Word: dusted
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Dates: during 1960-1969
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...thing possible to death, and the practice of Yoga is "a systematic conditioning of the body to conniving in its own destruction, at the command of the will, by a series of graduated stages." Koestler erroneously thinks that the "Christian ascetic mortifies his body to hasten its return to dust."* This, he holds, at least has the merit of directness over the yogi's "prodigious detour. He must build up his body into a superefficient, super-sentient instrument of self-annihilation...
Minnesota. Jaunty, fast-talking Hubert Humphrey, 49, is a child of the South Dakota dust bowl who cannot forget that New Deal relief programs saved the customers who saved his family's drugstore. Mastermind of Minnesota's potent Democratic-Farmer-Labor Party, erudite ex-Professor (political science) Humphrey first talked his way to the Senate in 1948. He can be counted on to lead his crusade for true-blue liberalism come recession, prosperity or the millennium...
...they make a loud rat-a-tat-tat sound. To the space traveler, the chief harm that they can do is psychological. So Whipple suggests that the nerves of spacemen be shielded from this hazard by surrounding their capsule by a thin metal shell that wi!! intercept the speeding dust particles but will not transmit to the capsule the unnerving sounds that they make...
...only a mass of flesh and viscera but also a piece of geology-a part of history, a part of the earth. As for scale, Dubuffet would have none of it. A painting could be both a vast landscape and at the same time a tiny patch of dust seen through a microscope. Nor was the beholder ever supposed to know just what Dubuffet's images were supposed to be. "I am pleased," he said, "to see life in trouble, going insane-hesitating between certain forms that we recognize as belonging to our familiar surroundings and others that...
Lonesome Traveler is a title that needs a banjo accompaniment, and so does the book itself - a collection of short pieces about the wandering years in which he ambled through the experiences that look so impressive when summarized on the back of a dust jacket. Kerouac is daffy and exuberant as he tells of working as an apprentice brakeman on the Southern Pacific Railroad, flunkeying on a freighter from Oakland to New Orleans, blasting exaltedly on O(pium) with a Mexican narcotics wholesaler. But the author is not wholly a praiser of his own beat-romantic past. He admits...