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Here's a message for the worn and haggard, the wretched sleepless legions who play pinball until their thumbs are numb and even that game loses its meaning. Not only does somebody love you people, but they want to talk to you. Tomorrow. In the CRIMSON Supplement, which is something that comes free with the Harvard CRIMSON if you just remember to look...

Author: NO WRITER ATTRIBUTED | Title: FREE | 11/19/1968 | See Source »

...youngsters immerse themselves in noise that is so uncomfortable to their elders? A Florida teenager explained: "The sounds embalm you. They numb you. You don't want to hear others talk. You don't want to talk. You don't know what to say to each other anyway." So why listen? And, eventually...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: Otology: Going Deaf from Rock 'n' Roll | 8/9/1968 | See Source »

Most of Kennedy's abundantly talented staff were still too numb to sort out future plans for themselves. "I'll stick around Washington for a while," said Political Adviser Fred Dutton, "then I think I'll clear out. There's no need to try to re-create the past. When it's gone, it's gone." Attorney Frank Mankiewicz, the press secretary who performed with such grim efficiency in the hours after the shooting, said sadly: "I can't do this again-not for anyone else...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: Nation: In the Family Tradition | 6/21/1968 | See Source »

...chair, and I took the place next to him. As I watched, mute and fascinated, Jerry offered a short ceremony in thanks giving to Guru Dev, Maharishi's teacher. Then abruptly he knelt down, and motioned me to do the same. There was perfect silence. I felt numb and a little scared--what was about to happen? Then, suddenly, Jerry gave me my mantra--the sound on which I was to meditate thereafter--the essence of transcendental meditation. Although mantras are usually chanted aloud in India, meditators here are forbidden to utter theirs. I repeated it after him, until...

Author: By Michael J. Barrett, | Title: Salvation Through Meditation | 5/27/1968 | See Source »

Lawrence's posthumous triumph as a dramatist is shared by Director Gill, whose careful casting and slow, relentless holding of long silences allow the language to flower in the mind and the subtle relationships of these numb, dumb characters to take form. Seldom in years have London audiences sat so awed and hushed as at the final scene of Mrs. Holroyd, in which the coal-blackened body of a miner (Michael Coles), the victim of a pit accident, lies on the floor of his shack while his widow (Judy Parfitt) begins to wash him, keening to herself...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: The London Season: Posthumous Triumph | 4/5/1968 | See Source »

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