Sailing to Byzantium, W.B. Yeats

That is no country for old men. The young
In one another's arms, birds in the trees -
Those dying generations - at their song,
The salmon-falls, the mackerel-crowded seas,
Fish, flesh, or fowl, commend all summer long
Whatever is begotten, born, and dies.
Caught in that sensual music all neglect
Monuments of unageing intellect.

An aged man is but a paltry thing,
A tattered coat upon a stick, unless
Soul clap its hands and sing, and louder sing
For every tatter in its mortal dress,
Nor is there singing school but studying
Monuments of its own magnificence;
And therefore I have sailed the seas and come
To the holy city of Byzantium.

O sages standing in God's holy fire
As in the gold mosaic of a wall,
Come from the holy fire, perne in a gyre,
And be the singing-masters of my soul.
Consume my heart away; sick with desire
And fastened to a dying animal
It knows not what it is; and gather me
Into the artifice of eternity.

Once out of nature I shall never take
My bodily form from any natural thing,
But such a form as Grecian goldsmiths make
Of hammered gold and gold enamelling
To keep a drowsy Emperor awake;
Or set upon a golden bough to sing
To lords and ladies of Byzantium
Of what is past, or passing, or to come.

Echo, Christina Rossetti

Come to me in the silence of the night;
Come in the speaking silence of a dream;
Come with soft rounded cheeks and eyes as bright
As sunlight on a stream;
Come back in tears,
O memory, hope, love of finished years.

O dream how sweet, too sweet, too bitter sweet,
Whose wakening should have been in Paradise,
Where souls brimfull of love abide and meet;
Where thirsting longing eyes
Watch the slow door
That opening, letting in, lets out no more.

Yet come to me in dreams, that I may live
My very life again though cold in death:
Come back to me in dreams, that I may give
Pulse for pulse, breath for breath:
Speak low, lean low
As long ago, my love, how long ago.

The True Nature of Gnomes

Paracelsus somewhere in his writings tells us
A gnome moves through earth like an arrow in the air,
At home like a fish within the seamless, foamless
Liberty of the water that yields to it everywhere.

Beguiled with pictures, I fancied in my childhood
Subterranean rivers beside glimmering wharfs,
Hammers upon anvils, pattering and yammering,
Torches and tunnels, the cities of the dwarfs;

But in perfect blackness underneath the surface,
In a silence unbroken till the planet cracks,
Their sinewy bodies through the dense continuum
Move without resistance and leave no tracks.

Gravel, marl, blue clay—all's one to travel in;
Only one obstacle can impede a gnome—
A cave or a mine-shaft. Not their very bravest
Would venture across it for a shortcut home.

There is the unbridgeable. To a gnome the air is
Utter vacuity. If he thrust out his face
Into a cavern, his face would break in splinters,
Bursting as a man would burst in interstellar space.

With toiling lungs a gnome can breathe the soil in,
Rocks are like a headwind, stiff against his chest,
Chief 'midst his pleasures is the quiet leaf mould,
Like air in meadowy valleys when the wind's at rest.

Like silvan freshness are the lodes of silver,
Cold, clammy, fog-like, are the leaden veins
Those of gold are prodigally sweet like roses,
Gems stab coolly like the small spring rains.

—C.S. Lewis

Un poema por Antonio Machado

XXIX, de Proverbios y cantares

Caminante, son tus huellas
el camino y nada más;
Caminante, no hay camino,
se hace camino al andar.
Al andar se hace el camino,
y al volver la vista atrás
se ve la senda que nunca
se ha de volver a pisar.
Caminante no hay camino
sino estelas en la mar.

Hopkins, Inscape, and the Vindication of Nature

(Written 2008)

Gerard Manley Hopkins's poems "Pied Beauty" and "[As Kingfishers Catch Fire...]" both employ extensive natural imagery in hymns of praise to nature and to nature's God. In each we see something of Hopkins's concept of an inscape, the quality of a thing that makes it uniquely itself and nothing else (Everett). The images of physical things Hopkins evokes serve for him as reminders of the spiritual glory of the God who made them and endowed each with its particular individuality.

In terms of construction, [As Kingfishers Catch Fire...] is a sonnet consisting of an octave (two quatrains, ABBA–ABBA, using the same rhymes) and a sestet (CDCDCD form). The first quatrain catalogues five objects that, in doing what they do, distinctly define themselves. Each is accompanied by an active verb and intense, sensuous imagery. The second quatrain delves into Hopkins's notion of inscape, the revelatory "oneness" of a thing, the unique attributes that, combined, define an object (Everett). Each and every thing Hopkins observes—be it a bird or an insect or a stone thrown down a well—is uniquely itself, with its very own "being indoors" (6), or essence. What's more, each thing proclaims both this essence and the fact that it exists simply to embody it: "myself it speaks and spells, / crying Whát I do is me: for that I came" (7-8). In the sestet that makes up the second stanza Hopkins extends the quality of inscape to men, but here it is something more than merely the self-ness of an individual. A just man may justice—Hopkins uses it as a verb—but he also "keeps grace" (10) and is therefore kept in grace by God. Through this grace, the inscape of a just man is not only that of his unique self but also, "in God’s eye" (11), that of Christ, who therefore "plays in ten thousand places" (12). Paradoxically, multitudes of just men somehow share the same inscape, embodying both themselves and Christ in a mysterious universality. [1]

"Pied Beauty" is a so-called "curtal sonnet", an altered form of the Petrarchan sonnet, invented by Hopkins. Whereas the full-size sonnet has an octet and a sestet, this curtal sonnet has the same proportions on a smaller scale: a sestet followed by a quatrain with a half-line "tail" (Pitchford). Though he could have easily used more varied rhymes and still had a sonnet, Hopkins chooses to use fewer, forging a unity between the sestet and quatrain/tail: the rhyme scheme is ABCABC DBCDC. In the poem we see the same celebration of the inscapes of things, of animals and even of inanimate objects. Hopkins's primary images for most of the poem are those of colors and textures, for he tells us that God's glory is evident in something as simple as the contrast of two colors. As in [As Kingfishers Catch Fire...], the first stanza—or what would be the first stanza if Hopkins had divided the sestet and quatrain/tail—of "Pied Beauty" describes objects that, in being what they are, are gloriously themselves. Furthermore, there is a sort of progression downwards, as it were, from the "skies of couple-colour" (2) to plants and animals on the earth ("a brinded cow" (2), "trout that swim" (3), fallen chestnuts on the ground (4), and "finches' wings" (4)), to the land itself, "plotted and pieced" (5) in pastures and fields active and fallow. Agriculture serves here as the connecting metaphor between the natural world and man, for the next line, the last of the sestet, praises even man's occupations, with all "their gear and tackle and trim" (6). It may be that the trade of the just man who justices is among these, which would suggest a unity between the two poems; if so, then perhaps Hopkins implies that even in the ordinary jobs of men, God "keeps all [our] goings graces".

The quatrain and tail of "Pied Beauty" exalt all unique things (7) and their variety—"whatever is fickle, freckled" (8). Then, in a list of alliterative antonymous adjectives (9), Hopkins attempts to give some dimension to the magnitude of the different things that are. All of the wonders of creation that Hopkins so appreciates are the work of the God who "fathers-forth" (10) these things. In line ten we finally see what is perhaps the key word of the poem: beauty. In another paradox, the beauty of these varied things, all of them ephemeral, is also the grandeur of God "whose beauty is past change" (10). Again, the particular is made universal in the divine. The tail of the poem is almost devastating in its simplicity: "Praise him" (11). Having made all these artful rhymes extolling the beauty of the world, Hopkins sums up his poem in a simple exhortation to praise God.

Both poems are read easily enough as odes to the splendor of creation. But on another level—quite appropriately, considering Hopkins's vocation as a Jesuit—the two poems can be read for their biblical allusions and religious imagery. "Pied Beauty" has fewer biblically-inspired lines, being rather a hymn to nature of an almost pagan degree. [2] The "trout that swim" in line 3 may hearken back to the ichthys of early Christianity, but by and large the poem is devoid of explicit reference to religion except for the first and last two lines. On the other hand, the first line of [As Kingfishers Catch Fire...] summons up representations of both Christ and Satan. "Kingfishers" recalls Christ the King who called us to be "fishers of men", while "dragonflies" evokes those descriptions of the devil both as a dragon and as Beelzebub, Lord of the Flies. Though the fire caught and flames drawn refer to the brightness of kingfishers and dragonflies when in the light, they may also refer to the purifying fire of purgatory or infernal flames of hell. The "tucked string" (3) reminds us of Psalm 150, suggesting that we "praise [God] with the psaltery and harp"; hung bells (3) of course remind the reader of church bells. Hopkins's idea that Christ can be "lovely in limbs, and lovely in eyes not his" (13) is a decidedly anti-gnostic one: it necessitates that God does not spurn corporeal form. (Hopkins speaks metaphorically of course; he does not mean to argue that there are literally thousands of incarnations of Christ.) As we see in both poems, Hopkins views the physical not as a deterioration of spirit, but rather as a celebration of it.

In the heightened spiritual state of seeing the inscape of a thing, every thing that proclaims itself becomes a sacrament—not one of the seven proper sacraments of the Church, but nonetheless a physical manifestation with a heavenly meaning. Hopkins's delight in observing the natural world, his pleasure in seeing each thing doing that which it should, was for him the joy of recognizing God's hand at work. The notion of inscape, accepting the fundamental aptness of every "mortal thing", exalts matter, not over spirit, but certainly up to the same plane as spirituality. Implicitly, it is a condemnation of those things that go against nature (or at least, against the individual nature of the thing itself), and of those people who would wrongly separate grace from nature. In an age of industrialization, rampant "progress", and increasing alienation from the physical world, Hopkins still penned hymns of praise vindicating nature in all its forms.

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Works Cited
Everett, Glenn. "Hopkins on "Inscape" and "Instress"."
Hopkins, Gerard Manley. "[As Kingfishers Catch Fire...]."
---. "Pied Beauty."
Pitchford, Lois W. "The Curtal Sonnets of Gerard Manley Hopkins." Modern Language Notes 67 (1952): 165-169.

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Footnotes
1. Angelus Silesius, another Roman Catholic convert, priest and poet, whom it is quite possible Hopkins had read, wrote in the seventeenth century that all the blessed are one and that every Christian must be Christ (cf. Der cherubinische Wandersmann V, 7 & 9). Surely Hopkins is getting at the same thing at the end of [As Kingfishers Catch Fire...]. [back]
2. One is reminded of St. Francis of Assisi, who thanked God for "Brother Sun" and "Sister Moon". For Francis, too, the physical world proclaimed God's glory. [back]

Flatland, Spaceland, and the Quest for Higher Dimensions

(Written 2007)

If it is possible that there are extensions with other dimensions, it is also possible that God has somewhere brought them into being; for His works have all the magnitude and manifoldness of which they are capable.
--Immanuel Kant, "Thoughts on the True Estimation of Living Forces"

In 1884 the English scholar and clergyman Edwin Abbott Abbott (1838-1926) published Flatland, a slim tome of mathematical science fiction. It tells the story of A. Square, a two-dimensional being (from Flatland, a vast Euclidean plane) who is introduced to the third dimension. Besides being an apt caricature of Victorian social mores, Abbott's book is a useful analogy for us modern readers as scientists posit higher spatial dimensions and we try to understand them. By approaching the third dimension from the perspective of the second, Flatland anticipates the problems of envisioning what mathematicians call "Hyperspace"--the realm of higher dimensions. [1] On yet another level, the novel can be read as spiritual quest: in his book The Fourth Dimension, Rudy Rucker writes, "A. Square's trip into higher dimensions is a perfect metaphor for the mystic's experience of higher reality." With Flatland's example in mind, this essay will attempt to explain for the layperson some mathematical, scientific, and spiritual implications of the fourth dimension, as well as address the underlying problem of the concept: how can we know anything about a dimension whose existence we cannot empirically prove?

It is probably best to begin, as Abbott does, with mathematics. We can easily enough understand the relationship between algebraic exponentiation and geometry: three to the second power (3²) equals nine, just as a square with a length and width of three inches has an area of nine square inches. Three cubed is twenty-seven, just as a cube with a length, width and height of three inches has a volume of twenty-seven cubic inches. Carrying this one step further, we know that three to the fourth power equals eighty-one; ergo, the four-dimensional analogue of a cube--what mathematicians call a tesseract--would have a length, width, height and "extra-height" of three inches and a hypervolume of eighty-one hypercubic inches. [2] Unfortunately, our brains are unable to understand such a hyperspacial object except by analogy: we know that a tesseract would be made up of cubes in the same way that a cube is made up of squares, but we find it extremely difficult to properly visualize it. [3] Furthermore, we cannot assume that, since a tesseract is algebraically possible, it is geometrically possible; the usefulness of four-dimensional equations is such that if the fourth dimension did not exist, it would be necessary to invent it. Though hyperspacial forms exist as a Platonic ideal, mathematics alone cannot tell us whether they are indeed real in our physical world. We can only, as A. Square does, "cast [ourselves] in faith upon conjecture, not knowing the facts."

Having failed to gain a concrete understanding through mathematics, we can attempt to comprehend the fourth dimension via the scientific hypothesis that necessitates its existence, String Theory. In The Elegant Universe Brian Greene likens our understanding of a multidimensional universe to than of a person viewing a suspended garden hose from far away. From a distance, the hose appears to be a one-dimensional line, though in fact its surface is two-dimensional: it has length and a circular dimension, which is "curled up", making it difficult to detect without a closer look. The fourth dimension Greene hypothesizes is both compactified to an infinitesimally small degree (far beyond anything we can currently detect), and located at every point in the three spatial dimensions we know of. For string theory to achieve its harmonious melding of general relativity and quantum mechanics, we must assume that the "strings" (one-dimensional structures considered by string theorists to be the fundamental components of reality) vibrate in at least nine spatial dimensions. But what are these dimensions? The theory, formulated by physicists Eugenio Calabi and Shing-Tung Yau, is that there is a shape with six dimensions compactified into it (a "Calabi-Yau space") at every point in the universe. When we move through space, we are actually moving through these higher dimensions; however, they're so minutely small that we don't notice them. Abbott, remarkably prescient as he was, noted something like this. In his preface to the second edition of Flatland he addresses the objection that Flatlanders must actually have an infinitesimally small third dimension of height, or they would be unable to see each other. A. Square responds,

"It is true that we have really in Flatland a Third unrecognized Dimension called 'height', just as it is also true that you have really in Spaceland a Fourth unrecognized Dimension, called by no name at present, but which I will call 'extra-height'. But we can no more take cognizance of our 'height' than you can of your 'extra-height'. ... I cannot now comprehend it, nor realize it by the sense of sight or by any process of reason; I can but apprehend it by faith."

String theory appears to be a fine resolution of some physics problems raised in the last century, but it is not verifiable; everything new it theorizes happens at such a small scale that we can't empirically prove it. We are left, like the Flatlanders, to make a leap of faith: we are no closer to a tangible confirmation of hyperspace than we were with mathematics.

Rational pursuits having failed us, we may as well examine some supernatural explanations concerning the fourth dimension. In Flatland, the Sphere, as a three-dimensional being, can reach through the fabric of Flatland to move tablets from one room to another, and can even touch A. Square's innards (much to the latter's distress). For the spiritually inclined it is tempting to postulate that what we call supernatural phenomena could somehow be the work of four-dimensional beings operating on our plane of existence. At first glace this appears to be a convenient solution for many of our deepest problems: the beings and concepts we once labeled as supernatural are simply a part of another dimension, with its own empirically deducible laws. The notion that our souls are hyperspacial forms dates at least as far back as 1659, when the Cambridge Platonist Henry More made the claim in his book The Immortality of the Soul. Unfortunately, More's assertion is little more than idle speculation, and it was completely forgotten for several centuries. In the second half of the nineteenth century there was rampant conjecture about the fourth dimension, encouraged both by mathematical speculation and by a growing fascination with the occult. Charlatans exploited this popular interest to explain paranormal phenomena performed at séances, calling on four-dimensional beings to do parlor tricks. As respected a scientist as Johann Carl Friedrich Zöllner, an early pioneer in the field of photometry, fell for such claims, zealously defending them. Con artists notwithstanding, the idea that the fourth dimension is a metaphysical realm was indeed popular among spiritualists; in 1888, A.T. Schofield wrote,

"We conclude, therefore, that a higher world than ours is not only conceivably possible, but probable; secondly, that such a world may be considered as a world of four dimensions... Though the glorious material universe extends beyond the utmost limits of our vision, even artificially aided by the most powerful telescopes, that does not prevent the spiritual world and its beings, and heaven and hell being by our very side."

However, if we accept the assumption that spiritual concepts are merely four-dimensional concepts, what about higher dimensions? If we accept the faith claim that one more spatial dimension exists, we are in no position to deny the possibility of additional ones. A truly omniscient, omnipotent, omnipresent God (or, at least, the notion of such a being) cannot be limited to a finite dimension, and thus we still have the problem of infinite regress; hyperspace cannot provide us with a neat and tidy mathematical solution to metaphysical questions.

Even were there a set number of dimensions, there are other problems with labeling God as a higher-dimensional being. A. Square, upon learning of the third dimension, goes further, envisioning a "Thoughtland"--we may read it as the dimension of infinity--where a being could look down on all dimensions and comprehend their forms. We may assume that a being in Thoughtland is God, but Abbott argues otherwise: "This omnividence [4]... does it make [one] more just, more merciful, less selfish, more loving? Not in the least. Then how does it make [one] more divine?" Divinity, for Flatland's author, is not a function of power and knowledge, but of righteousness; since there is nothing intrinsically virtuous about hyperspace, God cannot be God simply because he is a denizen of some higher dimension.

Ultimately, it seems that there is no union of theoretical mathematics with theology that can satisfy both mathematicians and theologians. Abbott, a clergyman himself, dismissed the effort to link mathematical understanding with spiritual improvement; in The Kernel and the Husk he wrote, "Even if we could conceive of Space of Four Dimensions... we should not be one whit better morally or spiritually. ... [N]o knowledge of Quadridimensional space can guide us [towards spirituality]". If we cannot use the sciences to further ourselves spiritually, then, conversely, spirituality will not help us advance our understanding of science; to conflate the two is to devalue both. In our condition, hyperspace can exist as a mathematical abstraction and object of speculation, but nothing more.

Our search for a fourth spatial dimension, then, must necessarily be a failure. Though we have the tools of mathematical, scientific, and spiritual inquiry, they cannot reveal hyperspace to us while we remain in our three-dimensional universe. We, the residents of Spaceland, have as much trouble envisioning Hyperspace as the Flatlanders have conceptualizing our world; while mathematical analogy is useful, it cannot truly show us because our brains are hard-wired, as it were, to grasp only the three spatial dimensions to which we are accustomed. Our scientific theories, though they are a fine basis for predicting physical phenomena, are not laws, and can only hypothesize hyperspace's existence. Likewise, spirituality can serve a valuable purpose, but it is not useful in the pursuit of the fourth dimension. Unlike A. Square, we have no otherworldly guide who has deigned to enlighten us, and thus must remain in our ignorance as long as we remain in this universe of ours.

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If you liked this essay, you just might enjoy:

• Abbott, Edwin Abbott. The Annotated Flatland. Ed. Ian Stewart. Cambridge, Massachusetts: Perseus Publishing, 2002.
• Hinton, Charles. Fourth Dimension Writings.
• Krauss, Lawrence M. Hiding in the Mirror. New York: Viking, 2005.
• Rucker, Rudy. The Fourth Dimension. Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1984.

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Footnotes

1. N.B. In popular usage, the "fourth dimension" refers to time, but I shall not treat it as such in this essay: hereafter I shall use the term for the fourth spatial dimension. [back]

2. There is a problem of language here. There is no accepted name for the direction of the fourth dimension, so I use "extra-height", a term used by Abbott. (An alternate word, devised by Henry More in the seventeenth century, is "spissitude".) "Hypervolume" and "hypercubic" are simply the four-dimensional equivalents of our words volume and cubic. [back]

3. It is worth noting that many have tried. A fine example is Robert A. Heinlein's short story "--And He Built a Crooked House--", in which an architect constructs a house in the shape of an unfolded tesseract; after an earthquake, the house somehow falls into the fourth dimension. [back]

4. "Omnividence" may be Abbott's own word, as a quick search reveals few sources besides him that use it. It simply means "the capacity of seeing all things", from the Latin OMNI "all" + VIDERE "to see". [back]

The Art of Art Snobbery

(Written 2005)

Depending on what circles you travel in, it is quite possible (indeed, likely) to come across someone who claims to know something about art. To engage such a person in discussion (at a party, for example) can prove difficult, at best; for one thing, they always seem to direct the conversation towards their area of expertise, using far too many French words. Three minutes into the chat you've lost any sense of direction and have begun to inch backwards towards the door, which you may or may not reach before collapsing in a frustrated stupor. And that would seem to ruin the whole party experience, wouldn't it? But this need not always occur: one can turn the tables. With a little practice, anyone can make art an impenetrable fog, incomprehensible to the listener.

Certainly the most important factor in becoming an art snob is attaining the vocabulary to sound impressive. Key words include many '-isms', such as modernism, impressionism, expressionism, regionalism, neoclassicism, fauvism, deconstructionism, revivalism, dadaism, surrealism, and others. Put a 'post' in front of one, if possible. Then, insert an adjective—the longer, the better: Kafkaesque, metacritical, Aristotelian, übermenschian, etc. Finish by adding a 'reminiscent of...' a foreign phrase: Die Neue Sachlichkeit, La Belle Epoque, Kamchatka. Feel free to make up appropriate-sounding words. Such phrases are even more bewildering when applied together—compare these two sentences:

1. "I really like how the artist paints that fruit."
2. "The artist's verdant, luxuriant painting, while continuing the pastoral dichotomy of past works, admirably captures the subversive hermeneutics of desire, embodying a subaltern pathos of duplicity and dialectic into a polysemous weave of interleaved multitextuality that fitfully illuminates a life's work spent dancing on a metacritical pin."
For maximum effect, use adjectives that have no relation whatsoever to art, for good measure: arsenious, lugubrious, schadenfreudeian, agrarian, diaphanous, esophageal, etc. Your unfortunate listener will be unable to do anything but nod and smile weakly.

Though it may prove impossible to constantly evaluate specific art works or artists, the snob must relate everything to at least an art topic. Name-drop—the more obscure, the better: "Why, just yesterday I was eating lunch with Hans Namuth. The Hans Namuth. And he was telling me about his Vin d'Anges with Andreas Becker—can you believe it? What? You haven't heard of Andreas Becker? Or Hans Namuth?" If the person listening hasn't heard of the person referenced, cultivate an appropriate sneer, saying, "Well, you certainly don't get around much, do you?" Remember to place the spoken emphasis in the oddest of places. Then continue: "As I was saying, he had ordered the minestrone, and I said..."

Wardrobe, too, constitutes a vital part of the development of the "art snob" mystique. If possible, grow a goatee, regardless of your gender. Wear a turtleneck, preferably with a snazzy jacket. (Taste—at least what other uncultured plebeians consider 'taste'—isn't really an issue. Actually, you'd do better to dress as ostentatiously as possible.) Then there are the glasses: whether or not one has a vision problem, tinted glasses are absolutely essential. Favorite colors include rose pink, olive green, maroon, or lavender. One's clothing should be eclectic, yet refined.

The most difficult part of feigning knowledge about art is truly a test of craftiness: conversing with someone who actually does know something about art. Such a person may be a college art professor (though many of these also prove fraudulent, fortunately), or a curator. Now, chances are the person will prove just as fake as most snobs, but there may be the slight chance that they aren't. Drop a phrase or two on them, perhaps with a reference thrown in for good measure. Note their reaction—do they stare rather blankly, glassy-eyed? Or has such a comment, heaven forbid, engaged them? Do they seem puzzled? Perhaps they suspect that anyone who would say such a thing knows nothing whatsoever about art. Now is the time to abort. The easiest way to do this consists of excusing oneself to go to the restroom. Make it clear: you absolutely have to use the restroom. Don't allow the individual to continue talking, lest they discover your deception. Walk away slowly, maintaining a slow, easy pace—any sign of nervousness and the jig is up. Once out of the room, leave. Don't come back to get a coat left behind. It's not worth it. If the bathroom door is actually in sight, your problem is more severe: escape through the window may be the only solution. Afterwards, make a conscious effort to avoid the individual at all future parties.

Once one is able to pass this test, however, art snobbery can prove to be both enjoyable and profitable. Have fun with it. Make up convincing-sounding words. Use a watch to time how long it takes for someone to get lost in the depths of art jargon. Practice a suitably upsetting sneer. The art historian Erwin Panofsky once said, "he who teaches innocent people to understand art without bothering about classical languages, boresome historical methods and dusty old documents, deprives naïveté of its charm without correcting its errors." But why even bother trying to understand art, when one can so easily pretend to be an expert?

Willkommen

As you probably know, GeoCities is going (figuratively) under, which leaves me (figuratively) scrambling to find web-hosting elsewhere. In the meantime, Blogger accounts are still no cost, which makes this the best option at the mo'. Here, then, will be my repository of things that used to be on my ol' GeoCities page, as well as new things that would've gone there.