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Whiplike Belts. With a primeval howl, a nation of 14 million people reverted to near savagery, plunged backward into the long night of chaos. Tribe turned upon tribe. Blacks turned upon Europeans. The deserted streets of great cities resounded with delirious gunfire and war cries in a dozen tongues. The 25,000-man Force Publique mutinied against their white officers, then turned their anger on their new government, against all whites, against all authority. There seemed no logical explanation for the madness that swept the Congo. The Congolese involved gave no coherent answers except to ask bitterly where were...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: CONGO: The Monstrous Hangover | 7/18/1960 | See Source »

...Christian going to his reward-even as she makes the sign of the cross, the grieving widow will say, "Charon took him"-the miroloy mirrors in its 16-syllable line the lament of Andromache over the body of Hector. At graveside, the chief mourner's voice becomes a howl of hysteria ("Oh, my warrior! The arch and pillar of our house!"), her hair tumbles in disorder, and she tears at her cheeks with her fingernails till they are crisscrossed with red gashes and running with tears and blood. In the mesmeric half-trance of the dirge, the singer...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: Books: Rock Garden of the Gods | 7/18/1960 | See Source »

...night, when Kishi summoned a Cabinet meeting in his official residence across from the white granite Diet building. As the 17 ministers assembled shortly after midnight, the windows were reddened by the glare of flames from police trucks set ablaze by 14,000 rioters outside. They could hear the howl of the mob as it acclaimed the martyrdom of a 22-year-old coed named Michiko Kamba, who had been trampled as the stone-throwing mob reeled backward under the charge of 4,000 nightstick-swinging policemen...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: JAPAN: The Expendable Premier | 6/27/1960 | See Source »

...TORNADO RIDE. A peaceful drive through farmland suddenly turns into a daymare as the customer gets what he's paid for. Caught in the core of a twister, he looks up to see barn doors, bodies, toilet seats, privy doors, cows, etc., whirling about his head in the howl and whoosh of a wind machine. The illusion is complete, as the tourist car actually moves slowly across the interior of a huge drum that spins at 75 revolutions per minute...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: SPECTACLES: Bizneylcmd | 6/20/1960 | See Source »

Last week, as a roundabout result of these international developments, a lively New Wavelet of cinematic creativity was rolling across the U.S. and gathering momentum by the moment. The beatnik film, Pull My Daisy, which runs only 29 minutes but seems considerably longer, is a sort of celluloid-muffled Howl. Financed (for $20,000) by a couple of Manhattan brokers, it features a few well-known beat bards (Allen Ginsberg, Gregory Corso, Peter Orlovsky) in a "free improvisation" on a scene from an unproduced play by Jack (On the Road) Kerouac. The beatniks stumble around a pad on Manhattan...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: Cinema: New Wavelet | 5/23/1960 | See Source »

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