"Most home remedies are more
sane and include cooling compresses, hot showers, and herbal poultices. A
favorite topical treatment is the application of the juice Impatiens
biflora, jewelweed.
This common swamp and ditchside plant was used medicinally by American Indians
and is still pronounced a sure cure by many urushiol victims.
The intrepid naturalist Ewell Gibbons kept a mash of jewelweed ice cubes in his
freezer for winter and early spring urushiol emergencies.
The reputation for the success of this natural, no side-effects, cost-free remedy has for generations outlasted medical skepticism about the chemical effect of the plant on poison ivy or oak rashes. An article in the Journal of Wilderness Medicine in 1991 reported that, in an experimental setting, the use of Impatiens biflora as a preventative or treatment for urushiol dermatitis did not duplicate the success related in personal anecdotes. Yet the actual effect of it and other home remedies on some individuals cannot be denied: Claims of relief and cures are not uncommon" (50).
Mr. 137 : "First opportunity, I sidle up and ask the talent wrangler how it is she knows so much about vaginal embolisms. Almost a thousand women dead every year? Killed by carrots and batteries forcing air inside them? That seems like a remarkably rarefied set of facts for anyone to reference offhand.
'Sorry,' I tell her, 'I couldn't help overhearing.'
Holding one end of a ballpoint pen, the wrangler taps it like a wand in the direction of each man still here. Her lips silent, making the shape of each number—27 ... 28 ...29—she writes something on her clipboard, at the same time saying, 'That's why Ms. Wright pays me the big bucks'" (88).
The reputation for the success of this natural, no side-effects, cost-free remedy has for generations outlasted medical skepticism about the chemical effect of the plant on poison ivy or oak rashes. An article in the Journal of Wilderness Medicine in 1991 reported that, in an experimental setting, the use of Impatiens biflora as a preventative or treatment for urushiol dermatitis did not duplicate the success related in personal anecdotes. Yet the actual effect of it and other home remedies on some individuals cannot be denied: Claims of relief and cures are not uncommon" (50).
Mr. 137 : "First opportunity, I sidle up and ask the talent wrangler how it is she knows so much about vaginal embolisms. Almost a thousand women dead every year? Killed by carrots and batteries forcing air inside them? That seems like a remarkably rarefied set of facts for anyone to reference offhand.
'Sorry,' I tell her, 'I couldn't help overhearing.'
Holding one end of a ballpoint pen, the wrangler taps it like a wand in the direction of each man still here. Her lips silent, making the shape of each number—27 ... 28 ...29—she writes something on her clipboard, at the same time saying, 'That's why Ms. Wright pays me the big bucks'" (88).
10 comments:
I will probably amend the broken links to reflect the new dispensation. This is what future compilers of Biblical correspondence will say five generations from now.
The reading of Chuck Palahniuk's Snuff*, released around Mother's Day 2008, characterized much of that Scorpionic relationship, where manipulation, jealousy, devastating exchanges and sex were encountered on almost a daily basis. My contribution to that fine mix was an unwillingness to let things go, or else, leave.
It is kinder to conceive of the conflict and key players in Composite astrology, which is an attempt to define interactions between two people approaching intimacy. There are recurrent themes, particularly in toxic relationships.
*The story was originally inspired by Annabel Chong, who set the record for engaging in 251 sex acts with around 70 men in 10 hours.
I do not mean, literally, serial fornication.
How do I inset new meanings in such sordid frames? I have not seen the party for years, but there is this transcript.
For a new discussion, the courage of birds:
http://www.sci-news.com/biology/science-family-tree-cotinga-birds-02218.html
"Then two at a time, these young things entered a plexiglass cage. The cage was raised to the ceiling, where it was connected to a monorail. As it crisscrossed and circled the theater, spotlights followed the performers, who were romping, tussling, embracing, kissing, sticking out their tongues, dying in ecstasies. For them it was a romp. The men, so many barbered heads turned upwards, were the somber ones. It was heavy going down below, especially when the plexiglass love cell returned to the stage. Then each of the girls in turn stooped, opened her knees, and dilated herself with her fingers. Dead silence. A kind of static insanity descended on the house. You could have drawn lines of force straight from the eyes of the men into the center of desire, the chaste treasure fully opened. Everybody had to see, to see, to see the thing of things, the small organ red as a satin pincushion. The men were packed together, too well disciplined to push. All these business and laboratory wizards rivaling the Germans, the British and the Americans, these high-tech and management types, not one of them drunk, not one opening his mouth, had come to see what these girls were displaying. Miss Osaka and Miss Nara put it in front of you, as literal as it was possible to be, and the more literal it was, the more mystery there seemed to be in it. The junior colleagues who had brought Uncle here to study his reactions weren't looking at him at all. All these botanists, engineers, inventors of miraculous visual instruments from electron microscopes to equipment that sent back pictures of the moons of Saturn, cared for nothing but these slow openings. [...]
'You've seen girlie shows before. A man over fifty, these aren't your first strippers.'
'Of course not. But I don't like the way I felt yesterday.'
[...] 'When people decide to put their ingenuity into any special field, they always go too far. It can become a kind of inferno.'"
-Saul Bellow's More Die of Heartbreak (1987)
https://english.elpais.com/culture/2022-09-30/from-building-his-own-castle-to-making-the-audience-faint-the-author-of-fight-club-reflects-about-his-life.html
I used to like the author's devious bent; not anymore.
https://inner.org/times/cheshvan/cheshvan.htm
I finished Last Comes the Raven (First Mariner Books Edition 2021) this morning in the bath, after I had put it down in disgust with the starved mules shot out from old men, a man ripped to bits by an antipersonnel mine, and songbirds haplessly shot out of the sky. This happened in fascist Italy; I know, but it was hard to find philosophy in that.
There were some choice moments in the latter half:
From "Theft in a Pastry Shop" (1984)
"It was then that a terrible worry came over Baby, the worry of not having time to eat all he wanted, of being forced to make his escape before he sampled all the different kinds of pastries, of having all this land of milk and honey at his disposal for only a few minutes in his whole life. And the more pastries he discovered, the more his anxiety increased, so that every new corner and every fresh view of the shop that was lit up by Dritto's flashlight seemed to be about to shut him off.
[...]
Dritto pulled him by the arm. 'The till,' he said. 'We've got to open the till.'
[...]
Baby was still thinking of Tuscan Mary, and it was then that he remembered he might have taken some pastries for her; he never gave her presents, and she might make a scene about it. He went back, snatched up some cream rolls, thrust them under his shirt, then, quickly realizing that he had chosen the most fragile ones, looked around for more solid things and those those into his bosom, too. At that moment he saw the shadows of policemen moving on the window. [...]
The police had now discovered the theft and also found the remains of half-eaten pastries on the shelves. And so, distractedly, they, too, began to nibble little pastries that were lying about—taking care, though, to leave the traces of the thieves.
[...] Later the police described how they had seen a monkey, its nose plastered with cream, swing across the shop, overturning trays and tarts; and how, by the time that they had recovered from their amazement and cleared the tarts from under their feet, he had escaped.
When Baby got to Tuscan Mary's and opened his shirt, he found his whole chest covered with a strange sticky paste. And they stayed till morning, he and she, lying on the bed, licking and picking at each other till they had finished the last crumb of pastry and blob of cream."
Furto in una pasticceria:
https://www.google.com/books/edition/Last_Comes_the_Raven/pfcqEAAAQBAJ?hl=en&gbpv=1&dq=%22Theft%20in%20a%20Pastry%20Shop%22%20Calvino&pg=PA213&printsec=frontcover
https://crimsonhort.com/products/50-plants-that-heal-flashcards#:~:text=50%20Plants%20That%20Heal%20is,stress%2C%20sleep%2C%20and%20more.
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