the festival roster. Overexposure will do that.

On the last night of the Olympics in 1996, Bob Dylan played the House of Blues downtown. PG won a pair of the $80 tickets in a radio station contest. It was his only trip downtown during the games, and had to wait in a security line to get into Centennial Olympic Park.

The only celebrity, other than Mr. Dylan, seen at the House of Blues that night was Bill Walton. The band was competent…they impressed PG as being like a bar band that did a lot of Dylan songs, with a strangely authentic lead vocalist. The sound in the room was not good, at least in the spot where PG stood. The only song he recognized was “All along the Watchtower”, the Jimi Hendrix classic. Mr. Dylan got a cheer when he put his harmonica appliance on.

The aptly named dangerousminds has a link to a story about the recording of Blonde on Blonde, by Bob Dylan. It only happened once.

Bob Dylan was 24 years old, newly married, and had “sold out” i.e. started to play electric guitar. A bunch of Canadians known as The Hawks (later The Band) was touring with him. Barely a month after the release of “Highway 61 Revisited”, sessions started at a New York studio.

The New York sessions did not work, so a decision was made to go to Nashville. Al Kooper played organ, and served as a music director. A crew of Nashville players was recruited. A bass player named Joseph Souter, Jr. would become famous a few years later using the name Joe South. Kris Kristofferson was the janitor at the studio.

Most studios have bafflers, or sound proof room dividers, splitting the studio into cubicles. For these sessions, the bafflers were taken down, and the band played together as a unit.

The second session in Nashville started at 6pm and lasted until 530 the next morning. Mr. Dylan was working on the lyrics to “Sad eyed lady of the lowlands”, and the recording could not start until he was ready. The musicians played ping pong and waited. At 4am, the song was ready, and the record was finished in two takes.

PG had marginal encounters with two of the players on this album. He met a lady once, who worked in an insurance office. One of the customers was Joe South. His driving record file was an inch thick.

Al Kooper had a prosperous career after his association with Bob Dylan. The former Alan Peter Kuperschmidt produced the first three Lynyrd Skynyrd albums, sold that contract for a nice piece of change, and lived happily ever after.

One night, Mr. Kooper was playing a show at the Great Southeast Music Hall, and PG sat in front of the stage. During a break between songs, PG asked his friend “what time is it?”. Mr. Kooper heard him on stage, and said it was 11:30.

If it ever quits raining, PG is going to walk to the Chamblee library and return a book, and a cd. The cd is by Bob Dylan, and is a work of genius. The book is about the former Mr. Zimmerman, and is a piece of garbage. (BTW, Dylan is not the only Zimmerman to hit the big time. Ethel Merman was born Ethel Agnes Zimmerman.The Zimmerman telegram got us into World War I. The less said about George Zimmerman, the better)

When returning cd’s to a library, you need to get a check in receipt. Once, PG returned a stack of cd’s to the Brookhaven library. When checking them in, one was missed by the scanner. A few days later, there was a note in the mail about an overdue cd.

The good news was, the cd was on the shelf when PG went back to investigate, and the matter was quickly settled. It did not help that the cd was a collection of disco music called “Shake your booty”.

“The freewheelin’ Bob Dylan” was released in the early sixties, when the man was barely old enough to buy a drink. There is not a bad song on it, and several are classic rock staples. At a time when mindless pop dominated pop music, here were thoughtful, moving lyrics.

In 1991, with America in a war frenzy, Mr. Dylan appeared on a music awards show. He performed “Masters of War”, at a time when the majority would be appalled if they could understand what he was singing. Mr. Dylan has been reinvented many times, and often the lyrics get gargled.

Five years later, PG won tickets to a Bob Dylan concert. It was the last night of the Olympics, and the man was appearing at the House of Blues. (Tickets were $80, so the radio contest is the only reason PG went). It was like hearing a good bar band, that did nothing but Dylan songs, with the man as the vocalist. Due to the mix of the sound, PG could not recognize many of the songs.

The book is Bob Dylan: Prophet, Mystic, Poet by Seth Rogovoy. It tells the Dylan tale as a story of Jewish prophecy. PG got to page 16, where the author claims that “Like a Rolling Stone” “almost single handedly revolutionized rock’n roll music”. Huh?

PG was eating dinner, and did not have anything else to read. He got to page 38. Nothing in the next 22 pages changed his mind away from ditching the book. How does nonsense like this get published?

Two Kilometers From The House

Posted in Library of Congress, Weekly Notes by chamblee54 on May 23, 2022

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Take My Whip: Fantasy Date Night, Guest Post by rife March 28, 2020by rife
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ipsos ~ botblique ~ mr ali ~ ed ruscha ~ ben shapiro
wings ~ bee podcast ~ zappa ~ payton gendron ~ ok ~ kirby smart
vangelis ~ judy ~ ossoff ~ longhorns ~ hitler
fou analytics ~ pc music ~ musk twitter ~ execution delay ~ tops
Payton S. Gendron, ~ asc ~ zoom ~ tegernsee ~ deep space
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life cycle ~ spirit journeys ~ ~ munafo detention ~ kiwi farms ~ gendron screen shots
Payton Gendron ~ execution advisory ~ liberal media ~ josh turner ~ @chamblee54
@chamblee54 @JohnHMcWhorter @GlennLoury got down with #nword on @lexfridman show … youtube transcripts no longer show the word, or use a symbol as a substitute, clip making is more difficult one two three four ~ “THE DECISION OF ONE MAN, TO LAUNCH A WHOLLY UNJUSTIFIED AND BRUTAL INVASION OF IRAQ, I MEAN OF UKRAINE.” ~ @RobDiRienzo Breaking: Police shot a man inside Fogo de Chão in Buckhead, witnesses tell @FOX5Atlanta. A staff member told me a man came in and sat at the bar, started drinking directly out of a bottle of Hennessy. Staff said they tried to deescalate the situation, but then he began shooting. ~ @Kaitain_US Oh my god, this manifesto is just a wishlist for the AFT to go after gun manufacturers. He’s listing all the manufacturers and parts that you can get from them. It just goes on for pages and pages. ~ i don’t want to say this openly. i posted a link, to a forum with the buffalo shooter manifesto available. my twitter account was frozen until i deleted the post ~ On March 23, 1839, the initials “O.K.” are first published in The Boston Morning Post. Meant as an abbreviation for “oll korrect,” a popular slang misspelling of “all correct” at the time, OK steadily made its way into the everyday speech of Americans. ~ @AMDaveintheAM Replying to @oneunderscore__ So many people will read your first tweet and go no further. Many will comment. Many will be angry at you. It’s a thread worthy of reading. A very interesting perspective. Anger and misinformation kills innocents. Period. It is a point that is not arguable. Thank you for sharing. ~ I filled up my tank yesterday, for the first time in one month. In that time, I went to North Carolina, but found someone else to drive. I included a trip into town in that month. There are going to be some road projects to complicate things. The big one is on Peachtree, where the road government is building a turn only lane onto ashford dunwoody road from peachtree. this is a much needed improvement, but will be rather painful to implement. I walk on that stretch of peachtree more than i drive. la fitness is two kilometers from the house, and, weather permitting, it is a pleasant walk. Of course, warm weather is here, and it will be unbearably hot soon. this is like the improvements … a necessary part of the life cycle, but rather unpleasant while it is going on. I always carry plastic bags in my backpack. almost every day, there is enough trash on the road to justify picking some up. you can wish in one hand, pick up trash with the other, and see which bag gets full faster. ~ pictures today are from The Library of Congress. ~ selah

Celebrate Part Two

Posted in Poem by chamblee54 on May 22, 2022

Snob Supremacy

Posted in Library of Congress, Undogegorized by chamblee54 on May 22, 2022

This is a double repost. There are quotes from a defunct site, Owldolatrous. Pictures are from The Library of Congress. This was written in the style of H. P. Lovecraft.
What is a snob? PG always thought it was someone who thought he was better than others. This is one of the “sins” that most people denounce, and then practice. Who doesn’t see someone that is just a few notches below you on the scale of human coolness?

A trip to the dictionary yields this: 1-a person who imitates, cultivates, or slavishly admires social superiors and is condescending or overbearing to others. 2-a person who believes himself or herself an expert or connoisseur in a given field and is condescending toward or disdainful of those who hold other opinions or have different tastes regarding this field: a musical snob.

The origin of the word is amusing. Snob was a nickname for a cobbler, or someone who makes shoes. This is a working class occupation, but one that is needed by all people. How this would become a label for someone who “puts on airs” is a mystery.

There are snobs in a book PG is reading, “The city of falling angels” by John Berendt. An American writer goes to live in Venice, and has tales to tell. At one point, there is a dispute in an organization devoted to restoring stuff in Venice, and some of the players are labeled snobs. On page 318, there is a definition of a snob. You can be a snob upwards, by working the people on a level above you. Or, you can be a snob downwards, by being rude to those on a level below you.

The reader may have figured out by now that this post is going to ramble for a few paragraphs and not really go anywhere. The practice of “uppity”, or “putting on airs”, is hard wired into the consciousness of almost everyone. Like telling the truth and lying, no one wants to admit to being a snob, and yet almost everyone plays the game on some level.

“Supremacy is the habit of believing or acting as if your life, your love, your culture has more intrinsic worth than those of people who differ from you. Supremacy can be about race, but it doesn’t have to be. Supremacy and hate aren’t identical, but they often go together. Some people turn supremacy into an over-arching philosophy. For most, it’s just a habit of mind. As a habit of mind, supremacist ideas can spring up in anyone. Being liberal doesn’t make you immune. Being gay doesn’t make you immune. Being a minority doesn’t make you immune.”

There is more, but this is enough for our morning discussion. Supreme, Supremacy, Supremacism, Supremacist. It is not just for white people. The whole business of thinking that you are somehow better than your neighbor is part of being a human being. Think about it, aren’t there some people that you think you are better than? Of course there are. You are a competitive animal, and you have to win sometimes. You, and your tribe, are just better than that other tribe.

PG saw a sign over a desk once. I have never met a snob who was not a born liar. Above this sign was a plastic case. In the plastic case was a white dress shirt, with an ink stain in the front pocket. Like telling the truth and lying, no one wants to admit to being a snob. Still, almost everyone plays the game. Maybe the sign should have read “I have never met a human being who was not a born liar.“ Many of those lies begin with “I am not a ___.”

There is a concept, mythos over logos. The idea is, when you present people with information that contradicts a long held belief, the person will ignore the information and stick to the belief. This is related to the concept of supremacy. What happens when you think you are better than a person, and you get evidence that the person is better than you? You will ignore that evidence, and continue to believe the person is inferior to you. It helps when your magic book agrees with you.

Is Anti-Racism a form of supremacy? PG associates with a so called “radical community”. There has recently been a rabid discussion about racism. Now, this is a pretty enlightened bunch. The type of virulent racism that PG saw growing up in Georgia is simply not there. This does not stop the Anti Racist Supremacist Egophile (ARSE) from looking for racism to combat. The ARSE will expand the definition of racism to include every PWOC, except him them and his their immediate tribe.