How we decided we were machines ourselves

Stephen Hawking was in trouble. Another
man wasn’t sure that the world existed.
Every day he heard loud, terrifying
screams inside his head. His bodyguard said

he spent evenings staring at the wall.
Apparently impossible things were
happening all the time: The President
of Turkmenistan was determined to give

his horse to Britain; Leila the elephant
visiting a psychiatric community’s
Christmas party, inflating a giraffe.
He locked his wife in a cupboard and watched

Citizen Kane again and again.
Human beings will always betray you.
Now there was nothing for the dolphins
to do, he would be their creature.

From No Context Adam Curtis Intertitles.

When we are asleep

The moon is shining, though heavy clouds cover her.
One can see the row of small ships silhouetted
in front and behind us against the grey sea.
And so we sail on towards Caen. You, my angel,

sleep gently in the nursery. A long line
of flares hangs over Cherbourg. Funny to imagine
that there Germans run around their guns.
The engine of our boat rocks and rattles.

With me sleep three officers; how childlike
and natural we look when we are asleep.
The air is free of aeroplanes. The best
we can do now is listen to the wireless.

I hope that Andrew’s golden head
rests gently upon his small pillow.
My eyes become wet when I think of you;
I can imagine how you listen to the news.

From Captain Alastair Bannerman’s diary entry on D-Day, 6 June 1944.

Donated

A five-hundred-pound US Navy practice bomb.
A stolen Frederic Remington sculpture.
Customized Air Jordans made for Spike Lee.
The first stamp issued in the US.
More than 5000 used blood vials.
Three pounds of marijuana.
Live Japanese grenades.
A mas­todon tooth.
A live puppy.

People.

Items found in donation bins, according to The Death of a Superman.

A wildness remains

The herd has gathered loosely around
an adult roe deer on the ground.
The black mare does not want it there.
She bites at its neck, pinning it down
and sending tufts of pale fur flying up.

The mare pummels it with both front hooves.
The other horses circle, tension
rising. Every time they approach, the mare
chases them off, ears back, teeth bared.
The brutal scene unfolds until –

what palpable relief – the deer is dead.
Outside, too, has seemed peculiar:
three oystercatchers on the cut grass
of the Norfolk Showground, their orange beaks
flashing neon as they probe for earthworms.

From Even in tame horses, a wildness remains.

I’m not sure what the lesson is

The garage is lined with meticulously
indexed old magazines, vinyl records,
World War II artifacts, rare stamps,
VHS tapes and vintage fishing rods.
A Hermes 3000 typewriter, framed
oil paintings, ancient Chinese vases.

He told me about a unit
in Hackensack that had belonged
to a socialite. It was heaped
with trash bags containing Prada
dresses, Hermès scarves and jewelry.
There were also empty vodka
bottles, divorce papers and
distressing financial documents.

One evening in 1985,
Mr. Crispo and a gallery assistant
picked up a Norwegian art student named
Eigil Dag Vesti. After a drug-fueled night,
Mr. Vesti was shot dead while naked
and handcuffed. Three weeks later, hikers
discovered his corpse in a smokehouse,
a zipped leather hood over the head.

Mr. Crispo died destitute in 2024
in a Brooklyn nursing facility,
causing his storage unit to go delinquent.

Michael sold a Man Ray painting
and some Walt Kuhn drawings he found
inside for nearly $50,000.

Its contents seemed routine at first —
tool boxes, hammer holsters, saws,
drills, some Spanish-language comic books.
But deep within the clutter, in a tattered
box, Michael found a Purple Heart.

The address brought him to a home
with a rusted white fence in an
immigrant enclave of Union City.
A pair of dust-caked Timberland
boots sat by the entrance. No one
answered Michael’s knocks at the door.
No one answered his calls after he pulled
a phone number through public records.
Then he sent a letter. He is
still waiting to hear back.

People’s lives are in these lockers.
Belongings can tell you a lot
about a person. When you meet
someone, you might think you know them,
but you just don’t.

From A New Jersey Teen Finds Treasure, and More, in Abandoned Storage Units.

Helpless animals

This morning, we learned that from now on 
divorce is forbidden. Also suppressed 
are the Écoles Normales as well as 
petits suisses, coeurs, double-crème. 
We shall no longer be sold fresh bread, 
and coffee grains will be mixed with acorns! 
For we enjoyed ourselves too much under 
the Third Republic, Pétain has said so; 
and pleasure degrades. Can’t we return 
to the land and to handicrafts 
without singing: Prends Ton Fusil, Grégoire?

Benoîte Groult’s diary, 21 September 1940, from Paris under Nazi occupation.

Manager on fire

Our training ground is across the hedge from
Arsenal. There was smoke and you could smell it.

He usually starts his day at five thirty
AM: two hours before Guardiola.
He planted a one-hundred-and-fifty
year-old olive tree outside his office
to symbolise the history of the club
and the responsibility to look
after the roots every single day. From
using a lightbulb during a pre-match
team talk to create electricity and
energy, to hiring professional
pickpockets during a pre-season dinner
and adopting a chocolate-coloured labrador
called Win, no stone has been left unturned.

From After bonfires, bulbs and a dog called Win, will Arteta get Arsenal going again?