PIXELS 


 DISPATCH 
Putin sits in front of wall-size map of Russia.


The seat of national pow­er, Kyiv was the main prize. Thus the thrust by elite airborne forces in the war’s open­ing hours.

When President Vladimir Putin launched his war on Feb. 24 after months of buildup on Ukraine’s borders, he sent hun­dreds of heli­cop­ter-borne com­man­dos — the best of the best of Russia’s “spets­naz” (special forces soldiers) — to assault and seize a light­ly defended air­field on Kyiv’s doorstep.

On the first morning of the war, Russian Mi-8 assault helicopters soared south toward Kyiv on a mission to attack Hostomel airfield on the northwest out­skirts of the capital. By capturing the airfield, also known as Antonov airport, the Russians planned to establish a base from which to fly in more troops and light armored vehicles within striking distance of the heart of the nation’s largest city. It didn’t work that way. Several Russian heli­copters were report­ed to be hit by mis­siles even be­fore they got to Hos­to­mel, and once set­tled in at the air­field they suffered heavy losses from artillery fire.


The fact that the Hos­to­mel assault by the Rus­sian 45th Guards Spe­cial Pur­pose Air­borne Brigade faltered might not stand out in retro­spect if the broad­er Rus­sian effort had im­proved from that point. But it did not. ... Last week the Rus­sians aban­doned Hostomel air­field as part of a whole­sale retreat into Bela­rus and Russia.

An effort to take con­trol of a military air­base in Vasylkiv south of Kyiv also met stiff resistance and report­ed­ly saw several Rus­sian Il-76 heavy-lift trans­port planes carry­ing para­troopers downed by Ukrainian defenses.

A sidelight of the battle for Kyiv was the widely reported saga of a Rus­sian resupply con­voy that stretched doz­ens of miles along a main roadway toward the capital. It initially seemed to be a worri­some sign for the Ukrain­ians, but they man­aged to attack ele­ments of the convoy, which had limited off-road capability and thus even­tual­ly dispersed or otherwise became a non-factor in the fight. “They never real­ly pro­vided a resupply of any value to Russian forces that were assem­bling around Kyiv, never really came to their aid,” said Penta­gon spokes­man John Kirby. “The Ukrain­ians put a stop to that convoy pretty quick­ly by being very nim­ble, knocking out bridges, hitting lead vehicles and stopping their move­ment.” Using a wide array of Western arms, including Javelin portable anti-tank wea­pons, shoulder-fired Stinger anti-air­craft missiles and much more.

“That’s a really bad com­bi­nation if you want to conquer a country,” said Peter Mansoor, a retired Army colonel and professor of mili­tary history at Ohio State University. “[The Russian Army]’s proven itself to be wholly in­capable of con­duct­ing modern armored war­fare”. ... Some analysts did question whether Putin appre­ci­ated how much Ukraine’s forces had gained from West­ern training that inten­si­fied after Putin’s 2014 seiz­ure of Crimea and incur­sion into the Donbas.

“It’s stunning,” said mili­tary historian Fred­er­ick Kagan of the In­sti­tute for the Study of War, who says he knows of no parallel to a major military power like Russia invading a country at the time of its choosing and failing so utterly. The Rus­sians under­estimated the num­ber of troops they would need and showed “an astonishing in­abil­ity” to perform basic military functions.

Putin failed to achieve his goal of quickly crush­ing Ukraine’s out­gunned and out­num­bered army. The Rus­sians were ill-pre­pared for Ukrainian resis­tance, proved in­capable of adjusting to set­backs, failed to effec­tive­ly com­bine air and land opera­tions, mis­judged Ukraine’s ability to defend its skies, and bungled basic military func­tions like planning and exe­cuting the move­ment of supplies.






 EXCERPT  Battle of the Three Emperors, from War and Peace 1869 by Leo Tolstoy
ON the 18th and 19th of Novem­ber the [Russia and Austria] army advanced two days’ march, and the [French] enemy’s out­posts after a brief interchange of shots re­treat­ed. In the high­est army circles from midday on the 19th a great, excitedly bust­ling activity be­gan which lasted till the morning of the 20th, when the mem­or­a­ble battle of Auster­litz was fought.
UNTIL midday on the 19th the activity, the eager talk, running to and fro, and dis­patch­ing of ad­ju­tants, was con­fined to the Em­peror’s head­quar­ters (i.e., Alex­an­der I of Russia). But on the after­noon of that day this activity reached [General of the Rus­sian Army] Kutuzov’s head­quar­ters and the staffs of the com­mand­ers of columns. By eve­ning the adjutants had spread it to all ends and parts of the army, and in the night from the 19th to the 20th the whole eighty thousand allied troops rose from their bivouacs to the hum of voices, and the army swayed and start­ed in one enor­mous mass six miles long.
THE concentrated activ­i­ty which had begun at the Emperor’s head­quar­ters in the morn­ing and had started the whole move­ment that fol­lowed, was like the first movement of the main wheel of a large tower-clock. One wheel slowly moved, another was set in motion, and a third, and wheels began to revolve faster and faster, levers and cog-wheels to work, chimes to play, fig­ures to pop out, and the hands to ad­vance with regular motion as a result of all that activity.
JUST as in the mechan­ism of a clock, so in the mechan­ism of the military machine, an impulse once given leads to the final result; and just as indifferently quies­cent till the moment when motion is trans­mit­ted to them are the parts of the mechanism which the impulse has not yet reached. Wheels creak on their axles as the cogs engage one an­oth­er and the revolv­ing pulleys whirr with the rapid­ity of their move­ment, but a neigh­bour­ing wheel is as quiet and motion­less as though it were pre­pared to remain so for a hun­dred years; but the mo­ment comes when the lever catches it, and obey­ing the im­pulse that wheel begins to creak, and joins in the common motion the result and aim of which are beyond its ken.
JUST as in a clock the result of the com­pli­cat­ed motion of in­num­er­able wheels and pulleys is merely a slow and regular movement of the hands which show the time, so the result of all the com­pli­cat­ed human activities of 160,000 Russians and French – all their pas­sions, desires, re­morse, humil­i­a­tions, suffer­ings, out­bursts of pride, fear, and enthusiasm – was only the loss of the battle of Auster­litz, the so-called battle of the three Emperors – that is to say, a slow move­ment of the hand on the dial of human history.




  POSTCARD 

weathervane

±  Roosevelt Island
Tata Innovation Center

Tata Innova­tion Cen­ter on Roose­velt Is­land, de­signed by Weiss/Man­fredi Archi­tec­ture.
Sitting on the East River in New York is a cigarette-shaped island, two miles long and under a quarter-mile wide. Known then as Mason's Island, it was a yellowed blade of ne­glect­ed farms. Today, the island has a new name, where a five-acre plot is home to Cornell Tech Cam­pus, sit­ting among restored woods and wet­lands.



±  New Zealand
cone of Maungawhau (Mt Eden) looking down into the city

Ringed by extinct volcanoes, Auckland looks east over Hauraki Gulf to the horizon.  + Billboard on the way to the airport.
Located in the North Island of New Zea­land, home to the largest Polynesian population in the world, and where the Symonds St Ceme­tery gives context to when this port-of-call was a ‘fledging colonial country’.


±  Brazil
National Museum of Brazil on fire the night of September 2 2018 + skull

National Museum of Brazil vanishing.  + Luzia’ is twelve thousand years old. She is the oldest person in South America, and now has lost 20% of her skull.
A fire on September 2 2018 gutted the National Museum of Brazil, turning a million art objects into ash and smoke. Gone are col­lec­tions on paleon­tol­o­gy, anthro­pol­o­gy, archae­ol­o­gy, and in­dig­e­nous Bra­zil­ian eth­nol­o­gy. Dis­ap­peared is a wing devoted to ancient Egypt, in­clud­ing a throne room. Bendego meteorite pre-inferno Mostly intact is the second largest space rock on Earth. The Bendegó mete­or­ite was discovered in 1784 by a boy in Monte Santo, Bahia. ... Watch a 38-min. documentary from 2019 of the retrieval phase; in Brazilian-Portuguese.



±  Western Australia
Aerial view of the coast to Western Australia + 2016 Supermoon over Perth + Geode from Mammoth Cave

Aerial view of the coast to Western Australia.  + 2016 Super Moon over Perth.  + Geode from Mammoth Cave, a 1,600-ft wide by 98-ft deep lime­stone cavern.
Yagan Square + brick building + wall plaque for J. Crothers Yagan Square honors the fourteen Noongar lan­guage peoples of West­ern Aus­tra­lia.  + Repur­posed building in William St down­town, detail of orig­i­nal façade with a mod­ern top­ping.  + Plaque for J. Crothers Perth, con­struct­ing West­ern Australia since 1896.
detail of carbon fiber outdoor sculpture Spanda, a carbon fiber sculp­ture by Christian de Vietri, can be seen at Elisa­beth Quay on the Swan River.


±  Reno
vintage hot rod in front of Horseshoe Casino + St Francis Hotel (1925) catered to those seeking a divorce

Vintage hot rod cruises N. Virginia St.  + St Francis Hotel (1925) used to be where visitors roomed while seeking a divorce.
The city of Reno in Nevada came into being around 1852 by western-bound settlers chose a spot along the Truckee River, on the eastern side of the Sierra Nevada Mountains. Then, when nearby Virginia City struck silver, someone built a toll bridge across the Truckee River. This new route allowed for an easier to and from the California Trail, and the spot became known as Lake’s Crossing. The First Transcontinental Railroad would make Reno a depot, and the Lincoln Highway system connected the city via automobile with the rest of the United States.
Reno is now a city of casi­nos. Watch six minutes of 1953 in color, featuring neon signs, one-armed ban­dits, and Harold’s Club and the Ship Bar, when the Nevada state speed limit was 25mph.



±  Four Corners
sandstone formations rising high into the air

Spanning the borders of Arizona, Colorado, New Mexico and Utah, Tsé Bii’ Ndzisgaii ‘valley of the rocks’ is home to Navajo people. Monument Valley is also non-federal terri­tory and a park, where sand­stone for­ma­tions ‘rise into the air’. The entrance by way of Utah, on U.S. Highway 163.


±  Great Barrier Reef

Pages from ‘The Great Bar­rier Reef of Aus­tra­lia’ (1893) by William Saville-Kent.
Found in the Coral Sea off Queensland on the north-east coast of Australia, part of indigenous spirit­ual­i­ty, a built structure, the largest one in the world made by living organisms, this World Heritage site comprises some 900 islands and 2,900+ individual reefs.



±  Osaka
Yodo River courses through the neon night of Osaka

The Sun descends over an 18th-c. roadway to give way to 21st-c. Osaka night, a jumbo colony of joined cities, the ‘kitchen of Japan’, where nine­teen million people call home. The ‘mega­lop­olis of water’ has an under­ground city of ar­cades, cafés, and peo­ple movers to get around.


±  Paris
Notre Dame on fire 2019

The last mass of the day was in session when a fire alarm went off. It was Mon­day during Holy Week 2019; and mass resumed when nothing was found. Thirty minutes later a second fire alarm went off: the attic was on fire. Soon the roof of the world’s most famous cathe­dral, built between 1163-1345, was burn­ing. The spire then snapped and col­lapsed into the inferno. Response arrived, just ‘fifteen to thirty min­utes’ away from the com­plete destruction of Notre Dame Cathedral.
An onsite journalist wit­nessed Rev. Jean-Marc Fournier, chap­lain to the Paris Fire Brigade, run­ning into the burn­ing church and saving the Crown of Thorns. Bought by Louis IX in 1239, and believed to be the one worn by Jesus Christ.
+
(excerpt) ‘The Hunch­back of Notre Dame’ (1831) by Victor Hugo. ❝He therefore turned to man­kind only with regret. His cathedral was enough for him. It was peopled with marble figures of kings, saints and bishops who at least did not laugh in his face and looked at him with only tran­quil­li­ty and benev­o­lence. The other stat­ues, those of mon­sters and demons, had no hatred for him—he resem­bled them too close­ly for that. It was rather the rest of man­kind that they jeered at. The saints were his friends and blessed him; the mon­sters were his friends and kept watch over him. He would some­times spend whole hours crouched before one of the stat­ues in solitary con­ver­sa­tion with it. If any­one came upon him then he would run away like a lover sur­prised dur­ing a serenade. 1859 architectural model of the roof and spire An 1859 model, made for architect Eugène Viollet-le-Duc, of the spire sitting on the wooden-beamed roof, known to habitués as the ‘forest’.



±  Prague
2015 foto of Charles Bridge

The construction of Charles Bridge in 14th-c. Prague took up 45 years. Built of stone, this span over the Vitava River became, until 1841, the only ‘solid-land’ trade route between east­ern and western Europe.


±  PNG
looking over the Gulf of Papua towards the horizon

Port Moresby, the capital of Papua New Guinea, looks south­east over the Gulf of Papua to the Coral Sea.
Motuans were the orig­i­nal people. To trade with others in the Gulf of Papua, ex­pe­di­tions of up to 600-men would em­bark on sea voyages.
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(excerpt) In his auto­biog­ra­phy ‘My Wicked, Wicked Ways’ (1959), actor Errol Flynn de­scribes sailing to Port Moresby in 1930: ❝We piloted our ship into the rather fine harbor of Port Mores­by. We arrived during the rainy season and the whole area was bril­li­ant green. The region seemed beau­ti­ful to me and I poked around searching its re­sources. About thirty miles from the port the Laloki River flowed through an emerald country­side. I fell in love with it. My partners made their way back to Australia, but I decided to settle there. ... Around me, from Laloki to Port Mores­by, was a territory plentiful with nutmeg, rattan cane, the okari nut, bananas, man­grove, coconuts, and sandalwood. There was fish in the river, and the natives brought food to my door. For a pence or two I could have the fruit of the region.










-¦  May 2022  ¦-


  HOUSES OF THE HOLY 
  [PROLOGUE]  In the aftermath of the trojan war, olympians carried on the fight with each other.  This brief theo­machia roused mother Earth, once more, into open revolt. Egypt dis­ap­peared into a ‘scream­ing wind’. Chthonic Ge then vomit­ed out the con­tents of her vaults, most had been im­prisoned by her grandson Zeus. These freed-again mon­sters (fourth class) promptly attacked the olympians and set in motion gigan­to­machia 2.0.
 •❚-❚-❚• 
Up north, an­oth­er aesir-vanir con­flict was brew­ing and so ripples from the graeco-roman court succeeded in triggering Rag­narok 15.0 – send­ing nine worlds and twelve hells top­pling into a win­now­ing worm­hole.
 •❚-❚-❚• 
Ge then picked up mount Olymp­us and threw it at Ouranos -- giving father Sky his famous black-eye. Per­turbed unto his hydro­gen heart, first-gen titan Hype­rion left of his own voli­tion, and in 1948 the solar god stepped down from the Sun. The gravity :throne then went, firstly, to that ‘con­tain­er of multi­tudes’, the complex god Apollon. Soon enough it was ceded to Helius, as outer manifestation of the occult one.
 •❚-❚-❚• 
Before long mother Earth had curled up and suc­cumbed to cata­tonia. Then atom­ic bomb test­ing dur­ing the 20th cen­tury did her fur­ther harm.
 •❚-❚-❚• 
What didn’t climb out of mother Earth was final­ly shak­en off in spasms, clearing out her cav­erns and empty­ing all of the hells that she knew about. The last to depart Tar­tarus with the keys were infernal deities Haides and his titan-aunt Hekate, mak­ing sure all gates were left open and left un­guarded.
 •❚-❚-❚• 
Nereus had ac­tual­ly felt little when the Earth per­formed her cos­mic cough, and so the ‘Med­i­ter­ran­ean’ had re­mained placid. His ab­orig­i­nal root mat­ter be­ing H-two-oh, ‘the old one’ soon be­gan splash­ing some of it over the ex­posed parts of Ge, ini­ti­at­ing a tidal rite to soothe his be­lov­ed, his grand­mother, his only home.
 •❚-❚-❚• 
Marooned on a chunk when Pan­gea broke apart -- then be­gan to drift south, indi­genes clung on and end­ed up on anoth­er shore under anoth­er sun. Looking at sum­mer skies w/ wintry eyes, these orig­in­als saw the physi­cal, spirit­ual and mor­tal planes clear­er and earli­er than most of their lost breth­ren. Now they will be best friends with Ge and help pre­pare her bed­ding every evening.
 •❚-❚-❚• 
Before going separate ways, Hy­per­ion held a meet­ing with dog-head­ed Hekate. The senior Sun knew that she was the real ruler of Tartarus, and so sought advice from the god­dess of necro­man­cy on the omens for the next aeon. Together they con­jured up a hypo­thetical heaven search­able by tax­on­omy. On this map they began to identify each spher­ical body pay­ing heed to the gravity :throne, and tagged them as ‘wan­der­ers’; the rest, misshapened things, as ‘drfiters’. Inex­on­er­ably, the ‘dwell­er on high’ and the ‘crone of the under­world’ then took their leave.




Gravity:throne

❝ To ensure no favored location in space, the cosmologist postulates spatial isotropy and spatial homogeneity, which is Edwin Hubble’s way of saying the universe must be pretty much alike everywhere and in all directions. ❞

Ronald W Clark  (1971)

   As the latest geomachia be­gan to sub­side, tum­bling thrones from celestial courts once more are stead­ied. Some just need­ed a hand, oth­ers maybe a mend. Wrecks, though, got tossed. Soon enough, a four-dimen­sion­al myth­o­log­i­cal map of the sky be­gan to make clear­er sense. Where­as the ancient order had ad­hered to the ‘in­var­i­able plane’ when pay­ing homage to the Sun, new­comers need no longer do so. Estab­lished courts were delighted -- or not, to locate kin, meet odd­balls, greet faded god­desses, share secret hand­shakes with pro­gen­i­tors, and perhaps gawk at their car­bon copies.










 •❚-❚-❚•  In the begin­ning was love, so this house tour be­gins with Aphrodite. Stung by the treat­ment mother Earth meted out to her own brood, the love god­dess had no re­course but to leave, be­com­ing the last olym­pian to do so.  •❚-❚-❚•  The ‘one who post­pones old age’ moved her foam :throne closer to Helius and, in 2002, gath­ered mothers to graces Eury­dome and Euan­the to her love :court. Now they share advice and guid­ance with the sex god­dess and sit on the venerable :throne and mir­ror :throne.  •❚-❚-❚•  Their neice Pasithee had previously awok­en to a planetary party still in full swing. She had called her aunts seek­ing some peace and quiet. Pasithee was mar­ried to Hypnos, and as the grace of relax­a­tion, al­ways carries sachets of day­dreams. Know­ing this, Euan­the and Eury­dome said Yes, come over.  •❚-❚-❚•  Grace of beauty Kale had be­come un­hinged by the ex­pul­sion from Earth, and so was offered the tender :throne until and if she can find closure. ­  •❚-❚-❚•  Taking baby steps is Eros⁴, the first form to step out of obliv­ion and greet Khaos. The love god’s name is now spelled dif­fer­ent­ly by dif­fer­ent scribes.
His latest iter­a­tion is a jig­saw puzzle of four asteroids. Shattered like he’s shat­tered hearts, the ‘first born’ mutters sweet-noth­ing rites while rest­ing his golden wings sitting on the soul :throne, in hopes of achiev­ing a home once more in mortal breasts.

House of Venus
+



 •❚-❚-❚•  In 1999, Lem­po returned to the nektar :throne. Of un­deter­mined sex, this fin­nish love deity was seen to pass near Aph­ro­di­te, mur­mur “once bit­ten twice shy” in her general direc­tion.  •❚-❚-❚•  Then the ‘hand­some one’ came to set up a love :em­bas­sy. Adonis had in­sist­ed, even though sci­en­tists say he’s a po­ten­tial­ly haz­ard­ous aster­oid and his exes claim that he is an ex­tinct com­et and a source of meteor show­ers, but that was before Helene showed up 1980, a dione trojan gone awol.











 •❚-❚-❚•  Known to ancient sky watchers, during a time when the hard-to-spot ‘guide’ was eas­ier to locate, his elus­ive nature suits well Hermes, the near­est house to the Sun. The ‘trick­ster god’ is awash in sul­fer in a tem­pe­ra­ture hot enough to melt lead, as he finishes an or­bit every 88 days while pirou­et­ting every six­teen, just long enough to cause seasons.  •❚-❚-❚•  Working in conjuction with cyclops lenses scanning the sky with rain­bow eyes (and finds machines of every shape and size), the ‘shepherd of men’ hosts a divine miss­ing bureau, staffed with refus­niks from Inter­national Astro­nom­i­cal Union’s minor planet center, all having degrees in dark mat­ter 3.0, are familiar with arti­fi­cial atoms as well as time leak­age, littor­al lin­guis­tics, and the roots of rap. Prow­ess shown by these latter-day saints allow the ‘mes­seng­er of the gods’ to roam and see every­one, meet every­thing; the ‘patron to the home’ is sel­dom at home.  •❚-❚-❚•  Jenny­blue has run the bureau since 1982. She is the gazet­teer of plan­etary nomen­cl­ature for the IAU, and the pub­lish­er of Who’s World.
 •❚-❚-❚•  Sec­ond-gen titan Atlas lifts up worlds to look be­neath. Bro Epi­me­theus likes to re­hash stuff to sift out clues, and Sisy­phus re­traces steps to glean origin stories.

House of Hermes
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 •❚-❚-❚•  Icarus surfs outer space with glued-on wings, finding ‘drifter’ not yet cata­logued, and look­ing for star shep­herd Hes­perus, who van­ished while on assign­ment.  •❚-❚-❚•  Then a piece of Hermes came back in 1937 as an apollo asteroid.  •❚-❚-❚•  Since 1999, none can assign a proper myth to an am­ne­si­ac. Until then, Sete­bos is their sole “way­find­er of wan­der­ers and drift­ers”.












 •❚-❚-❚•  Paying heed to the measure of duration and the reel of the zodiac, the moon :crown current­ly rests on the brow of Artemis, grant­ing a glimpse to mor­tals as they gargle “how the air un­lit be­fore glows”.  •❚-❚-❚•  ‘She of the wild’ has to fill three (ro­tat­ing) place­ments: full :throne, old :throne, and the new :throne. The ‘virgin god­dess’ then cuts the lunar deck and picks faded lunar god­dess Phoebe. Arte­mis cuts again and re­veals cretan har­vest god­dess Carme. A third pick pro­duces Diana. There was a small prob­lem. The vis­i­ble moon god­dess is cur­rent­ly locked in Time, can­not be de­tect­ed – and is con­sid­ered a phased phan­tom. This breach is now filled in by Eos, the wing­ed dawn god­dess who pulls back the cur­tain of Night, bring­ing to an end the lat­est balanc­ing act that is life in houses of triple-mooon god­desses.  •❚-❚-❚•  A vis­cuous veil has been draped on the purity :throne when, in 1845, inno­cence god­dess Astraea sat down on it for the first time.  •❚-❚-❚•  The ideal deity ar­rived in 2002, ascend­ing to the triple :throne on four legs. Tarvos is (the sole) male car­bon to triple-mooon god­desses. He is also a divine bull, among other eye­brow raisers.  •❚-❚-❚•  Pan spent the wan­ing days of the 20th century check­ing out the house of the Moon, and now the rus­tic god is very much at home. Delir­i­ous with desire, sur­round­ed by dwarf moons, moon­lets, moon­moons; sport­ed with by packs of ring shep­herds hold­ing hands with sheph­erd moons. “Where the bee sips there sip I. In a cow slip’s lips I die.”.  •❚-❚-❚•  In 1610, Gany­mede came out as the largest sate­ll­ite in the sky, and there­fore was a shoo-in to run the moon :embassy.
In his down time, the dei­fied son of Tros will take a walk with Skoll, to re-ac­quaint the norse wolf to Night.

House of the Moon
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 •❚-❚-❚•  The were­wolf :throne went to moon god Tarqeq; he’s good to ani­mals, sweet-na­tured, and knows a lot about inuit fer­til­ity rites.  •❚-❚-❚•  Sit­ting on the bow :throne since 2000 is Mun­dil­fari, father to the norse moon god.  •❚-❚-❚•  In soli­dar­ity with the hexed and mighty vexed Diana, em­bassy in­vites always go out to her niece Pasi­phäe, cousin Hekate, and BFF Hera.  •❚-❚-❚•  Each eve­ning Artemis dons a mono­tone-&-mot­tled body­suit shim­mer­ing with crater rays. Be­fore step­ping on the moon :chariot, she puts on a sheer cape with an upside-down water­fall per­pet­ual­ly shed­ding dust .












 •❚-❚-❚•  Under an in­jured sky mor­tals had clung on to mother Earth and prayed for mercy. She must have re­lent­ed be­cause the human race sur­vived, too in­sign­ifi­cant perhaps to be shak­en off.  •❚-❚-❚•  The grateful folk then reso­lute­ly re­imag­ined how tem­ples should function and, restor­ing im­por­tant altars first, enticed elder god­dess Dione to be the first to come back. The second-gen titan­ess and oak god­dess first laid out the house of Terra in 1684, and sits now on the oracle :throne.  •❚-❚-❚•  Faded jöt­unn Bestla was rea­soned with to also come back and sit on the mountain :throne, while the anx­ious one awaits news on miss­ing son Odin.  •❚-❚-❚•  Nereus, who in­vent­ed hydro­ther­apy, is now plain tuck­ered. The ‘first man’ has been tend­ing to the re­hab­il­i­ta­tion of Ge and can often be seen when not on duty splayed out on the aborigine :throne.  •❚-❚-❚•  All this while, para­mount pan­theon pharaoh Amun gleams and twits un­ob­tru­sive­ly on the dust :throne.  •❚-❚-❚•  Sedna had hes­i­tat­ed to sit on the winter :throne on­ly ’cause the in­u­it sea god­dess had to come that much clos­er to the Sun. Al­ready her skin of tight­ly-grouped nitro­gen ici­cles and reflec­tive meth­ane scales, fixed w/ dark tho­lin thread, has turned beet red.  •❚-❚-❚•  Pros­per­i­ty god­dess Ortho­sie is some­times busy, some­times not, scatter­ing tawny seeds from the autumn :throne.  •❚-❚-❚•  Dio­ny­sus knows there’s hope for Ge. The mad god, now a binary-being, sits on the serpent :throne, the “price of a bend sin­is­ter many gen­er­a­tions back”.  •❚-❚-❚•  Per­seph­o­ne would rather be with her mom than here at the 4-seasons :court. But the vege­ta­tion god­dess would rather be here on the spring :throne than with her hus­band in hell and be known as ‘queen of the damned’.
 •❚-❚-❚•  Wey­wot stepped out of the Kui­per belt in 2007. Now this native-amer­i­can sky god gets to take in an ex­po­nen­tial view from the summer :throne.

House of Gaea
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 •❚-❚-❚•  In 1980, ‘first woman’ came back home and set up the 4-seasons :embassy. Twelve years later, ‘first man’ of the north joined her. Theirs is a mobile of­fice, so Pan­dora and Ymir can go quest­ing to veri­fy a site map based on inter­views with He­ka­te and Hy­pe­ri­on.  •❚-❚-❚•  Moth­er Earth spends her days out­doors and her nights on the chthon :throne. She seems okay, and oc­cupies her­self build­ing a gen­e­al­o­gy for Aither and wrting a bio on the at­mo­sphere.






 •❚-❚-❚•  First her roman-half came in 1867; then a greek-frag­ment showed up in 1917. At that point Athene went ahead with the triple ac­cre­tion rite and, alongside Minerva and Pal­las, became again the ‘gray-eyed’ god­dess of wis­dom, albeit thriced. The god­dess of crafts nicknames her house the Olym­pia Acad­e­my, grad­u­at­ing space cadets since 1953 in dis­ci­plines of mind, body and soul, with em­pha­sis on tech-chthon­ics, the emer­gent meta­verse, and why ob­scure dimen­sions necessarily lurk.  •❚-❚-❚•  Skill re­quir­ing dex­ter­ity is taught by Dactyl, a fused pres­ence able to sep­a­rate back into ten beings: sib­ling broth­ers and sis­ters adept in teach­ing metal­lur­gy and magick.  •❚-❚-❚•  Lutetia was in­sub­stan­tial when found, orig­i­nal­ly sent to the morgue for parts. Un­til a proble re­vealed ‘pri­mor­dial paris’ un­der the man­tle. Now this asteroid houses the library, found­ed in 1904 by golden-age his­tor­ian Himalia.  •❚-❚-❚•  ‘Father of history’ Hero­dotos is some­where in the stacks; some­times he“s a crater, some­times a lunar moun­tain.  •❚-❚-❚•  Faded sun god Hy­per­ion still has his star :throne, yet the patron saint of as­tron­o­my pre­fers it here, shed­ding light into ob­scure pas­sages and un­tan­gling con­jugal con­jec­turals.  •❚-❚-❚•  With eyes wide shut, dream god Morpheus wan­ders the library, nev­er bumps into any­thing.












 •❚-❚-❚•  Patro­clus stopped by in 1906 to build and run the gym­na­sium; then Men­oe­tius was out­ed as his satel­lite in 2001.  •❚-❚-❚•  And may­be it’s true that jötunn Jarnsaxa rose in rank by sleep­ing with Thor, yet her prow­ess as a war­rior is sec­ond to none; she now teaches war­cracft at the Olympia Academy.  •❚-❚-❚•  Hylo­nome was re­cruit­ed in 1995 to give les­sons in arch­ery and horse­back rid­ing.  •❚-❚-❚•  When Hideo Ito­ka­wa showed up in 1998, no one paid much heed. Now the roc­ket sci­en­tist has a launch­pad and a lab on the roof.  •❚-❚-❚•  Scholar Zhong­guo ar­rived in 1928 tot­ing moun­tains of chin­ese scrolls and oc­cu­pies a whole wing.  •❚-❚-❚•  An amor­phous cradle court found har­bor in a for­got­ten nook stacked to the rafters with old globes. Grant­ed se­clu­sion while these river dei­ties ad­just to their new sit­ua­tion are Eu­phra­tes and Ti­gris, gleam­ing still from the em­bers of the 20th century.






 •❚-❚-❚•  In 1884, nymph to a baby god Ida was ad­mit­ted to the infir­mary, injured and living a half-life. When Zeus found out his nurse was alive he went to fetch the moun­tain maid, since mend­ed, and seat­ed her on the oak :throne.  •❚-❚-❚•  Then the thunder god came across wife Juno and they made up and now the sky goddess has agreed to return to the marriage :throne and resume her title as ‘queen of the gods’.  •❚-❚-❚•  But before that Zeus stumbled into Eu­ro­pa, floating by aimlessly. Promising not to transform in front of her again, Zeus persuaded the princess of Tyre to claim the azure :throne.  •❚-❚-❚•  Callisto came and estab­lished the sky :embassy in 1610. Elder muses Ao­ede and Thel­xi­noë showed up, 400 years later, to clear up back­logs and over­stuffed in­boxes. Seas­ons spirit Sponde joined in 2003, im­posed strict lunch breaks.  •❚-❚-❚•  They are joined by the mother to wine god Dionysus, who sits on the rain :throne when not lending the embassy a hand. Born mortal, Thy­o­ne is now deified and who presides over dionysian displays.
 •❚-❚-❚•  A tem­pes­tu­ous sky :court re-opened in 1979 when faded goddess of wisdom Metis convened the first meeting from her blessed :throne; but now the first wife to Zeus has fallen into a trance.


House of Zeus
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 •❚-❚-❚•  Zeus has a complex ionosphere tuned to his liking while resting on the eagle :throne, where a planet-encasing electric field ratchets up the magnetic field to produce 400,000 electron volts. In 1988 a chunk of Zeus buzzed the earth, and '5731-Zeus' has now been identified as an apollo asteroid.












 •❚-❚-❚•  This house also serves as a court­house, and Kronos is its chief justice. Consort Rhea, now a binary being, shares the mountain :throne with her roman half Cybele. In 1966, they warm­ly wel­comed roman god of good be­gin­nings Janus to the duty :throne. The twin-faced god who gave his name to the first month performs the rite to open each judi­ci­a­ry sea­son.  •❚-❚-❚•  Hold­ing degrees in truth and zoro­as­trian light, galaxy god Mithra was brought in 1987 to the seasons :throne. It only took Themis 34 years to find her roman-half Justitia and perform the accretion rite. Now the god­desses of divine justice share the seed :throne.  •❚-❚-❚•  Elder mem­ory muse Mneme came out of re­tire­ment to run the law libra­ry, as­sist­ed by Her­mi­one, mor­tal daugh­ter to Helen of Troy and Men­e­laus.  •❚-❚-❚•  Fate god­dess Tyche got her law license in 1886, but for precision god­dess Praxi­dike it took much longer.
 •❚-❚-❚•  Young aten as­ter­oid Ra-Shalom, spif­fy in a smooth car­bo­na­ceous out­fit, in­terns as law clerk.

House of Saturn
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 •❚-❚-❚•  The time :embassy dis­penses legal coun­sel, and staff con­stant­ly jug­gle worn vol­umes for titles and to parse multi-culti edits, to look up one-offs, and ‘misc’.  •❚-❚-❚•  Kronos hosts 62 sat­el­lites and it makes him a grump when on the flint :throne. The king of the titans wears a gi­nor­mous stole of froz­en hel­ium and iced hy­dro­gens, hid­ing lash­ings by wet met­hane winds and sea­son­al hur­ri­canes of meth­ane mists.










 •❚-❚-❚•  Wounded in a mini­machia be­tween Zeus and Kronos, Ouranos hoard­ed his san­ity and had sense re­main­ing to locate com­plex Hathor and bring the de­stined one to her sky :throne.  •❚-❚-❚•  The egyp­tian sky god­dess has smart dial, and that is how it came to be that moth­er to Atlas Kly­mene sits now on the dome :throne. Watching these two gossip and laugh is venez­ue­lan rain god Huya, from the vantage of the cloud :throne.  •❚-❚-❚•  Before fully suc­cumb­ing to his malaise, Ouranos man­aged al­so to locate Ar­ro­koth to sit on the empyrean :throne, know­ing the pow­hatan per­son­i­fi­ca­tion of the sky can sum­mon clouds, which is the least of his ae­ther abil­ities.  •❚-❚-❚•  There is no embassy at the house of Uranus, and its chief occupant has been un­der phy­si­cian care since 1781. The physician in turn com­mis­sioned magi­cian Pros­pero to de­vise a suitable ther­a­peu­tic play for a pri­mor­dial patient.  •❚-❚-❚•  Which led to father to Loki Far­bauti being im­pres­sa­rio of the pro­duc­tion, and who hired Ixion as light­ing direc­tor, even though the ex-king was caked in tho­lins and ice.
 •❚-❚-❚•  An end­ing con­jur­ation re­quired a dual-voice, and di­rec­tor Didy­mos will per­form this role, guid­ing post-poly­phon­ics gently back to roots in tragic theater.

House of Ouranos
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 •❚-❚-❚•  Puck and Ariel designed the spe­cial effects, while Syco­rax and her spawn Cali­ban han­dled all sub­ter­ran­ean spells. This for a play that takes 84 years to per­form.






 •❚-❚-❚•  Poseidon chose the date of his re­sur­fac­ing back in­to history by send­ing a dream, in 1846, to a sleep­ing mathe­ma­ti­cian. The woke mortal entered a new set of co­or­di­nates into the New Ber­lin Ob­ser­va­tory and found the liq­uid liege sitting on his trident :throne.  •❚-❚-❚•  It was first-gen titaness Tethys, though, who first set up the court, back in 1684, in her capacity as ‘sover­eign of the sea’. The an­cient marine god­dess sits on the sea :throne and is semi-retired, run­ning a cell of nep­tune tro­jans be­hol­den on­ly to her.  •❚-❚-❚•  Prime­val marine god­dess Siarnaq, moth­er to all in­u­it sea life, rests now on the whale :throne.  •❚-❚-❚•  Aegir swam by to take “on­ly a peek”. He was then per­suad­ed to stay by Tethys, by Siar­naq, by the en­tire em­bas­sy staff. The ger­man­ic god now holds a set of hur­ri­cane keys and billows on the storm :throne.  •❚-❚-❚•  Triton is running the sea :embassy. The mer-god first sur­faced in 1846, en­crust­ed in bar­na­cles, show­cas­ing cryo­volcan­ism and can­ta­loupe-col­ored boils, spewing nitro­gen five miles into space from frig­id finger­tips of meth­ane. The ‘mes­seng­er of the sea’ is currently sick with an un­known mal­a­dy. But Sala­cia does. Since 2004, the ‘queen of the sea’ has been test­ing and cor­rec­ting local salin­i­ty levels, bring­ing much need­ed know­how to alleviate demi sea­god­dess Ly­si­thea, who has also been trying, since 1938.
 •❚-❚-❚•  Day-to-day is hand­led by by demi sea­god­dess Her­mip­pe, ocea­nide Te­les­to, and river spir­its Io and Cal­lir­rhoe.


House of Poseidon
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 •❚-❚-❚•  Nereid glim­mered under the sur­face of Night, in 1949, a drop only 210 miles, clad in neutral-ices and sili­cates. Troub­ling then to know that this amal­gam of 50 sibling sea god­dess­es is also a po­ten­tial­ly haz­ard­ous ob­ject head­ed for a fatal im­pact with the sea :embassy.














 •❚-❚-❚•  Like Ouranos, Haides lies on his back; un­like his great-grand­father, the king of the under­world is in com­mand of his senses. He reigns once more from the black :throne.  •❚-❚-❚•  Show­ing off a young man­tle, as be­fits his status as the first trans-nep­tune ob­ject, the ‘great renew­er’ goes about in a liq­uid-cape of froz­en nitro­gen stained with land­scapes of rud­dy pinks and moldy yel­lows.  •❚-❚-❚•  The dead :throne be­longs to fury Tis­i­pho­ne, she of the scor­pion whip. Of­ten awol, the prim­i­tive ven­geance god­dess likes to visit BFF Hekate.  •❚-❚-❚•  Haides had spared two broth­ers from their fate in the after­math of the gigan­to­machia, when a hun­dred siblings at­tacked Olym­pus. Now En­ce­la­dus, en­cased in com­plex organic molecules, and Mimas, fit­ted out in dreams, have re­paid the king of the dead by run­ning his death :embassy, con­struct­ed from the sub­struc­ture of space and hav­ing capac­ity for many-sid­ed folds.  •❚-❚-❚•  Jug­gling with pul­sar power since 2000 is in­u­it Ijiraq. When not on the wealth :throne the shape­shift­er is elus­ive in a sul­phur­ous smoke jac­ket, bound­ing from comet to aster­oid while fling­ing out mir­ages left and right.  •❚-❚-❚•  Charon only became ap­par­ent in 1978, a representation of a god of hell, paddles around on the blood :throne.
 •❚-❚-❚•  Com­plex deity Osiris, silent and still and hiding out on the shadow :throne.  •❚-❚-❚•  Fenrir crouches at the foot of the black :throne, munch­ing on tha­na­tos leaves.


House of Haides
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 •❚-❚-❚•  An aeon in Tar­ta­rus had caused a set of sib­lings, as they were hurled in­to space, to begin an acretion rite and then, in 1655, re­turn as a colos­sal com­pos­ite. Now back in com­fort­able sur­round­ings again, Titan has grown star-fat and nova-lazy. This slov­en­ness van­ishes when his secret name is ut­tered. Then the fused thing sits up­right on the unseen :throne; and re­sumes his role as mon­ster third-class.







Pond of Pontos

 •❚-❚-❚•    The pond of Pontos is an inert multiple axis dimensional facil­i­ty   where ser­pent spawns from water worlds can find safe harbor – and malev­o­lent vipers suit­a­bly quartered.  •❚-❚-❚•  Its long­est in­hab­i­tant is Medusa, marooned on a spit since 1875. Her nurse is demi-serpent Herse, who gets to milk the gor­gon. Medusa’s blood is taken back to the in­fir­mary where it is an in­gre­dient for end-of-life syrups.  •❚-❚-❚•  The egyp­tian car­bon to Khaos had es­caped during early dawn of the 21st century. That was when the‘un­creator’ as­sumed the form of an aten aster­oid. Now Apo­phis is threat­en­ing to in­vade Ge come 2029 be­fore launching another at­tack on the Sun. To bing and bring back this sand ser­pent supreme, the house of Egypt dis­patched fire god­dess Sekmet (who’s preg­nant), and magick god­dess Selquet.  •❚-❚-❚•  Aegaeon has been pond shep­herd since 2008, this mon­ster fourth-class (although some claim he’s really the first monster), has now poured all his wealth into Sea 2.0. The prim­i­tive marine god over­sees Force⁴, staffed by post-fledg­lings from ste­llar kinder­gar­tens and poly­gon-flight schools.  •❚-❚-❚•  The pond is a fav­or­ite haunt of Hippo­camp, when the binary-beast is not harnessed to the sea char­iot, and kidding around with Hydra, which seems to do the many-head­ed ser­pent some good. This amal­gamated animal has gone mad; harms on­ly it­self, hops on claws then slith­ers, un­der­go­ing a chaotic rota­tion with a flip every ten hours.  •❚-❚-❚•  The new­est in­mate is duck­taped with re­verse-rela­tiv­ity ad­he­sive, pre­vent­ing Gonggong 龚工 from pow­er­ing up his malig­nant core. This metal-head­ed mon­ster was caught try­ing to knock moth­er Earth’s axis off cen­ter -- again. Now the chi­nese marine god is the sub­ject of study by atomic-physics. The wan­na­be plan­et kill­er has been guard­ed since 2007 by husband-&-wife team Phorcys and Ceto. He grey-haired and fish-tailed, with a crus­ta­cean-cape of crab claws. She daugh­ter to Pon­tos and crone god­dess to sea mon­sters.


House of Pontos
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 •❚-❚-❚•  Draped in sea­weed, crowned with tur­rets and tow­ers, a rud­der his staff, Pontos is sea­water’s root mat­ter. He now stirs Sea 2.0, con­coct­ed with a thim­ble of his blood, the en­tire Aegean sea, a steady drip from the river of hate, a healthy pour of un­adult­erat­ed rep­til­ian con­scious­ness; as well as tric­kles from the river Styx.  •❚-❚-❚•  To en­sure safe­ty, the pond is pot­ted with skel­e­tal Time cham­bers. To nice things up, in­fer­nal god­dess Styx had trained a rib­bon from her river of oaths to fol­low her and that is how the okeanide be­came patron to the pond of Pontos.  •❚-❚-❚•  In 2018, an under­sea ex-palace was req­ui­si­tioned as the un­offi­cial house of Pon­tos. Diamond-shaped with good japa­nese bones, Ryugu is capa­cious enough to have offices, guard quar­ters, pri­vate apart­ments.

















House of Hekate
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 •❚-❚-❚•  After the meeting with Hype­rion, the supreme god­dess of magick took her leave, drag­ging ‘dark­ness’ be­hind, and only stopped when the gravity :throne was bare­ly noticeable. The daughter to titans Perses and Asteria then flung Erebus be­neath her, un­fold­ed the crone :throne, set it down on the head of the dark prim­i­tive god.  •❚-❚-❚•  Hekate is dark­er than Tar­tarus, where she had her palace, is in­vis­i­ble at night, can see in pitch black.  •❚-❚-❚•  Ananke came first, in 1951, swathed in ‘con­straint’, ‘force’ and ‘neces­sity’. ‘One be­fore time’ un­coils her lux­ur­iant ser­pent tail and gets to wind down on the po­ten­cy :throne.  •❚-❚-❚•  A son to Loki perches on the ghost :;throne: Narvi is father to norse night Nótt and has re­turned as dark mat­ter of in­de­ter­mi­nate size.  •❚-❚-❚•  Tot­ter­ing on the spindle :throne is night god­dess Nyx, whose star-spang­led man­tle can­not hide that some­thing has gone wrong when alien gravity flooded the daugh­ter to Khaos, and now she twirls back­ward every 45 minutes, wrapped in band­ages with obvious ancient red stains.  •❚-❚-❚•  In 2004, etrus­can in­fer­nal god Orcus showed up to claim the victory :throne, oblique in faint tho­lins, sewn with iced crys­tal water and fea­tur­ing a high col­lar shoot­ing dew drops of amo­nia up.
 •❚-❚-❚•  When the three-head­ed hell hound saw Ere­bus, his dear­est dog­house, be­ing dragged off, Kere­be­ros trot­ted be­hind; now he pa­trols his new home every 32 days, flips ev­ery five, in vain ef­forts to shake off fil­a­ment fleas.











 •❚-❚-❚•  As Ge shook and coughed, Aἴtnē was unbothered, as befits one of nine foun­da­tion­al moun­tain nymphs. She’s been host to ab­orig­i­nal fire god Hephaistosfor a long long time. The son to Zeus and Juno had suf­fered some di­min­ish­ment when Ge last shook, other­wise is un­scathed.  •❚-❚-❚•  In 2006, Surtur, wielder of the fire sword, showed up. Fol­low­ing note­books and us­ing lega­cy tools, the jötunn worked with He­phais­tos and got the forge go­ing again. Now the norse behe­moth tends to busi­ness from his spot on the foundry :throne.  •❚-❚-❚•  Pasiphäe is daugh­ter to the sea and the sun, and this hybrid origin is only one of the rea­sons the mis­tress of herbal magick keeps busy on the cauldron :throne.








 •❚-❚-❚•  The geo­machia had cas­ual­ties, but Hestia was not one of them.   The pri­mal fire god­dess gin­ger­ly cupped ‘first flame’ in her palms, slipped on sen­si­ble shoes, and stepped off the face of the Earth.    •❚-❚-❚•  In the Asteroid belt she found her sis­ter Ceres, who was seed­ing the sec­ond Gar­den of Apol­lon, and Hygiea, per­form­ing triage by her­self in a makeshift manner. Hestia sat her charge gently down and soon enough kind­led a fire.  •❚-❚-❚•  Togeth­er the three god­dess­es set up a clinic. By 1807 it had grown to be­come an in­fir­mary. Then, in 1992, while live cov­er­age of the first space rock found in the Kui­per belt was broad­cast, Hestia took a closer look and recog­nized Albion. The domes­tic god­dess then went and fetched ‘mytho­log­i­cal britain’ back and that was how she found a foun­dation to her house, with her­self its ad­min­is­tra­tor, medi­cine god­dess Hy­giea its head nurse, and agrarian god­dess Ceres its grounds­keeper.  •❚-❚-❚•  Resi­dent chap­lain duties falls on the shift­ing shoul­ders of fic­tion-into-fact inuit sha­man Paaliaq.  •❚-❚-❚•  New­ly dis­lodged norse fire god Loge was ad­mit­ted in 2006 for hypo­ther­mia. Therapy with ‘first flame’, his root mat­ter, en­sured re­cov­ery and now the brother to a wind god has stayed on as a heat ther­a­pist.  •❚-❚-❚•  Asclepius was ad­mit­ted as a wound­ed apollo as­ter­oid in 1989; now the med­i­cine god is part­ly re­paired and has as­sumed the role of head phys­i­cian, allow­ing daug­hter Hy­giea to fuse with her roman-half Vale­tudo as well as re­sume re­search into evo­lu­tion­ary vac­cines.

House of Hestia
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 •❚-❚-❚•  Celtic child­birth god­dess Beb­hi­onn showed up in 2000 and now there is a mater­ni­ty ward.



 •-❚-❚-•    Eight of Poseidon’s satel­lites are in in­ten­sive care.  Faded sea god­dess Thalas­sa wob­bles and paces her bed every eight hours, know­ing her form will end up as a rub­ble ring.  •❚-❚-❚•  Galatea and her water-nymph sib­lings are all of un­reli­able form; they’ve re-accret­ed once too of­ten, and now Sao, Neso, Lao­me­deia, Heli­mede, Psamathe might all end up as rub­ble rings too.  •❚-❚-❚•  Priest­ess Despina is miss­ing parts, and has set aside mys­teries of arka­dian cults for now.  •❚-❚-❚•  Hawai‘ian birth god­dess Haumea and her daugh­ter-moons were ad­mit­ted in 2004. This ‘col­li­sion­al fam­ily’ has reached the dan­ger point of off­ing each other.

 •❚-❚-❚•  The first patient was ad­mit­ted in 1983. Phaëthon had fallen off his father’s sun :chariot.  •❚-❚-❚•  Found­er of mod­ern nurs­ing Flor­ence Night­in­gale came back in 2017 to run the nurse stations. Eager to learn mod­ern meth­ods are ancient nurses to baby gods Cyl­lene, Kalli­cho­re, Helike, and Kalke.

 •❚-❚-❚•  The grounds of the sec­ond Gar­den to Apol­lon, begun in 1801 to eventually sur­round the infir­mary, now has pas­ture enough for goat nurse to a baby god Amalthea to retire in tran­quility since arriv­ing in 1892. Her mind­er is moun­tain nymph Daphnis.  •❚-❚-❚•  Come autumn they will help sea­son­al god­dess Carpo and native-amer­i­can corn god­dess Atira as­sess the bounty from Nature 2.3.  •❚-❚-❚•  And when the gran­ar­ies are full autumn grace Hege­mo­ne will moan the clos­ing rites.  •❚-❚-❚•  Har­vest was pos­si­ble be­cause Flora had first tend­ed to every petal and abun­dance god­dess Euporie to every stalk.

 •❚-❚-❚•  Creator god Quaoar was help­ing out in 2005 when he caught a flu. Now the father to the native-amer­i­can sky shiv­ers and tosses every seven­teen hours, wrapped in red rocks ribbed in car­bon mon­ox­ide sewn with meth­ane threads, but­toned with nitro­gen and stud­ded with stalag­tites of iced ethane.  •❚-❚-❚•  Aitolian prin­cess Leda has a green thumb and likes working in the Garden of Apollon. Other­wise she has been help­ing Deme­ter run tests, since 1801, to gague exact­ly how many sea­sons now exist.  •❚-❚-❚•  A fused nation of fresh­water nymphs, Naiad, main­tains the water fe­atures on the grounds, while demi sea god­dess­es Isonoe and Sinope assist in its boun­daries.  •❚-❚-❚•  Frost giant Suttungr will wait un­til he’s brewed enough mead of poetry to fill a thous­and space ships be­fore com­ing by to re­plen­ish the well.

 •❚-❚-❚•  An un­recog­niz­able queen of Egypt came to the Inten­sive Care Unit in 1880, and after Kleopatra was put back to­geth­er she re­mained and, with her moon-children Cleo­selene and Alex­helios, set up a phar­macy.  •❚-❚-❚•  Pharaoh Khufu came in 1984 and claims he’s watched enough priests grind gold and think up im­mor­tal­i­ty tinc­tures to con­sider him­self a phar­ma­cist too, and stayed.  •❚-❚-❚•  Rustic Pan drops by and sings along with Aretha Franklin, who ap­peared in 2018 with a piano on her brace­let. The queen of soul also duets with spirit of lamen­ta­tion Linus and together find clos­ure notes.  •❚-❚-❚•  Poetry muse Erato used to wan­der the cor­ri­dors strum­ming; now she has an of­fice and bet­ter hours.

 •❚-❚-❚•  In 1980, a morgue was found­ed by Prometheus as an experiment to devel­op human being 3.0. The titan of fore­thought was also delv­ing in­to mystikal graeco-egy proto-chem while prac­tis­ing old-school alche­my. He also tink­ers with two corpses. Pri­meval sky god­dess Theia has been dead a long time now, and miss­ing parts. The first-gen titan still has bits of Ge im­bed­ded in her body. There is also jötunn Greip, who came in 2006 and is good only for parts.  •❚-❚-❚•  Assist­ing in the morgue is young frost giant Bergelmir, de­scend­ed from ab­orig­i­nals, grand­son to the first norse man, and knows something about creat­ing new life.  •❚-❚-❚•  The morgue has been home to Proteus since 1989, and the marine god donates his root matter for parts, even though the shape­shift­er has parch­ment skin con­tain­ing trans­pa­ren­cies and pock­marked with poly­hedron-shaped ices and pink­ish-red boils.


 •❚-❚-❚•  Beginning in 1918 and spending the next 14 years per­form­ing an accretion :rite, Helios had at­tract­ed suf­fi­cient ma­te­rial to return as the apollo asteroid named Apollo, the first of his kind. The ‘sun’ then con­tin­ued to evolve and has now as­cended to the gravity :throne and is known as the ‘eld­est flame’.  •❚-❚-❚•  Spending 282 years on an orbital rite while on the blind :throne, galaxy being Varuna pivots outwards to greet stray vedic cosmic creeds.  •❚-❚-❚•  When this myth­ic bird flew down to perch on the arrow :throne in 1999, Bennu was still an apollo asteroid; now he’s the nexus be­tween egyp­tian rebirth, crea­tion and the gravity :throne.  •❚-❚-❚•  Com­plex easter island dei­ty Make­make arrived in 2005 to oc­cu­py the sin­gular gold :throne, and was seen retrieving a char­coal-dark sat­el­lite from his space­craft.  •❚-❚-❚•  In 1998, aten as­ter­oid Akhe­naten arrived and opened the sun :embassy. Compe­tency in dusty dynas­ties shows – he con­tin­ual­ly posts wel­comes to un­ex­pect­ed dei­ties show­ing up to greet the Sun.  •❚-❚-❚•    The post-pharaoh can pro­nounce the Helius’s name in gallic, celtic, in­uit, san­skrit, fin­nish, man­da­rin and egyp­tian-arabic, his native tongue.  Soon a course in japa­nese and span­ish, maybe a brush up on latin. He’s onto rumors of a pan-ocean court co­a­les­cing around the 2016 dis­covery of Kamo‘oalewa ‘os­cil­lat­ing frag­ment’. And still figur­ing Ven­ez­ue­la out.

Sun

House of the Sun
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 •❚-❚-❚•  Akhe­naten is lucky to have found Arche in 2004. The origins muse knows where the skele­tons lie – also where they lived.  •❚-❚-❚•  Norse wolf Hati ac­com­pa­nies her, mak­ing sure all skele­tons be­have.  •❚-❚-❚•  Second-gen titaness Leto has the sun :throne, and since 1861 the moth­er to a sun and a moon has en­act­ed a solar rite, every fif­teen hours, to the ‘the su­preme light’.



Ares Albiorix






 •❚-❚-❚•  The House of Mars defends the celestial court and is re­spon­si­ble for   Fortress Pallas Athena,  sited on the cir­cum­fer­ence and facing outer space. At the “crown” is a co-com­mand of gallic and roman mili­tary gods. Albiorix will make a 783-day patrol guard­ing the Sun, clad in ghost-red armor. Ares turns away from the gravity :throne and patrols inter­stel­lar space.

 •❚-❚-❚•  “Trunks” watch the four qua­drants. Hoary frost giant Fornjot, sire to norse im­mor­tals, scans the un­known dili­gen­tly every sev­en to nine hours for missing kin.  •❚-❚-❚•  Eris has a lone­ly patrol last­ing 558 years. The sis­ter to Ares is large enough to fit all on the As­ter­oid belt in her man­tle; is easy to spot in her white-white frig­id meth­ane armor caped with trail­ing gasses.  •❚-❚-❚•  Humon­gous jötunn Thrymr, king of the norse giants, has a sense of humor. He likes to share a good joke with Cruithne, tini­est of space rocks but whose stature in pict legend is also humongous.

 •❚-❚-❚•    “Branches” handle logis­tics and co­or­di­nate the day-to-day. Hyr­rok­kin is cap­able of launch­ing a thou­sand probes be­fore break­fast, if the norse giant­ess so wishes.  •❚-❚-❚•  Freya, BFF with the val­kyr­ies, rides in­to war on a chariot drawn by cats. On the battle­field the love god­dess claims half the fallen and is a fav­or­ite among the troops.  •❚-❚-❚•  Prime­val gaul Erria­pus oversees a quiet qua­drant in a pale-red battle­suit; while god of the norse north wind Kari howls into his por­tion of the void.

 •❚-❚-❚•    “Twigs” explore, and has despatched a team to follow magnetoplasma pulsing backward to its source. Battle-tested sons to Ares be­gan ser­vice in 1877 high­er up in com­mand, but chafed at peace­time en­nui and now have been demoted. These bad-boy bros wear their com­bat wounds proud­ly.  •❚-❚-❚•  Dei­mos looks spi­ffy clad in smooth rock but it’s to pro­tect his por­ous frame; he knows one day he’ll go awol. Pbo­bos is slow­ly dy­ing; wear­ing noth­ing but rub­ble held to­geth­er by the thin­nest of man­tles.  •❚-❚-❚•  Their cou­sin anarchy god­dess Dys­no­mia wears a dark-red battle­suit blending well with her back­ground. While norse win­ter god­dess Skathi gets to patrol the most frig­id quadrant.

 •❚-❚-❚•    “Leaves” wear special suits to tra­verse the meta­verse, per­form data re­duc­tion, and com­pile off-site cross-gen­eal­ogy reports.  •❚-❚-❚•  Kiviuq has been con­front­ing crea­tures since be­fore 2000; and is knowl­edge­able in i.d.-ing un­knowns. Twins Romulus and Remus have brought along notes in order to finish a user’s guide to roman ways.  •❚-❚-❚•  The founder-bros of Rome are a tad weary of Poly­deu­ces, greek car­bon to Remus, whose voice echoing in space hits too close to home.

 •❚-❚-❚•    “Veins” cover the entire territory and carry the colors, led by two trojans and a pair of centaurs.  •❚-❚-❚•  Can­ter­ing into view in 1977, mar­ried centaurs Cheiron and Chariklo led a comet corps of some 44,000 cen­taurs: each on a scat­ter­shot orbit, all try­ing to achieve es­cape velo­city using near­by grav­ity as sling­shots. Sport­ing ir­ra­di­at­ed armor under high-col­lared ices crink­ling and shed­ding dew; each cen­taur has a life­span last­ing a few mil­lion years.  •❚-❚-❚•  Clad in wine-red uni­forms strung along two elon­gat­ed curves, trojan aster­oids marched into view in 1906 behind Achilles and Hektor.  •❚-❚-❚•  For­tress Pallas Athena has a “seed bank” in the Olym­pia Acad­emy, and a “root sys­tem” laid out in various houses.  •❚-❚-❚•  Harmonia is daugh­ter to Ares and runs his house, hap­py to be near cousin Dys­no­mia, broth­ers Dei­mos and Pho­bos, and aunt Eris.










 •❚-❚-❚•  The race of cyclops were not flung in­to space, hav­ing in­stinct enough to cling on. The sec­ond mon­sters born to the ‘primordial couple’ flour­ished by evolv­ing the craft of lens-pol­ish­ing. Then, during the birth of the 21st cen­tury, these three one-eyed broth­ers down­load­ed their DNA into arti­ficial intelli­gence vats. Now the cyclops race exist main­ly as rows of lensii ar­rayed in pat­terns and spend­ing much time in­side tele­scopes.   Tele­scopes sit on an equa­tor­ial mount, where a clock-drive moves the tele­scope at the same rate as plan­et­ary ro­ta­tion. 
 •❚-❚-❚•  The house of the ‘round eye’ has been run by its blind­ed host Poly­phe­mus (long story) since 2013.  •❚-❚-❚•  A unique egyp­tian sun disk came in 1976, after rehab­i­li­ta­tion by He­phais­tos. Now Aten is fully re­hab­il­i­tat­ed from a stony sub-mile space rock to be a source of in­tel­li­gent light.  •❚-❚-❚•  Muse of as­tron­o­my Euka­lade ar­rived in 2003 to e­nsure qual­i­ty con­trol and to create a web pres­ence.  •❚-❚-❚•  De­velop­ment of lens tech­nol­ogy led to a vast­er view of the “mys­te­rious uni­verse”. In 1924, using the 100-inch tele­scope at Mount Wil­son Ob­ser­va­tory, as­tron­omers Edwin Pow­ell Hub­ble and George El­lery Hale ob­served indi­vid­ual stars some 800,000 light-years away; then bil­lions of light-years away.


  HYPOTHETICAL  HEAVEN  






❚-❚-❚• Leaving mother Earth had pro­ven trau­matic for Ares, so he un­leashed his rage and demol­ished the nearest planet. The mili­tary god buried the remains in the back­yard, the cem­e­tery known as the   Asteroid belt  (1801).

❚-❚-❚•  By 1845, four of these remains had been spotted by tele­scopes. Each was dubbed a plan­et at the time. Then their tiny size, less than 500 miles wide – smal­ler than the Moon, lead to a new clas­si­fi­ca­tion of such irregular space rocks as an   asteroid.

❚-❚-❚•  Another kind of irregular space rock whips through space on a a unique orbit around the Sun, iced rocks en­vel­oped in dust and trailing gas, the nimble   comet .

❚-❚-❚•  An as­ter­oid or a comet caught in Ge’s grav­ity field be­comes a   meteor  ‘high in the air’. It re­mains a meteor if it doesn’t land, and be­comes a meteor­ite if it does.

❚-❚-❚•  In 1950, Hekate and Haides showed up at the house of the Sun and told everyone there what they had seen in their backyards in 1992.   Trans-neptune ob­jects, billions of them. The rulers of the underworld had come to the gravity:­throne to an­nounce the demise of the old order. A new aeon was de­scend­ing and the adam­an­tine age was over.

❚-❚-❚•  Quite by ac­ci­dent Zeus had a spat w/ Kronos over throne place­ments. This mini-machia flipped Ouranos on his back and caused the trident:­throne to rock and roll. Cas­ual­ties from this tus­sle all have miss­ing chunks and bloody cuts. They are the ‘froz­en for­gots’, mar­i­nat­ing in blue-grey bruises and strewn about in a region called the   Kuiper belt   (1992).

❚-❚-❚•  As Ouranos top­pled over Posei­don threw out a life line, but it was too late. The ‘earth shaker’ instead whipped wave­lengths into a froth and the re­sul­tant fury crashed against his trident:­throne, carry­ing what flaked off into a sparse province inhab­ited by un­stable iced comets called the   Scat­tered disc  (1966).

❚-❚-❚•  Haides had been exploring his backyard as early as 2004. In his golden chariot drawn by four black horses, the in­fer­nal god crossed the Kui­per belt and en­coun­tered ter­mi­na­tion shock -- before set­tling in­to a (brief) standstill dur­ing helio­pause. The king of shadows then un­sheathed his sword to cleave the hydrogen wall to get to the other side. Then was stunned by bow shock which sent the god of wealth plunging through the   Inter­stellar med­ium   (1904) until the Oort cloud began to cush­ion his landing.

❚-❚-❚•  As the trident:­throne was tossed about it had smacked into some­thing sub­stan­tial and shat­tered this ob­struc­tion. Parts now pop­u­late the Kui­per belt, frag­ments share room in­side the Scat­tered disc, and the bits, froz­en fila­ments of water and meth­ane, flew even fur­ther out and is cred­it­ed as the   Oort cloud  (1950).

❚-❚-❚•  A space rock that is spher­i­cal and con­tain­ing grav­i­ty and an elec­tro-mag­net­ic field is a   planet . Most planets host a sat­el­lite or more, and eight planets fol­low the 'in­var­i­able plane' and constitute ven­er­able houses rep­re­sent­ed at the celes­tial court.

❚-❚-❚•  Made of am­bi­ent mat­ter and hav­ing no def­i­nite boun­dary, Helius the   Sun  is a star w/ the capac­i­ty to shed root mat­ter as en­ergy, re­leased rapid­ly enough as to seem solid, and can as­sume diverse forms. Earth’s Sun un­der­goes on­go­ing com­bus­tion, and has gra­vi­ta­tion­al sway over a small swad­dle of space, it’s   helio­sphere.

❚-❚-❚•  2012-VP113 nick­named   Biden  is a dwarf planet in the Kui­per belt locat­ed by a dark energy cam­era mount­ed on a tele­scope in Chile, en­larg­ing the boun­da­ries of the celes­tial court over­night.

  PROSPERO’S  PLAY 
  As­trono­mer Wil­liam Her­schel spots fairy royal­ty through his tele­scope and tries to catch them all w/ his butter­fly-net, TITAN­IA and OBER­ON, Queen MAB, others.



1808
Act I Scene 1 – Forest, day­light
  Al­though it is 1948, MIRAN­DA isn’t aware be­cause she’s lost in Time, and she ab­sent-mind­ed­ly per­turbs a ro­ta­tion rite be­ing ini­tia­ted by ARIEL, PUCK. A cos­mic cave ma­ter­ial­izes in the low­er air; in­side the witch SYCO­RAX and her spawn CALI­BAN are seen to mum­ble and hum.

1829
Act I Scene 2 – Forest, twi­light
  Fashion-plate BELIN­DA strolls on in 1986 to intro­duce a caval­cade of stars. Venetian heriess POR­TIA is shar­ing a joke w/ ROSA­LIND , daugh­ter to a ban­ished duke; COR­DELIA and OPHE­LIA are link­ing fingers, touch­ing fore­heads, laugh­ing softly; BIAN­CA is being prac­ti­cal watch­ing her step while giv­ing life tips to CRES­SIDA; DES­DE­MONA and JULIET whis­per and act dis­traught. Slow­pokes MAR­GARET and PER­DITA bring up the rear.

1850
Act II Scene 1 – Forest, evening
  Male voices from 1990 ap­proach. Shy in­qui­ries are prof­fered by prince of Naples FERDI­NAND and his lord FRAN­CISCO on the who, what, when, where, and why. Mean­while jester TRIN­CULO is lend­ing sup­port to drunk-asleep STEPH­ANO, who now wants to min­gle. Chit-chat strums the air and blends w/ sonic spells from the cos­mic cave as the Sun starts to sink.

1871
Act II Scene 2 – Forest, midnight
  Both par­ties are now asleep. Sprites and fair­ies flit across the air. A glint “no big­ger than an agate-stone” ar­rives w/ news for the pained plan­et Ouranos. The sound of her voice is the sig­nal for Puck to be­gin match­ing Ariel’s tra­jec­tory and speed be­fore tak­ing charge and bring­ing the rotation:­rite to its con­clu­sion. SET­EBOS begins a slow de­scent on­to stage, IXION turns down the stage lights, and the double-voice of DIDY­MOS in­tones the con­clud­ing con­jura­tion. Bring­ing the cur­tain down on Prospero’s Play, writ­ten as a medic­i­nal for an ailing ab­orig­i­nal, pre­scribed by the patient’s phy­si­cian Asclepius.


  PANTHEONS 
Norse Court
 •❚-❚-❚•  The latest Ragnarok was pre­cip­i­tat­ed by the Ge’s cos­mic cough. When the dust set­tled, out of an im­pres­sive wreck a chasm ap­peared, and Nifl­heim once more took a peek at Mus­pel­heim.  •❚-❚-❚•  In the first moments of the 21st century, Mundilfari, father to a sun and a moon, slowly shifted inside the froz­en depth and took a good gulp of space vacuum. Then he hoist­ed him­self out of the cre­vice, he man­aged to al­so yank out root-mat­ter Ymir from his pris­on. Break­ing up enough ice to ex­pose chief-giant Thrymr. Snow god­dess Skathi and frost giant Suttungr were harder to make out; they them­selves were made of frozen water.  •❚-❚-❚•  Then these rem­nants of the long-un­seen norse court pre­sent­ed them­selves at the house of Kronos, seek­ing shel­ter, and were im­me­di­ate­ly given a wing. In 1886, the god of time depu­tized fate god­dess Tyche to set about free­ing the oth­ers. She led a rescue team of ring-shep­herds carrying their own satel­lites and re­turned, in 2019, w/ 14 alives and 17 parts.


  MACHIA FILES  
Aesir-Vanir War







Ouranos battling Themis, detail of the pergamon altar.







Gigantomachia





Typhomachia







Theomachia







Geomachia







Ragnarok





1 ... The first war ever waged in­volved norse gods battling each other at the dawning of time. The root cause could well have been lax magick cap­i­tal­iz­ing on au­gu­ries to deter­mine an end result for one’s des­tiny. Truce end­ed the   Aesir-Vanir War   and result­ed in a pooled pan­the­on span­ning nine realms.

2 ...   By the time Ge and Ouranos, the pri­mor­dial couple, drew close and birthed their third brood, mother Earth had been nurs­ing re­venge on father Sky for nix­ing her pre­vious two lit­ters. Now the ab­orig­i­nal earth god­dess took the young­est under her tutelage, bestowing on Kronos his destiny to perform the dirty deed with a sickle and take over the ada­man­tine throne. After com­mit­ting patri­cide, Kronos mar­ried sister Rhea and the union pro­duced three daugh­ters and three sons -- who would over­throw their par­ents in the ten-year   Titan­o­machia, fought along­side earth­quakes and vol­ca­noes -- and pre­quel to the age of Olympus.

3 ...   When Saturn cut Uranos w/ the sickle blood splashed onto Gaia, trickled down to Tartarus and birthed one hundred giants, w/ serpents for feet. They climbed out of their mother and warred against Olym­pus. For­mid­a­ble and cap­a­ble of hurling en­tire moun­tains into the air; by so doing formed a lad­der to the top. Break­ing off oak trees and using them as torches, these giants climbed up and flung them at Zeus, ig­nit­ing the   Gigan­to­machia . One by one, the olym­pians put down their gigan­tic sib­ling’ revolt, off­ing or im­pal­ing them w/ mountains.

4 ...   Upset her giants were de­feat­ed, Gaia rubbed Tar­ta­rus and soon birthed Typhöeus, tall enough to graze the stars, sport­ing wings which blot­ted out light, having a hun­dred dragon heads spew­ing flames w/ mouths that yelled out human curses or shriek­ing and hiss­ing as ani­mals. Two hun­dred hands all ending in snake-fingers. Loose snakes slith­ered and cov­ered the final mon­ster’s frame, from the thighs down this sin­gu­lar ser­pent was noth­ing but trunks and feet of coiled snakes. Alone, the larg­est mon­ster ever born launched   Typho­machia  and attacked Zeus, who de­feat­ed him in single com­bat and chained the volc­ano demon, belch­er of ven­om­ous fumes and all-round trou­ble maker to sky dei­ties, in deep­est Tartarus.

5 ...   As the trojan war un­spooled Olym­pus took sides and soon a battle be­tween the im­mor­tal fam­ily had erupt­ed. This brief   Theo­machia  end­ed when the war hap­pen­ing on Earth did too, and every dei­ty sur­vived the ordeal.

6 ...   Fracking was driv­ing Ge bonkers. She could bare it no more. Swal­low­ing rocks and im­pris­on­ing monsters she had performed in the primi­tive past. Now mother Earth had a fever and required a deep cleanse. She coughed, eject­ing her bowels and flush­ing out her bad blood, in her latest   Geo­machia.

7 ...   Foretold as a repeat­able occur­rence, the twi­light of the gods arrives when sev­er­al severe bliz­zard storms one after the next are loos­ened on the world. Norse sun goddess Sól’s brief re-emer­gence will signal the begin­ning of the end as   Ragnarok  com­mences. The mid­gard serpent will then crawl from hell fol­lowed by her brother the wolf Fenrir. Soon, Surtur’s flame sword will have set the uni­verse ablaze, “the sun turns black, earth sinks in the sea, hot stars fall from the sky, and fire leaps high about heaven it­self ”. In time a new Earth. An­other Sun. Differ­ent stars. Same pantheon.



  WHAT SHE SAID Mae West quote: His mother should have thrown him away and kept the stork.  
  WHAT HE SAID 
Gary Hustwit quote: I saw Helvetica everywhere [in New York City], and watched how people were interacting with - but not really thinking about - it. People going about their lives, letting a typeface tell them which direction their subway train was headed, where they could park, where the bathroom was, how much to pay for a hot dog. I felt like I’d stumbled onto a secret language.  

  PIXELS 


 DISPATCH 
Putin sits in front of wall-size map of Russia.

The seat of national pow­er, Kyiv was the main prize. Thus the thrust by elite airborne forces in the war’s open­ing hours.

When President Vladimir Putin launched his war on Feb. 24 after months of buildup on Ukraine’s borders, he sent hun­dreds of heli­cop­ter-borne com­man­dos — the best of the best of Russia’s “spets­naz” (special forces soldiers) — to assault and seize a light­ly defended air­field on Kyiv’s doorstep.

On the first morning of the war, Russian Mi-8 assault helicopters soared south toward Kyiv on a mission to attack Hostomel airfield on the northwest out­skirts of the capital. By capturing the airfield, also known as Antonov airport, the Russians planned to establish a base from which to fly in more troops and light armored vehicles within striking distance of the heart of the nation’s largest city. It didn’t work that way. Several Russian heli­copters were report­ed to be hit by mis­siles even be­fore they got to Hos­to­mel, and once set­tled in at the air­field they suffered heavy losses from artillery fire.


The fact that the Hos­to­mel assault by the Rus­sian 45th Guards Spe­cial Pur­pose Air­borne Brigade faltered might not stand out in retro­spect if the broad­er Rus­sian effort had im­proved from that point. But it did not. ... Last week the Russians aban­doned Hostomel air­field as part of a whole­sale retreat into Bela­rus and Russia.

An effort to take con­trol of a military air­base in Vasylkiv south of Kyiv also met stiff resistance and report­ed­ly saw sev­eral Rus­sian Il-76 heavy-lift trans­port planes carry­ing para­troop­ers downed by Ukrainian defenses.

A sidelight of the battle for Kyiv was the widely reported saga of a Rus­sian resupply con­voy that stretched doz­ens of miles along a main roadway toward the capital. It initially seemed to be a worri­some sign for the Ukrain­ians, but they man­aged to attack ele­ments of the convoy, which had limited off-road capability and thus eventually dispersed or otherwise became a non-factor in the fight. “They never real­ly pro­vided a resupply of any value to Russian forces that were assem­bling around Kyiv, never really came to their aid,” said Penta­gon spokes­man John Kirby. “The Ukrain­ians put a stop to that convoy pretty quick­ly by being very nim­ble, knocking out bridges, hitting lead vehicles and stopping their movement.” Using a wide array of Western arms, including Javelin portable anti-tank wea­pons, shoulder-fired Stinger anti-air­craft missiles and much more.

“That’s a really bad com­bi­nation if you want to conquer a country,” said Peter Mansoor, a retired Army colonel and professor of mili­tary history at Ohio State University. “[The Russian Army]’s proven itself to be wholly in­capable of conducting modern armored war­fare”. ... Some analysts did question whether Putin appre­ci­ated how much Ukraine’s forces had gained from West­ern training that inten­si­fied after Putin’s 2014 seiz­ure of Crimea and incur­sion into the Donbas.

“It’s stunning,” said military historian Fred­er­ick Kagan of the Insti­tute for the Study of War, who says he knows of no parallel to a major military power like Russia invading a country at the time of its choosing and failing so utterly. The Russians underestimated the num­ber of troops they would need and showed “an astonishing in­abil­ity” to perform basic military functions.

Putin failed to achieve his goal of quickly crush­ing Ukraine’s out­gunned and out­num­bered army. The Rus­sians were ill-pre­pared for Ukrainian resis­tance, proved in­capable of adjusting to setbacks, failed to effec­tive­ly combine air and land operations, mis­judged Ukraine’s ability to defend its skies, and bungled basic military functions like planning and exe­cuting the move­ment of supplies.






 EXCERPT  Battle of the Three Emperors, from War and Peace 1869 by Leo Tolstoy
ON the 18th and 19th of Novem­ber the [Russia and Austria] army ad­vanced two days’ march, and the [French] en­e­my’s out­posts after a brief interchange of shots re­treat­ed. In the high­est army circles from mid­day on the 19th a great, excitedly bust­ling activity be­gan which lasted till the morning of the 20th, when the mem­or­a­ble battle of Aus­ter­litz was fought.
UNTIL midday on the 19th the activity, the eager talk, running to and fro, and dis­patch­ing of ad­ju­tants, was con­fined to the Em­peror’s head­quar­ters (i.e., Alex­an­der I of Russia). But on the after­noon of that day this activity reached [General of the Rus­sian Army] Kutuzov’s head­quar­ters and the staffs of the com­mand­ers of columns. By eve­ning the adjutants had spread it to all ends and parts of the army, and in the night from the 19th to the 20th the whole eighty thou­sand allied troops rose from their bivouacs to the hum of voices, and the army swayed and start­ed in one enor­mous mass six miles long.
THE concentrated activ­i­ty which had begun at the Emperor’s head­quar­ters in the morn­ing and had started the whole move­ment that fol­lowed, was like the first move­ment of the main wheel of a large tower-clock. One wheel slowly moved, another was set in mo­tion, and a third, and wheels began to re­volve fast­er and fast­er, levers and cog-wheels to work, chimes to play, fig­ures to pop out, and the hands to ad­vance with regular motion as a result of all that activity.
JUST as in the mechan­ism of a clock, so in the mechan­ism of the mili­tary machine, an im­pulse once given leads to the final result; and just as indifferently quies­cent till the mo­ment when motion is trans­mit­ted to them are the parts of the mech­an­ism which the impulse has not yet reached. Wheels creak on their axles as the cogs engage one an­oth­er and the revolv­ing pulleys whirr with the rapid­ity of their move­ment, but a neigh­bour­ing wheel is as quiet and motion­less as though it were pre­pared to remain so for a hun­dred years; but the mo­ment comes when the lever catches it, and obey­ing the im­pulse that wheel begins to creak, and joins in the common motion the result and aim of which are beyond its ken.
JUST as in a clock the result of the com­pli­cat­ed motion of in­num­er­able wheels and pulleys is merely a slow and regu­lar movement of the hands which show the time, so the result of all the com­pli­cat­ed human activities of 160,000 Rus­sians and French – all their pas­sions, de­sires, re­morse, humil­i­a­tions, suffer­ings, out­bursts of pride, fear, and enthusiasm – was only the loss of the battle of Auster­litz, the so-called battle of the three Em­perors – that is to say, a slow move­ment of the hand on the dial of human history.




4L83R7 31N5731N Quote: 7H3 M345UR3 OF 1N73LL1­63NC3 15 7H3 481L17Y 70 CH4N63.
  POSTCARD 

weathervane

±  Roosevelt Island
Tata Innovation Center

Tata Innova­tion Cen­ter on Roose­velt Is­land, de­signed by Weiss/Man­fredi Archi­tec­ture.
Sitting on the East River in New York is a cigarette-shaped island, two miles long and under a quarter-mile wide. Known then as Mason’s Island, it was a yellowed blade of ne­glect­ed farms. Today, the island has a new name, where a five-acre plot is home to Cornell Tech Cam­pus, sit­ting among restored woods and wet­lands.



±  New Zealand
cone of Maungawhau (Mt Eden) looking down into the city

Ringed by extinct volcanoes, Auckland looks east over Hauraki Gulf to the horizon.  + Billboard on the way to the airport.
Located in the North Island of New Zea­land, home to the largest Polynesian population in the world, and where the Symonds St Ceme­tery gives context to when this port-of-call was a ‘fledging colonial country’.


±  Brazil
National Museum of Brazil on fire the night of September 2 2018 + skull

National Museum of Brazil vanishing.  + Luzia’ is twelve thousand years old. She is the oldest person in South America, and now has lost 20% of her skull.
A fire on September 2 2018 gutted the National Museum of Brazil, turning a million art objects into ash and smoke. Gone are col­lec­tions on paleon­tol­o­gy, anthro­pol­o­gy, archae­ol­o­gy, and in­dig­e­nous Bra­zil­ian eth­nol­o­gy. Dis­ap­peared is a wing devoted to ancient Egypt, in­clud­ing a throne room. Bendego meteorite pre-inferno Mostly intact is the second largest space rock on Earth. The Bendegó mete­or­ite was discovered in 1784 by a boy in Monte Santo, Bahia. ... Watch a 38-min. documentary from 2019 of the retrieval phase; in Brazilian-Portuguese.



±  Western Australia
Aerial view of the coast to Western Australia + 2016 Supermoon over Perth + Geode from Mammoth Cave

Aerial view of the coast to Western Australia.  + 2016 Super Moon over Perth.  + Geode from Mammoth Cave, a 1,600-ft wide by 98-ft deep lime­stone cavern.
Yagan Square + brick building + wall plaque for J. Crothers Yagan Square honors the fourteen Noongar lan­guage peoples of West­ern Aus­tra­lia.  + Repur­posed building in William St down­town, detail of orig­i­nal façade with a mod­ern top­ping.  + Plaque for J. Crothers Perth, con­struct­ing West­ern Australia since 1896.
detail of carbon fiber outdoor sculpture Spanda, a carbon fiber sculp­ture by Christian de Vietri, can be seen at Elisa­beth Quay on the Swan River.


±  Reno
vintage hot rod in front of Horseshoe Casino + St Francis Hotel (1925) catered to those seeking a divorce

Vintage hot rod cruises N. Virginia St.  + St Francis Hotel (1925) used to be where visitors roomed while seeking a divorce.
The city of Reno in Nevada came into being around 1852 by western-bound settlers chose a spot along the Truckee River, on the eastern side of the Sierra Nevada Mountains. Then, when nearby Virginia City struck silver, someone built a toll bridge across the Truckee River. This new route allowed for an easier to and from the California Trail, and the spot became known as Lake’s Crossing. The First Transcontinental Railroad would make Reno a depot, and the Lincoln Highway system connected the city via automobile with the rest of the United States.
Reno is now a city of casi­nos. Watch six minutes of 1953 in color, featuring neon signs, one-armed ban­dits, and Harold’s Club and the Ship Bar, when the Nevada state speed limit was 25mph.



±  Four Corners
sandstone formations rising high into the air

Spanning the borders of Arizona, Colorado, New Mexico and Utah, Tsé Bii’ Ndzisgaii ‘valley of the rocks’ is home to Navajo people. Monument Valley is also non-federal terri­tory and a park, where sand­stone for­ma­tions ‘rise into the air’. The entrance by way of Utah, on U.S. Highway 163.


±  Great Barrier Reef

Pages from ‘The Great Bar­rier Reef of Aus­tra­lia’ (1893) by William Saville-Kent.
Found in the Coral Sea off Queensland on the north-east coast of Australia, part of indigenous spirit­ual­i­ty, a built structure, the largest one in the world made by living organisms, this World Heritage site comprises some 900 islands and 2,900+ individual reefs.



±  Osaka
Yodo River courses through the neon night of Osaka

The Sun descends over an 18th-c. roadway to give way to 21st-c. Osaka night, a jumbo colony of joined cities, the ‘kitchen of Japan’, where nine­teen million people call home. The ‘mega­lop­olis of water’ has an under­ground city of ar­cades, cafés, and peo­ple movers to get around.


±  Paris
Notre Dame on fire 2019

The last mass of the day was in session when a fire alarm went off. It was Mon­day during Holy Week 2019; and mass resumed when nothing was found. Thirty minutes later a second fire alarm went off: the attic was on fire. Soon the roof of the world’s most famous cathe­dral, built between 1163-1345, was burn­ing. The spire then snapped and col­lapsed into the inferno. Response arrived, just ‘fifteen to thirty min­utes’ away from the com­plete destruction of Notre Dame Cathedral.
An onsite journalist wit­nessed Rev. Jean-Marc Fournier, chap­lain to the Paris Fire Brigade, run­ning into the burn­ing church and saving the Crown of Thorns. Bought by Louis IX in 1239, and believed to be the one worn by Jesus Christ.
+
(excerpt) ‘The Hunch­back of Notre Dame’ (1831) by Victor Hugo. ❝He therefore turned to man­kind only with regret. His cathedral was enough for him. It was peopled with marble figures of kings, saints and bishops who at least did not laugh in his face and looked at him with only tran­quil­li­ty and benev­o­lence. The other stat­ues, those of mon­sters and demons, had no hatred for him—he resem­bled them too close­ly for that. It was rather the rest of man­kind that they jeered at. The saints were his friends and blessed him; the mon­sters were his friends and kept watch over him. He would some­times spend whole hours crouched before one of the stat­ues in solitary con­ver­sa­tion with it. If any­one came upon him then he would run away like a lover sur­prised dur­ing a serenade. 1859 architectural model of the roof and spire An 1859 model, made for architect Eugène Viollet-le-Duc, of the spire sitting on the wooden-beamed roof, known to habitués as the ‘forest’.



±  Prague
2015 foto of Charles Bridge

The construction of Charles Bridge in 14th-c. Prague took up 45 years. Built of stone, this span over the Vitava River became, until 1841, the only ‘solid-land’ trade route between east­ern and western Europe.


±  PNG
looking over the Gulf of Papua towards the horizon

Port Moresby, the capital of Papua New Guinea, looks south­east over the Gulf of Papua to the Coral Sea.
Motuans were the orig­i­nal people. To trade with others in the Gulf of Papua, ex­pe­di­tions of up to 600-men would em­bark on sea voyages.
+
(excerpt) In his auto­biog­ra­phy ‘My Wicked, Wicked Ways’ (1959), actor Errol Flynn de­scribes sailing to Port Moresby in 1930: ❝We piloted our ship into the rather fine harbor of Port Mores­by. We arrived during the rainy season and the whole area was bril­li­ant green. The region seemed beau­ti­ful to me and I poked around searching its re­sources. About thirty miles from the port the Laloki River flowed through an emerald country­side. I fell in love with it. My partners made their way back to Australia, but I decided to settle there. ... Around me, from Laloki to Port Mores­by, was a territory plentiful with nutmeg, rattan cane, the okari nut, bananas, man­grove, coconuts, and sandalwood. There was fish in the river, and the natives brought food to my door. For a pence or two I could have the fruit of the region.






-|  May 2022  |-

  WHAT SHE SAID Mae West quote: His mother should have thrown him away and kept the stork.  
  ROMANCE COMICS 


  EPILOGUE  

Looking back at the Golden Age (which took place on Earth-Two), it has come to light that the biog­ra­phy of Lois Lane, begin­ning in the early 1950s, has prop­er­ly be­longed to the Silver Age.

All along, readers had grown up w/ a golden-age Lois. There was a golden-age Clark; and Super­man too. It turns out there has been – and al­ways has been – some oth­er Lois, who lived on Earth-One, w/ anoth­er Clark and a dif­fer­ent Super­man.

In 1956, fan loyalty was rewarded when DC Comics put out the first issue of SUPERMAN’S GIRLFRIEND LOIS LANE. Once again, a newer Lois Lane sprang forth, and helped to usher in the Silver Age. This Lois again came fully formed – and a lived-in back­story spooled out. The first two tales, about a witch and a wig, looked for­ward to­wards the ex­pe­ri­men­tal 1960s -- when beauty was re­de­fined, and back­wards, w/ a ginned-up glance at the bat­tle of the sexes, when it was still in black-&-white.

What is left of the original Lois are some stories about the Man of Steel in which she fea­tures prom­i­nent­ly, where she proves her­self an intel­lectual equal of a super man. These historic events em­bark em­bryon­ic­ally from the heart­land of America dur­ing the on­set of World War II. They then roam globally, and extra-globally, only to dis­em­barked at the un­test­ed out­post of the Cold War.

Lois of Earth-Two became marooned until the DC uni­verse took on a re­im­ag­in­ing. By 1978, her story was re­thread­ed in­to the con­tin­uity. Lois mar­ried Clark in the late 1950s, dis­cov­ered his secret identity, went on to new adven­tures -- even after their son was born, pass­ing the mortal coil in 2005, in events occur­ring dur­ing Infinite Crisis. All of this hap­pened be­fore the 21st cen­tury woke up.


I Love Lois

Lois Lane

Working nine to five as a reporter for a city daily must not leave time to do much else. As a single female work­ing and liv­ing alone in Metrop­­lis, how do you find bal­ance in your life?

Lois Lane, Clark Kent and Super­man are the creations of writer Jerry Siegel and artist Joe Shuster, two Cleve­land teen­agers nur­tur­ing keen tastes and quick psyches, who com­bined com­ple­men­tary skills to make mani­fest their dream of another world. Invent­ing a city of sky­scrapers where an other­world­ly creature lives and makes its living as a news­paper­man, while woo­ing a wonder­ful woman, and using as his secret iden­tity a coward’s persona. Over­night their comics become a best­seller, star­ring the Man of Tomor­row oppo­site Lois Lane.






The Golden Age 1938-1955 

Lois Lane is already there when Clark Kent arrives on his first day at the Daily Planet, she’s a lonely hearts advice columnist. Clark, a seasoned reporter, gets called in to the editor‘s office and is assigned a new beat. In a supreme act of irony, he’s to cover some­one who has been seen in Metrop­o­lis and word has it a cham­pion of the op­pressed. Proxim­ity to the vibra­tions of an un­known being not­with­standing, Lois soon slips into a vaude­villian vortex. Some­how a das­tard is sure to create chaos, usually a damsel-in-distress epi­sode plays out, acrobatic acts can follow before dis­plays of un­natural skills bring back the normal. This and a secret iden­tity plot to string it all to­gether and tie in­to a bow.

Page after page, the reader gets to know more about a super-being living in Metrop­o­lis, while he him­self is get­ting to know more about Lois -- expos­ing her to the maw of may­hem by his dada duels w/ weird foes. Lois can’t see Clark for the super-simula­crum that he’s hiding be­hind; is drawn to Super­man instead. Clark smiles and winks at the fourth wall, at ease and worldly wise.

Lois and Clark start dating right away, in the first story they put on evening attire and go out on the town. The next week she flies off on assign­ment to a foreign land and, due to mis­adven­ture, ends up blind­folded and stand­ing in front of a firing squad. Back home again, Lois thinks little of drop­ping a sleep­ing pill into Clark’s cock­tail so as to chase a lead and beat him to a scoop. This brazen stunt back­fires when she lands in trouble and, for the very first time, falls out of a window.

But first, she hones in on Clark’s beat by looking up the Man of Mys­tery herself, trying to score an exclusive. Go­ing to a travel­ing circus where he was perfor­ming for charity, an unexpected occur­rence ensures she will not get her scoop. Editor Perry White some­times sends both out together, espe­cially when murder has occurred. On these occa­sions, Lois often ends up solo because Clark can and will dis­appear at the first sign of trouble. One time this hap­pened, she was tied down next to a table saw w/ the on-switch deployed, too an­noyed though not sur­prised w/ Clark to bother about her imminent demise.

Chastened to live anoth­er day, Lois ex­pands her com­fort zone, find­ing it in her­self to bring joy to a thawed cave­man, out of time and grave­ly dis­ori­en­ted. Lois was as one reborn some other time when she ran around w/ a great ape. Through all this, Lois kept up her advice column, where once a grate­ful writer be­queathed a gold mine to her and which, sad­ly, she lost. She then plunged her­self into a murky episode about a fifth colum­nist move­ment in Metrop­o­lis, wad­ing into espio­nage, dis­infor­ma­tion, and sab­otage.

Around this time she meets Lex Luthor. Picking through the day’s press releases, Lois sees a tony and toothy one: Some­one has called a gather­ing of the million­aires of Metrop­o­lis. Intrigued, Lois finds a way into the man­sion and hides behind dra­pe­ries. Eight men enter, followed by their host; Lois pulls out her notepad. Al­to­ge­ther, these men con­trol rail­roads and air­lines, real estate and finan­cial firms. Each in­volved in pro­hi­bition-era rac­kets. One has a pub­lish­ing firm haw­king inspi­ra­tion­al books. Another runs a secret fascist cell. The last to speak turns out to be a com­mon man who had shown up dis­guised in order to give a rant on the wicked­ness of wealth. Lois is taking this all down, fill­ing one comic book page w/ nine long speech balloons. When sud­den­ly Luthor ap­pears w/ a wea­pon and knocks every­one -- in­clud­ing Lois -- out.

By 1943, budding popularity for her charac­ter pro­pels Lois on­to the cover w/ Super­man, gasping as he goes head-to-head with crime’s comedy king, the Prank­ster. Lois is also on the splash page, be­cause she has in­ad­ver­tent­ly wan­dered too close to a giant jack-in-the-box … Then a year later lands her first series, LOIS LANE GIRL REPOR­TER, focus­ing on her exploits with­out Super­man or Clark, which had a thirteen issue run.






The Silver Age   1956-1970 

The winds of change began blowing in the mid-1950s, when DC Comics re­ha­bil­i­tat­ed a dor­mant charac­ter from the past and re- intro­duced Flash, giving him a new back­story and wear­ing a dif­fer­ent cos­tume. Grad­u­al­ly, this new uni­verse fold­ed out­wards and at first divi­ded into two.

In 1956, a seminal tale had taken place on Earth-One, where Barry Allen was work­ing late one stormy night, when a light­ning bolt comes crashing in, strik­ing chem­i­cal vials filled w/ stuff. Bar­ry is knocked out and falls to the floor. Ly­ing in a sus­pi­cious-look­ing soup of labor­a­to­ry juices the entire night, he under­goes a molecular sea change. What had lain on the lab floor that Octo­ber night was a police-lab scien­tist. What woke up the next morn­ing turned out to be an agile Adam – har­bin­ger to a new aeon.

This refashioned “human thun­der­bolt” draws a chalk line at the start­ing point, re­sets the timer to zero, jumps into his cos­tume and takes off. Soon enough he learns of the exis­tence of Earth-Two, and he visits w/ the orig­i­nal Flash, semi-retired but still con­tend­ing w/ super-foes. Overnight, the aggregate number of costumed beings doubled -- then grew, as readers couldn‘t get enough.

The Lois of Earth-One lived a com­pli­cat­ed exis­tence, be­ing rou­tine­ly sub­ject­ed to Imag­i­nary Tales of what-ifs that bedevil story­lines, con­found­ing known facts w/ famil­iar fan­tasy. This Lois had her own title, which ran for 137 issues, end­ing just in time to usher in the Bronze Age, and are known chief­ly as hav­ing im­part­ed a level of light-heart­ed­ness to her life.

In between, Lois left her clas­sic looks be­hind and is shown on a 1968 cover tear­ing down part of her own mast­head con­tain­ing the words "GIRL FRIEND", and throw­ing it to the ground. This was just one step less shock­ing than her get-up: knee-high go-go boots and a rock­ing aqua­net hairdo, declar­ing that she was over the Man of Might. This fit of fem­i­nist zeal sub­si­ded, though, and the des­ig­na­tion re­ap­peared on the next cover. Lois Lane, born on Earth, had up until then led an un­earthly exis­tence, all because she chose to be near the one she loves, and do bat­tle w/ battalions of babes intent on becom­ing the one to make children w/ the alien Adonis.









   As our story begins, Lois is about twenty-three years old, and Clark is two years older than that.




▶ Champion of the Oppressed
Action Comics №1 - 1938
Lois Lane sprang into life fully formed, along­side the genesis story of Superman. On his first day at the Daily Planet, Clark Kent is smit­ten and begins to court Lois.

When Clark is then assigned to cover a mys­tery man show­ing remark­able poten­tial, Lois is intrigued and goes on a first date to find out more. Twirling about the dance floor, he asks pointedly, “Why is it you always avoid me at the office?”

“Please Clark-! I’ve been scribbling sob stories all day long. Don’t ask me to dish out another.” Bored and star­ing away, her eyes hap­pen to lock on­to Butch, who’s been star­ing at her for quite some time.

See­ing his move Butch cuts in, then things turn ugly, and Lois gets an ink­ling that Clark may not be a man’s man. When Butch facepalms her date she storms out and calls Clark, for the very first time, “… a spineless, un­bear­able coward!”. Catching up w/ the car that has just abducted her, Superman up­turns the vehicle and catches Lois, for the very first time, as she spills out of the back­seat win­dow. What he does next is famously depicted on the iconic front cover - lifting the car above his head. ... turning his attention back to Lois, she backs away in mild terror until he says, “You needn’t be afraid of me. I won’t harm you.”

Transfixed, she lets the strapping stranger scoop her up into his arms and, leaping high, carry her away. This winning formula provided years of creative chaos as the three main characters circled each other round and round.

This ends the first tale of Lois Lane’s life, and the beginning of her startling adventures to document the existence of this mental marvel and physical wonder, devoted to daring deeds she knows will reshape the destiny of a world.




▶ How Lois Got Her Job
Lois Lane №17 - 1960
(An Untold Story) (Demand Classic)

Every year on the anniversary of her first day to work for him, Perry White has thrown an office party to celebrate. One time he turned sentimental -- opened up: “... When Lois first asked me for a job, I told her I would hire her if she brought me three scoops in three days! She did it ... w/out Superman’s help!

Picking up the cue, Lois blows out the candles and hands the first slice to Perry. While his mouth is full, she gives her side of the story. On the first day at work Perry had given her a choice of several assignments, she chose the easiest one: securing evidence on a team of safe-crackers.

Dressed as a clean­ing lady, Lois walked into their lair w/ a vacuum clean­er, plugged it in, turned it on. This dis­guise turned up pure gold when a torn-up note was re­trieved, then taped back to­geth­er. Impli­ca­tions were de­duced; arrest war­rants even­tual­ly issued. More cake was passed around.

Her next assign­ment was to secure the first-ever photo­graph of a reclu­sive royal, prone to strong­arm tac­tics to en­sure his pri­vacy -- she comes back w/ the photo. Clark and Jim­my ask for an­oth­er slice -- at the same time.

The guest of honor takes this oppor­tunity to sit down, staring into the cavern now develop­ing in the cake. Her car had un­ex­pec­ted­ly broken down on the third assign­ment, and she ended up walking miles out to now­here in order to inter­view an ar­chae­o­lo­gist who was claiming a new dis­covery. She gets her story, and it’s a doozy but, w/ no easy access back, Lois devises the most inge­nious meth­od known to cor­re­spon­dents worldwide – en­ab­ling her post to reach Perry. It is front page news, and Lois lands her dream job.





▶ Man or Superman?
Superman №17 - 1942
Lois and Clark once teamed up to track down the Talon, titular head to a gang of thieves. She later returned to her desk, think­ing she was go­ing to write up a scoop, only to learn that Clark got there first. Exas­pe­ra­ted, she then asked and he then gave a reason so lame that it was enough to make her wonder if Clark might be Super­man. (There have been many ver­sions of this story since.) Clark is the arche­typal nerd, wear­ing glasses be­cause he really has to -- it’s his secret iden­tity. But how his phys­i­og­no­my didn’t give him away as son of Kryp­ton is one for the books. This instance of will­ful ignor­ance appar­ently is im­pos­sible. Because mental snapshots. In one telling, while at the office a com­mo­tion on the street below draws them to the win­dow -- a neck­lace rob­bery was in pro­gress. She sud­den­ly got a feel­ing she knew what Clark would do next, which was to give a flim­sy ex­cuse and dis­ap­pear, then a min­ute will pass and Super­man should (and will) fly past the win­dow. This quiz­zi­cal look does not go un­noticed by eagle-eyed Clark as he stages a retreat. Chang­ing into his cos­tume he thinks back to the very first time Lois ever did all of her won­der­ing. It had hap­pened one morn­ing when he had flown over the Daily Planet, and she had caught a quick glimpse. Lois was round­ing a corner and be­came aware of his land­ing on the roof of her office build­ing. “… and now he’s dropped out of sight! Good gra­cious! Maybe he works on the Planet staff, under a secret iden­tity!”





▶ Miss Lonelyhearts
Lois Lane №3 - 1958
Lois once went above and beyond her duties as the advice columnist. She had shown up at the eighth floor landing window of the Belvue Apartments, where a despondent man was threatening to jump. Lois climbs out, telling him she too wants to jump, “Er-(gulp!) Do you think you’re the only person in the world w/ a broken heart?” Prompt­ly los­ing her foot­ing, Lois goes over the edge. Man­ages to catch the cor­ner of a elec­tion ban­ner hang­ing be­low. Be­fore it can tear off she has swung into po­si­tion to plum­met through a num­ber of wind­ow awn­ings. Cushioning her fall un­til a fire­man’s net catches her. This viv­id dem­on­stra­tion of fall­ing in love cures the man’s sick heart, so he climbs back in and goes to where Lois is being treat­ed. You’re won­der­ful, Miss Lane! The next time I com­mit sui­cide, it’s go­ing to be over you!





▶ School for Scoops
Lois Lane №29 - 1961
Through pluck and per­ser­ve­rance Lois becomes the number one female reporter in the United States! The Uni­ver­sity of Metrop­olis asks her to give a lecture course. Hearing this news, racketeer Nick Roker sends two gun­men to the campus. Because.

Lois proves a preco­cious professor and, w/ the help of Jimmy Olsen, stages re-creations of actual cases. Jimmy walks the class through the first scenario. Drugged by a gang she’s been after, Lois gains conscious­ness to find that she is bound, gagged, inside a tiny base­ment. Some­one behind is about to put a blind­fold on her. At this critical moment, Lois locates the base­ment’s electric meter and mem­orizes its serial number.

This bit of infor­ma­tion helps break the case and gets her a scoop. Before dismiss­ing the class, she hands out wri­ting assign­ments.

The next day students are greeted by a grue­some set piece: Hav­ing once crossed the line w/ racket­eer “Duke” Benson, he has en­ticed her over to his office and there ties her to a chair, plac­ing a bomb beneath the chair before his exit. Ignor­ing the lit fuse, she leans for­ward and nudges the phone off its cradle, picks up a pencil w/ her mouth, and dials 9-1-1, ... in the time it takes for her to grade this sec­ond assign­ment, Lois has deduced that two are not written by journal­ism students.

Think­ing to instruct her class by treat­ing this develop­ment as a case study, she outs them on­ly to real­ize too late they were sent to off her. Lois’s quick think­ing dis­tracts them long enough for Jim­my’s signal-watch to sum­mon Super­man, who makes a brief cameo at the very end.





▶ Lois’s College Scoops
Lois Lane №55 - 1965
(An Untold Tale)

One time, Lois took Jimmy Olsen and Super­man to her college re­union. There she grew nostalgic and, picking up a school scrap­book, leafed through to find a clip­ping of her first scoop for the Raleigh Review. It was an im­possible first assign­ment: to join an all-male only fenc­ing team and write about the expe­rience. The fenc­ing captain, who was a good sport and will­ing to go along, gives Lois a week to practise before they were to meet in a bout.

Through diligence and sheer love-of-report­ing, she out­fences the cap­tain, land­ing Lois her very first scoop.

Then she puts down her cup of punch and begins to leaf through a second scrap­book, lo­cat­ing a clip­ping of her first-hand ac­count of dis­cov­er­ing a new comet – by fluke, dur­ing a night at the Small­ville ob­ser­va­tory, where she was using the tele­scope to write a paper for astronomy class.

The last page held a tat­tered clip­ping of her strang­est scoop. Tak­ing a solo field trip for biol­ogy class, Lois had stum­bled across – and captured on film – a live pter­an­don and a liv­ing sabre-tooth. Her biolo­gy teac­her is wowed. Those pre­historic crea­tures van­ished with­out a trace, Lois! But thanks to the movies you took, we know exactly how they looked and acted!





▶ How Clark Kent First Met Lois Lane  (Bonus Tale)
Adventure Comics №128 - 1948
(An Exclusive Adventure of Superboy)

While still in high school, Clark receives a letter from the Daily Planet:  Clark Kent, 713 Main Street. Con­grat­u­la­tions! You are one of the two winners of our an­nual con­test to hon­or the best school news­paper re­por­ters. Your prize is a free-trip to Me­trop­o­lis, where you will be al­lowed to work as cub re­por­ter for one week. 

Overjoyed and full of bonhomie, Clark shows up and is introduced to Lois Lane, the other winner; he takes an instant shine to her. The editor tries to break this spell by assign­ing a competition to see who can bring in the best story of the day, with the winner getting a front page byline! Lois suggests a side bet to Clark, “The loser treats the winner to an ice cream sundae?”

I never bet … but I’ll make an excep­tion in your case!” After handshakes, Lois ventures out and, based on a hunch, stumbles into criminal activity, resulting in being tied up and about to meet her end – Superboy arrives and saves the day. After he has dispatched her attackers, this unknown being glides over and unties Lois. On an impulse she jumps into his arms and asks to be carried away from the scene, a request the Boy of Tomor­row was fated to grant. She later on wins the compe­tition (Clark has been busy else­where) and, after work, he takes her to a soda fountain and pays his bet. They spend the week chas­ing stories, then it’s time to wave good­bye to Lois from a train plat­form, wondering if he’ll ever cross paths w/ her again.


|  NOTES

[1]
BASED ON reports from, among others, Tricia Annis, Tim Hanley, Steven Thompson, and Internet searches.
[2]
BACK COVER AD – The back cover ad for Action Comics №1 was bought by the Johnson Smith & Company in Detroit, Michigan. They were purveyors of, among other things:
- pocket radios - midget radios - midget pocket radios - magic radios - crystal radios - radio & television books - experiment sets - wireless transmittals - telegraph sets - electric phones - electric baseballs - world mikes (a microphone) - deluxe microphones - big entertainers (an air mattress) - Stinson Reliant giant flying planes - all-metal model airplanes - wigs (blond only) - yacht caps - live chameleons - x-ray glasses - booklets on hypnotism, learning to dance, learning to tap dance, ventriloquism, and ju-jitsu - whoopee cushions - joy bussers - rings - luminous photos - luminous paints - movie projectors - telescopes - field glasses - world's smallest candid cameras - bull dog fish hooks - and Japanese rose bushes.



 WHAT HE SAID 
Gary Hustwit quote: I saw Helvetica everywhere [in New York City], and watched how people were interacting with - but not really thinking about - it. People going about their lives, letting a typeface tell them which direction their subway train was headed, where they could park, where the bathroom was, how much to pay for a hot dog. I felt like I’d stumbled onto a secret language.