Word: gibberish
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...witch, nor willing to be interviewed or give her last name) more closely resembles a psychiatrist’s office. “Hon, I am a spiritual healer,” Sabrina says. Do not worry, Sabrina wastes no time with Mars-ravages-the-Twelfth-House gibberish. Within ten minutes of laying out the Tarot cards, she’s gone through love—“do not worry, you will meet your soul mate soon”—and personality—“do not worry, you are fiercely independent?...
...Roberts agrees with her. He attempts a lawyerly gloss on the whole discussion by launching into an exegesis of the possible meanings of Bong Hits 4 Jesus, explaining that it "could be interpreted as an imperative" (DO bong hits), a celebration of drug use (bong hits are GOOD) or "gibberish" (TOO MANY bong hits). In any event, he concludes that it must have some meaning, and since the one the principal gave it is as good as any, let her fight the good fight against potheads, with the court's blessing...
Picture a motorized loveseat that bangs against the wall and the floor, as an audio book plays from an attached pair of headphones. Or imagine an opaque, reflective black box made of Plexiglass and engraved with the sort of gibberish characters familiar from incompatibilities in word processing programs. Such pieces of installation art are no longer actually in existence, but images documenting their impermanent lifespan form part of a new exhibit, entitled “That Was Then and This is Now: interventions, installations, and performance art documented.” The showing, affiliated with The Harvard Advocate, will...
...unusual in a way that will make people uncomfortable.” “A lot of time, experimental theater will make people [feel] like, ‘I don’t get this, why is this person in a black box speaking gibberish at me?’ [Our show] really is something that is coherent,” Kirk adds. KEEPING UP APPEARANCES Because Holding does not have an obvious impediment that typically makes the character stand out from society, she evokes the play’s greater questions, the creators...
...deleted the message. Around dinner time, I received “FW: More pictures of Layla.” A new baby, I imagined, wondering how long it would take before the sender realized that I was no relation of hers. That evening came a piece of almost poetic gibberish: “FW: Harof Layla wabble!” Harof Layla wabble?” How delightful—something a baby might gurgle, I thought, before recognizing the language as Arabic. Did the muffin walk? Eat? Cry? Such intrigue, such absurdity. Since then, I’ve received...