Oz magazine
"It magazine sixties hippy counter culter"
Eine unerschöpfliche Fundgrube, für alle die sich für diese Zeit interresieren. Ihr müßt auch den weiterführenden Links folgen. Dort gibt es noch mehr von diesem Teufelswerk.
link via notes from somewhere bizarre
TABLOID PHOTOGRAPHS FROM THE LOS ANGELES HERALD EXPRESS. Toll gemacht, super Fotos. Respekt.
Die Los Angeles Public Library lädt zum stöbern ein. Da muß man Zeit mitbringen, die ich jetzt leider nicht habe. Werde langsam müde, klicke so rum, übersehe wohl einige Perlen.
"all Pointsman will score, presently, is an octopus--yes a gigantic, horror-movie devilfish name of Grigori" 51; "an octopus is much too elaborate" 52; "they're brewing up something that involves a giant octopus" 112; "the inner room where octopus Grigori oozes sullenly in his tank" 113; "an octopus? Yes it is the biggest fucking octopus Slothrop has ever seen outside of the movies, Jackson," 186; "Shaking Slothrop waves the crab at the octopus" 187; "this octopus is not in good mental health" 187; "that was no "found" crab, Ace--no random octopus or girl, uh-uh" 188; "'I saved a dame from an octopus not so long ago, how about that?' 'With one difference,' sez Blodgett Waxwing. 'This really happened tonight. But that octopus didn't.'" 248; "From out of her body streams a flood now of different creatures, octopuses" 447; "Octopus Grigori in his tank, watching the Katje footage" 533; "Gerhardt von Göll, with his corporate octopus wrapping every last negotiable item in the Zone" 611;
See also Vintage Octopus Pulp Covers
Text via Gravity's Rainbow von Thomas Pynchon von Hyperarts
Image via The Crime in your Coffe
„"We still need a hundred-and-fourth for the bridge." Chuckled aridly. The bridge, die Brucke, being his pet name for the experiment he was helping the community hospital run on effects of LSD-25, mesca-line, psilocybin, and related drugs on a large sample of surburban housewives. The bridge inward. "When can you let us fit you into our schedule."
"No," she said, "you have half a million others to choose from. It's three in the morning."
"We want you." Hanging in the air over her bed she now beheld the well-known portrait of Uncle that appears in front of all our post offices, his eyes gleaming unhealthily, his sunken yellow cheeks most violently rouged, his finger pointing between her eyes. I want you. She had never asked Dr Hilarius why, being afraid of all he might answer.“
Thomas Pynchon: The Crying of Lot 49 . Siehe auch die famose Pomonasite über T.Pynchon
Link via Schaukasten
Uncle Sam Image via Object List (John Bull and Uncle Sam)
Minnetonka? Wo zum Henker ist Minnetonka?
Ich liebe es wenn ich beim herumstöbern im Internet auf ganz schräge, liebenswerte Datenbanken stoße. Wie wäre es zum Beispiel mit der Minnetonka Historical Society ?
Bei der Minnesota Historical Society gibt es eine Seite über die Rassenunruhen und die Lynchjustiz in Duluth im Jahre 1920.
I leave for the States in the Opposition steamer to-morrow, and I ask, as a special favor, that you will allow me to say good-bye to my highway-robber friends of the Gold Hill and Virginia Divide, and convince them that I have got ahead of them. They had their joke in robbing me and returning the money, and I had mine in the satisfaction of knowing that they came near freezing to death while they were waiting two hours for me to come along the night of the robbery. And at this day, so far from bearing them any ill will, I want to thank them kindly for their rascality. I am pecuniarily ahead on the transaction. I got a telegram from New York, last night, which reads as follows:
"New York, December 12th.
"Mark Twain: Go to Nudd, Lord & Co., Front street, collect amount of money equal to what highwaymen took from you. (Signed.) A.D.N."
I took that telegram and went to that store and called for a thousand dollars, with my customary modesty; but when I found they were going to pay it, my conscience smote me and I reduced the demand to a hundred. It was promptly paid, in coin, and now if the robbers think they have got the best end of that joke, they are welcome -- they have my free consent to go on thinking so. {It is barely possible that the heft of the joke is on A.D.N., now.}
Good-bye, felons -- good-bye. I bear you no malice. And I sincerely pray that when your cheerful career is closing, and you appear finally before a delighted and appreciative to be hanged, that you will be prepared to go, and that it will be as a ray of sunshine amid the gathering blackness of your damning recollections, to call to mind that you never got a cent out of me. So-long, brigands.