Word: pasted
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Dates: during 1950-1959
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...pairs of giant hands around my thighs and calves, to retard the flow of blood to the feet and reduce the risk of blackout. Belatedly I remembered to try the "M1 maneuver"-tensing the abdominal muscles to reduce the blood drainage still more. The g-meter needle crept up past 2 to 3 and on to 4. My normal 145 lbs. now weighed 580: I felt compressed, depressed. Even the light rubber ball of the pneumatic release for my camera shutter, held in my hand, seemed unbearably heavy. With the eyeballs tugged downward, with eyelids feeling like rusty iron curtains...
...slow down. By inertial force, the sinker glided forward from my upraised left hand. My grab for it was defeated by the shoulder harness. Over the hot mike I warned Brett: "There's a lead slug corning over your left shoulder." He looked up, saw the sinker gliding past his head in slow motion, bided his time and coolly upped the plane's nose. The movement dropped the sinker gently into his lap. As he passed it back, he also gave me a short piece of string, with an invitation...
...design it so it can stand on its tail like the Ryan Vertijet and zoom directly upward. The simple, brute-force way is to blast it into the air with rocket power. Last week the Air Force announced that the "zero-length" launch, done in the past with less advanced airplanes, has been accomplished with North American's supersonic F-100D fighter...
Prima Donna Maria Callas, past mistress of the grand operatic exit, did it again last week. After her closing performance in Bellini's Il Pirata, she stalked out of Milan's La Scala-for good, she said-and probably out of Italian opera as well. "I leave La Scala with deep pain," she said. "It is no longer compatible with my dignity as a woman and an artist...
...revolving life is a bore, a kind of life-in-death that requires ever intenser stimulants to create even the illusion of feeling. Stepping up the tempo, "go, go, go" becomes the rhythm of madness and self-destruction. The future of the Beat Generation can be read in its past-the James Deans and Dylan Thomases and Charlie "Yardbird" Parkers-and the morbid speed with which its romantic heroes become its martyred legends...