The Eleventh Window. Old Fox was going up to London, and Babcia had gone to see him off at the train station. Afterwards, she walked back to the village square to do a little shopping for the day. At the grocers, which was very festive with Christmas trees and garlands and wreaths for sale and fancy tins of Huntley and Palmers, she bought some coffee and laundry soap and a Fuller's chocolate cake, and was just fastening her purse and preparing to leave when the owner emerged from the back and asked if he might possibly have a quick word.
He was a tall, broad man with dark curly hair and big bristling eyebrows. Old Fox always said he could play a marvellous Mayor of Casterbridge if he ever felt inclined to join the Hardy players. He was gruff but kind and had a very sweet tooth, which was mirrored in the inventory of his shop, which had one of the best selections of cakes and sweets and chocolates in Dorset.
Yes, said Babcia, looking sternly over her lunettes.
I was just wondering, Madam, said the Shop Keeper, clearing his throat, if there, were, um, any, um, delicacies from your Poland that you would like us to keep. I asked my supplier and he said they can get most regular things, I believe, from the big cities. We at the store, want you and your grandson to feel most welcome, you see, and I knows how sometimes you miss things from back home, even when you're settled right in, as you are, with Professor Fox.
Babcia looked up at the Shop Keeper, who was mopping a bead of sweat from his brow, and extended a paw.
That is very good of you, she said, I will consider this very carefully and bring you a list.
And she managed to say goodbye, and walk across the Square and then across the Green and down Lace street, until she was enfolded by the rambling scarlet-hawed hedges and arching trees of their own quiet lane, and could have a little cry, blowing her nose with a tiny frilled hankie embroidered with snowdrops.
For kindness of that kind to immigrants and people and animals of difference was not a common nor a small thing in 1930, and she was deeply and unexpectedly moved.
@ArchaicLens Birdman is a global symbol. I recommend some Joseph Campbell, Jung ect All made by humans, human brains. We share the same symbols, the same problem solving methods.We also share similar myths. A Tribe in Borneo or the Amazon will have similar myths and it' not due to contact.
Jane Goodall died today. While smarter and more informed people will talk about her work, I want to share a snippet from her Wikipedia page - the two greatest paragraphs ever on Wikipedia. The first parts are amusing and interesting, but the last sentence elevates it to high art.
A 19th-century Japanese netsuke, carved from ebony with intricate inlays, showing an owl battling a bat. Not from our collection, just something we love! 🦇
After 30 months of metrological rigor on PV001, the truth emerges with surgical precision: Mark Qvist's π and φ² ratios hold up under CT-scan scrutiny (0.05-0.17% error), while his Radial Traversal Pattern collapses.
https://t.co/BkpHSWoS7K
But the real story isn't the math - it's the misconduct. Artifact Foundation's systematic data manipulation, plagiarism of draft reports, fabricated museum policies, and legal threats reveal how "ancient precision" claims evaporate when integrity fails.
PV001 remains a unicorn - exceeding industrial CNC precision with RMSD of 22μm - but its flawless surface shows zero wear. The probability of three interlocking ratios occurring by chance? 0.004%. The probability of two such "ancient" vessels belonging to the same collector? Statistically obscene.
My conclusion: This isn't 5,000 years old. More likely off by a factor of ~1,000.
When researchers present incorrect data as ancient marvels while threatening critics, they've crossed from questionable scholarship into scientific theater. Extraordinary precision claims require extraordinary evidence - not extraordinary evasion of peer review.
Data > Dogma. Always.
I came into this project hoping to find solid evidence that could be used to ascertain the existence of a lost civilization, instead I found a noisy dataset (both physically and morally). If the community really wishes to rewrite history by documenting a so far unknown civilization, we need to stay rigorous and true.
@UnchartedX1@MBeallX@markqvist@ArtifactFNDN@karolypoka@DrDavidMiano@BrightInsight6@DeDunkingPast@TonyTrupp@SnkBrs@DrHughT@megaminutiae@alexandertolano@ChrisWithRobots@FoMaHun@Apkalluu@goob_the57373@oligodynamick@ET_Iconoclasta@Bastet545169547@adancingferret@JosephAPWilson1@outofspace2@occamsrazor22@AncientEpoch@PortantIssues@uapcappa
Reminder that the whole earth, perpetually steeped in blood, is nothing but a vast altar upon which all that is living must be sacrificed without end, without measure, without pause, until the consummation of things, until evil is extinct, until the death of death.
AI is an amplifier, often with distortion, not the original sound. Social media is another distortion amplifier. I think about this often: how can we nurture, protect, and truly know our own hearts with fewer amplifiers and less distortion? Prayer, meditation, workouts, voluntary adversity come to mind.