After a long time he stirred. He leaned forward. He turned the white porcelain bowl up and held it in the palm of his hand and regarded it. The world has no name, he said. The names of the cerros and the sierras and the deserts exist only on maps. We name them that we do not lose our way. Yet it is because the way was lost to us already that we have made those names. The world cannot be lost. We are the ones. And it is because these names and these coordinates are our own naming that they cannot save us. That they cannot find for us the way again.
- Cormac McCarthy
Someone shouted amen: Painting the apocalypse
The American Accent project
The aerotropolis, the digital world made manifest, parts 1,2,
Dressing room self portraits, picture of the love/hate consumer
American Communist Party archive
Cynics, fall guys, sluts, heists, and murders most foul: a dream
Interpreting people to interpret the law
'Helvetica' on tour
Finding the (Russian) moral in the amoral and absurdist 'Alice'
How James Madison is the best U.S. president
Keroac the Catholic
Amature philosophy asks, what's the meaning of it all?
What can be seen on the tip of the tongue
Building a "sustainable" business
St. Petersburg by Peter Schrock
Slate pictures the world's poet
Picturing 'This American'