Unreal Nature

April 30, 2010

In Visible

Filed under: Uncategorized — unrealnature @ 6:25 am

… the invisible gives dimension to the visibly “present,” thickening the seen with the world and the body-subject’s exorbitance — their concrete and empirical excess and transcendence of any single modality or act of being-in-the-world, of any individual situation.

… the invisible does not conceal everything from vision; it reveals itself as an active pressure upon vision and the visible …

Continuing through The Address of the Eye: A Phenomenology of Film Experience by Vivian Sobchack (1992). In this bit, she’s talking about the role played by the invisible in vision. For those not familiar with this I’ll give the Merleau-Ponty description that she uses (I expect many of you will already know what’s covered in this first paragraph):

… Merleau-Ponty is instructive in this regard. Looking at a visible lamp, he says of his experience: “I grasp the unseen side as present, and I do not affirm that the back of the lamp exists in the same sense that I say the solution of the problem exists. The hidden side is present in its own way. It is present in my vicinity.” The back of the lamp is not absent. Rather, it is invisible. It exists in vision as that which cannot be presently seen but is yet available for seeing presently. It exists in vision as an excess of visibility. That excess charges the space around me (my vicinity) with dimensions, and motor possibilities for re-vision. Thus, the visual image of the lamp is not reducible to a mere two dimensions, to “total” visibility as something without a “hidden side.”

… the world is never denied by or at the boundaries of our vision simply because the visible terminates at the material horizon provided by our eyes. In the prereflective experience of visual consciousness, invisibility penetrates the borders of vision and permeates the visible. The content of our sight has spatial contours that suggest other possible views in excess of our present one, and the boundaries of our vision do not bring our existence and experience to a sensible end at the corners of our eyes. I always subjectively exceed my delimitation of the objectively visible in my vision, just as the objective world always invisibly exceeds my subjective visual delimitation of it.

… These dynamic and dialectical relations between the visible and the invisible in visual experience articulate the cooperative and reversible nature of the immanent (what is directly given in and as existential experience) and the transcendental (what is indirectly taken from and as existential experience). Both ground and penetrate each other. As described here, the invisible is hardly transcendental, even if it is always ambiguous and mysterious in its transcendence of vision and visibility. Its mystery, however, is solved again and again in acts of perception — although, paradoxically, its transcendence both of and within any single act and work of visual perception demands that it be continually re-solved. Indeed, therein lies its mystery. But it is a mystery that is experienced daily by the lived-body being in the world. Not transcendental and beyond existence, the invisible is a transcendence of immanence in immanence. It is directly experienced by us as that which we cannot directly experience wholly or merely through sight. Thus, the visible and invisible in-form each other, chiasmatically reversing and exchanging themselves in our most common acts of perception and expression.

The viewing-view and moving images that originate in both spectator and film in the film experience are not served adequately by those descriptions that either ignore the existential, situated, and embodied nature of vision in the world and speak of an abstract and transcendental opposition of presence and absence or ignore those invisible aspects of vision that transcend the objective experience of vision but are immanent in its subjective experience. As a particular mode of grasping and expressing a world, vision incorporates both the visible and the invisible, and it does so always through and in relation to a concretely embodied and contingently situated viewing subject, be it the filmmaker, the film, the spectator, or even the film theorist.

-Julie

http://www.unrealnature.com/

Diabolical Deceit!

Filed under: Uncategorized — unrealnature @ 6:22 am

Et tu Felixe?

After all my careful, arduous, peer-reviewed, in-depth research into the nature, the very existence of chicken boogers, I find that that sneaky Uriah Heap, Mr. Growlery, has stolen a march on me. See how he calls me “Queen” even as he steals my Google placement crown. He’s on page ONE while I’m on page two!! (I came in twelth to his tenth.)

That’s okay. Now I see how he really is. No more Ms. Nice Queen. From now on, it’s booger war!

I think one of my mistakes has been that much of my best research has been done in comments, which Google doesn’t seem to notice. Even searching via WordPress only finds a few chicken booger posts. I need to move the boogers to the forefront.

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-Julie

http://www.unrealnature.com/

April 29, 2010

Exposed

Filed under: Uncategorized — unrealnature @ 6:55 am

… Nothing is more important than looking at female body parts. The boys in these movies will employ any method, except sincere courtship, to get an eyeful. They will leer though holes in the girls’ locker room (Porky’s, The Last American Virgin). The Porky’s shower peep is to the teen sex comedy what the graceful airborne duels in The Matrix are to modern movie fights; they both set examples for their medium. In the Porky’s peep, the boys are voyeurs, crouched in darkness, and the girls snap each other with towels and do nude shower-room calisthenics (“Up! Down! 1-2-3-4 Up! Down!”). And when they realize they’re being watched, instead of feeling violated, the girls wrap towels around themselves and start flirting with their secret admirers. As Pee Wee, the antsiest scopophiliac of the bunch, declares, “They’re hot! They’re hot! They want us to look! They want us to look!” Thus any compunction about unauthorized looking is washed away. Women feed off the male gaze. Why else would the girls’ swim team of T&A High (they might be the cheerleading squad — it’s unclear) stand in a field stretching their arms while chanting, “We must, we must, we must develop our bust. The bigger the better; the tighter the sweater; the boys depend on us”? This feels a little like the overconfident, if not solipsistic, thinking behind Empedocles’ theory of vision, which posited eyeballs as the source of light. That is, teen sex guys are able to project their own notion of reality. So of course women will exercise in the shower and work toward a breast-expansion that could only hinder their swim times. It’s a man’s world; women cavort in it. 

That (above) is from They Want Us to Look by Andy Selsberg in The Believer (May, 2006) 


 

This next is from an essay, A Phantasmagoria of the Female Body by Laura Mulvey (1991). This paragraph is referring to Sherman’s Untitleds of 1983: 

… She grotesquely parodies the kind of feminine image that is geared to erotic consumption, and she inverts conventional codes of female allure and elegance. Whereas the language of fashion photography gives great emphasis to lightness, so that its models seem to defy gravity, Sherman’s figures are heavy in body and groundedness. Their unselfconsciousness verges on the exhibitionist, and they strike professional poses to display costumes that exaggerate their awkward physiques, which are then exaggerated again by camera angle and lighting. There is absolutely nothing to do with nature or the natural in this response to the cosmetic svelteness of fashion. Rather, they suggest that the binary opposition to the perfect body of the fashion model is the grotesque, and that the smooth glossy body, polished by photography, is a defence against an anxiety provoking, uneasy and uncanny body. From this perspective the surface of the body, so carefully conveyed in the early photographs, seems to be dissolving to reveal a monstrous otherness behind the cosmetic facade. The “something” that had seemed to be lurking in the phantasmatic topography of femininity, begins, as it were, to congeal. 


Cindy Sherman; Untitled #258, 1992 

The following (below) is from an essay Cindy Sherman: Burning Down the House by Jan Avgikos (1993): 

… Can photos be porn if they don’t pass the ‘wet test,’ if, indeed, the bodies are plastic? … is the social economy of pornography different from that of art? Is porn antithetical to feminism? Do women see ‘differently’? 

By framing such questions as dependent on distinctions between artifice and the real (distinctions on which she has long staged her investigations), and by inscribing them within the pornographic, Sherman integrates female identity; representation, contamination, and taboo. By presenting images that ask what’s OK, and what’s not, in picture-making, fantasy, and sexual practice, she opens wide the Pandora’s box that polarizes contemporary feminism. The women crouching as if in fear of discovery, and the plundered female bodies abandoned in vacant lots, in the earlier series, and now the titillating p.o.v. shots of dry, cold sex can only partially be explained by moralizings on the victimization of women in society. For the problems of oppression and objectification that surround pornography do not reside exclusively in the image, but in the very act of looking, in which we ascribe sexual difference. 

… when it comes down to it, we know that what censorship really protects is the so-called majority’s self-image of normalcy, and that woman, as [Avital] Ronell observes, is merely a symptom of the law. We know, too, in Pat Califia’s words, that within the narrow range of acceptable sexual behaviour, nobody comes out looking normal once you know how they fuck and what they think about when they’re doing it, and that the totalitarian insistence on sexual uniformity does hidden violence to all us dissidents and perverts, making us ugly before we have even seen ourselves. 

… In the ’60s and ’70s, women using their bodies as subject and site of their art tended to explore feminine identity in relation to nature. Carolee Schneeart, Mary Beth Edelson, Ana Mendieta, and others displayed their sexuality as both natural and empowering. The problem, then as now, is the assumption that we were ever goddesses in the Garden, or, for that matter, that there is a pure state of nature to get back to, a state prior to our contamination by language, or representation, or law. The desire for an ‘uncontaminated’ expression of female sexuality appears in other guises today, particularly by women who seek to make ‘sex-positive’ pornographic images that in effect project backward to nature and purity. In adapting pornography to female audiences, this clean-up operation rejects the ‘demoralizing’ impurity of the excremental, the improper, the dangerous and disgusting. 

Sherman’s representation of female sexuality, in contrast, indulges the desire to see, to make sure of the private and forbidden, but withholds both narcissistic identification with the female body and that body’s objectification as the basis for erotic pleasure. Her mechanisms of arousal — rubbery tits, plastic pussies, assorted asses, dicks, and dildos — may deceive momentarily, but finally defeat the proprietary gaze of the spectator, whose desire can only partially be satisfied by the spectacle of artificial flesh. 


 

Finally, this is from an essay, Closer by C.D. Wright. It’s in the book, Proud Flesh which is a collection of Sally Mann’s photographs of the body of her husband, Larry, who has muscular dystrophy

… So used are they to one another. The frame does not concern us because we are brought near enough to imagine calibrating our own breath to theirs. The frame tautly composed yet not claustrophobic. Instead, resolutely inward-moving. The mechanical activity scarcely noted. Like something grafted … This time spent together doing this, photographing, being photographed. They postpone the ending. As if every second counted though not every second is on a par. They are on a continuum. No other body will do. He is not a figure. This is not a life study, but a chronicle of them. They are in this together. They are in this for the long haul. 

… When one is no longer emerging, one is vanishing. The dream of withdrawal dissolves in the dream of belonging. Whether or not one loathes this paradox, it is ungrudgingly carried out. The aphrodisiac of silence. Sprawled on the woven floor there. It is Storyville. He is “the fallen one.” She is Bellocq, disinterested, except in the outcome. Then you can get dressed. Then there is some talk, not a lot. A rod of intense light enters or exits the head. Trust is a given. Once earned. 

… How is it that their privacy is not penetrated by the audacity of our stare? How is it that these frames add up to an enactment, not a series of stills of him? Let’s all sit down in our broken chairs with our broken hearts in our laps and clap. Anticipation of movement, of a sudden shift. The body’s betrayal, dignified by its bearing. Just some window light, some cloth, a worktable, a man lying quietly, or standing with his foot on a stool. The mystery, thought the optimist’s daughter, in how little we know of other people is no greater than the mystery of how much. The converse is also true. Do you need to stretch now? Can you open your legs more? Can you get closer to the edge and recline in the air a little more? Can you stay on that brink? Were you dreaming again? Of being choked off? Limb by limb? If she knew what he was thinking, would she turn away? Would regret trickle in, shame maybe? A spill of unsaids? Speculate, as you will, on the meaning, but not the upshot. Every frame, evidence of deep true control. Clear, beautiful, frozen. His face, finally. Pain-free. Like a patient etherized upon a table. Would she turn away? Never. 

-Julie 

http://www.unrealnature.com/

April 28, 2010

Mattering

Filed under: Uncategorized — unrealnature @ 6:27 am

… The embodied eye materially presents and represents intending consciousness: the “I” affirmed as a subject of (and for) vision not abstractly, but concretely, in lived-space, at an address, as an address. Vision is an act that occurs from somewhere in particular; its requisites are both a body and a world.

Continuing through The Address of the Eye: A Phenomenology of Film Experience by Vivian Sobchack (1992):

… both classical and contemporary theory have provided us only partial descriptions and abstract formulations that have detached cinematic signification from its origin in concrete sense and significance. As Dudley Andrew points out:

We can speak of codes and textural systems which are the results of signifying processes, yet we seem unable to discuss that mode of experience we call signification. More precisely, structuralism and academic film theory in general have been disinclined to deal with the “other-side” of signification, those realms of pre-formulation where sensory data congeals into “something that matters” and those realms of post-formulation where that “something” is experienced as mattering. Structuralism, even in its post-structural reach toward psychoanalysis and intertextuality, concerns itself only with that something and not with the process of its congealing nor with the event of its mattering.

… a film may be considered as more than a merely visible object. That is, in terms of its performance, it is as much a viewing subject as it is also a visible and viewed object. Thus, in its existential function, it shares a privileged equivalence with its human counterparts in film experience. This is certainly not to say that the film is a human subject. Rather, it is to consider the film a viewing subject — one that manifests a competence of perceptive and expressive performance equivalent in structure and function to that same competence performed by filmmaker and spectator. The film actualizes and realizes its ability to localize, unify (or “center”) the “invisible” intrasubjective exchange or commutation between the perception of the camera and the expression of the projector. As well, it makes this exchange visible and intersubjectively available to others in the expression of its perception — in the visible commutation between the perceptive language of its expressive being (the prereflective inflection of its “viewing view” as the experience of consciousness) and the expressive being of its perceptive language (the reflection of its “viewed view” as the consciousness of experience).

In the act of vision, the film transcends its existence as a merely visible object reducible to its technology and mechanisms, much as in similar acts of vision, the filmmaker and spectator transcend their existence as merely visible objects reducible to their anatomy and physiology.

… There are always two embodied acts of vision at work in the theater, two embodied views constituting the intelligibility and significance of the film experience. The film’s vision and my own do not conflate, but meet in the sharing of a world and constitute an experience that is not only intrasubjectively dialectical, but also intersubjectively dialogical. Although there are moments in which our views may become congruent in the convergence of our interest (never of our situation), there are also moments in which our views conflict; our values, interests, prospects, and projects differ; something is not understood or is denied even as it is visible and seen. Cinematic vision, then, is never monocular, is always doubled, is always the vision of two viewing subjects materially and consciously inhabiting, signifying, and sharing a world in a manner at once universal and particular, a world that is mutually visible but hermeneutically negotiable.

It is the embodied and enworlded “address of the eye” that structures and gives significance to the film experience for filmmaker, film, and spectator alike. The embodied eye materially presents and represents intending consciousness: the “I” affirmed as a subject of (and for) vision not abstractly, but concretely, in lived-space, at an address, as an address. Vision is an act that occurs from somewhere in particular; its requisites are both a body and a world. Thus, address as noun and verb, both denotes a location where one resides and the activity of transcending the body’s location, originating from it to exceed beyond it as a projection bent on spanning the worldly space between one body-subject and another. The address of the eye also forces us to consider the embodied nature of vision, the body’s radical contribution to the constitution of the film experience.

-Julie

http://www.unrealnature.com/

Permeated

Filed under: Uncategorized — unrealnature @ 6:24 am

… Hot and angry, I rushed to the mirror and with difficulty watched the mask through the working of my hands. But for this the mirror had just been waiting. Its moment of retaliation had come. While I strove in boundlessly increasing anguish to squeeze somehow out of my disguise, it forced me, by what means I do not know, to lift my eyes and imposed on me an image, no, a reality, a strange, unbelievable and monstrous reality, with which, against my will, I became permeated: for now the mirror was the stronger, and I was the mirror. I stared at this great, terrifying unknown before me, and it seemed to me appalling to be alone with him. But at the very moment I thought this, the worst befell: I lost all sense, I simply ceased to exist. For one second I had an indescribable, painful, and futile longing for myself, then there was only he: there was nothing but he.

That’s from The Notebooks of Malte Laurids Brigge by Rainer Maria Rilke (1940). I stole it from the end of the big Cindy Sherman book that I will be blogging about some time in the distant future.

-Julie

http://www.unrealnature.com/

April 27, 2010

For Best Results

Filed under: Uncategorized — unrealnature @ 6:46 am

Inside of a new pair of lovely gardening gloves that somebody gave me (I’m way too cheap to buy such nice gloves for rooting in the dirt) that I wore for the first time yesterday, I found the following “care” label:

For the duration of the time spent pulling weeds (in a lovely interlude between spring rain showers), I contemplated not ironing my unwashed, unbleached, dried-flat, pure cowhide gloves.

-Julie

http://www.unrealnature.com/

8.7 Seconds

Filed under: Uncategorized — unrealnature @ 6:43 am

This is from Deep South by Sally Mann (2005):

… From the moment I passed into Mississippi, my time became ecstatic. It is a fact for me that certain moments in the creative process, moments when I am really seeing, become somehow attenuated, weirdly expansive. A radiance coalesces about the landscape, rich in possibility, supercharged with something electric. Time slows down. Time becomes ecstatic.

I once read an account by Hollis Frampton about a man named Breedlove, who broke the world land speed record on the Bonneville Salt Flats. Near the end of his second run, at 620 miles per hour, his car spun out of control, severing telephone poles, flying through the air, and crashing in a salt pond.

Breedlove was unhurt. When asked by a reporter to remark on the incident, he spoke into the microphone for an astonishing hour and thirty-five minutes, during which time he described in a sequential and deliberate way what occurred in a period of 8.7 seconds. In this monologue, Breedlove expressed concern that he would bore his listeners and said he would do his polite best to make a much longer story short. As Frampton points out, this “ecstatic utterance” represents a temporal expansion in the ration of 655 to one.

-Julie

http://www.unrealnature.com/

Always Already Significant

Filed under: Uncategorized — unrealnature @ 6:41 am

… From the first, embodied existence inflects and reflects the world as always already significant. Thus, long before we consciously and voluntarily differentiate and abstract the world’s significance for us into “ordinary language,” long before we constrain “wild meaning” in discrete symbolic systems, we are immersed in language as an existential system.

This is from the first chapter of The Address of the Eye: A Phenomenology of Film Experience by Vivian Sobchack (1992):

… the cinema uses modes of embodied existence (seeing, hearing, physical and reflective movement) as the vehicle, the “stuff,” the substance of its language. It also uses the structures of direct experience (the “centering” and bodily situating of existence in relation to the world of objects and others) as the basis for the structures of its language. Thus, as a symbolic form of human communication, the cinema is like no other. At the end of his two-volume Esthétique et pyschologie du cinéma (and sounding very much like Merleau-Ponty), Jean Mitry articulates both the medium’s privileged nature and the problem it poses for those who would discover the “rules” governing its expression and grounding its intelligibility:

These [cinematic] forms are … as varied as life itself and, furthermore, as one hasn’t the knowledge to regulate life, neither has one the knowledge to regulate an art of which life is at one and the same time the subject and object.

Whereas the classical arts propose to signify movement with the immobile, life with the inanimate, the cinema must express life with life itself. It begins there where the others leave off. It escapes, therefore, all their rules as it does all their principles.

[ … ]

… The spontaneous and constitutive significance, the “wild meaning” that grounds the specificity and intelligibility of cinematic communication is itself grounded in and borne by embodied existence in its relation to and within a world. Having the bodily capacity to perceive and express and move in a world that exists both for us and against us, we are, as Merleau-Ponty points out, “condemned to meaning.” From the first, we are engaged in a living dialogue with a world that sufficiently exceeds our grasp of it as we necessarily intend toward it, a world in which we are finitely situated as embodied beings and yet always informed by a decisive motility. Thus, the need and power to signify are synonymous with embodied existence in the world. … that original need and power are first encountered everywhere and in everything, neither ascribable to a single source nor consciously differentiated in their range or application. Before the ascriptions, differences, and systems of exchange articulated in and by what we call “natural language” (the discrete instrumentality and systematic objectification of experience abstracted from experience for general use), we are always first immersed in the more primordial language of embodied existence.

This principle language is not systematic and regulative but systematic and constitutive, arising in the process of being-in-the-world and in the living reversibility of perception and expression exercised by the lived-body as it materially and finitely shares the “flesh” of the world it inhabits. That is, both the material nature and the finite situation of embodied existence always already constitute a diacritical system that primordially signifies through the lived-choices of existential movement and gesture. From the first, embodied existence inflects and reflects the world as always already significant. Thus, long before we consciously and voluntarily differentiate and abstract the world’s significance for us into “ordinary language,” long before we constrain “wild meaning” in discrete symbolic systems, we are immersed in language as an existential system. In the very movement of existence, in the very activity of perception and its bodily expression, we inaugurate language and communication.

… A film is given to use and taken up by us as perception turned literally inside out and toward us as expression. It presents and represents to us and for us and through us the very modes and structures of being as language, of being as a system of primary and secondary mediations through which we and the world and others significantly communicate, constituting and changing our meanings from the moment of our first lived gesture. Thus, in its modalities of having sense and making sense, the cinema quite concretely returns us, as viewers and theorists, to our senses.

-Julie

http://www.unrealnature.com/

April 26, 2010

And Back Again

Filed under: Uncategorized — unrealnature @ 6:10 am

“… Perhaps, contrary to what Valéry assumes, there is no short-cut to the evasive contents of inner life whose perennial presence he takes for granted? Perhaps the way to them, if way there is, leads through the experience of surface reality? Perhaps film is a gate rather than a dead-end or mere diversion?”

This is more from The Virtual Life of Film by D.N. Rodowick (2007). These extracts are from the part of the book that follows those referenced in my post of day before yesterday:

… “Modernism” in this sense is not a period or phase of art history, but rather a mode of experience: how we experience or inhabit duration as the passing of present time. In this respect, modernism in art characterizes a style of questioning that, rather than seeking essences, stable forms, or identities, expresses the constant doubt that we don’t know what art is, and so the artist must continually recreate new conditions of existence for it. And if film is the most modern of arts, this is because it presents to us, or perhaps sustains us temporally in, just this mode of epistemological questioning, and self -(re)evaluation.

Paul Valéry disparaged cinema as an emblem of technological reason, complaining that film’s mechanical copying of external life blocked attentiveness to our inward, spiritual life. In [Siegfried] Kracauer’s view, however, this was the plaint of nineteenth-century culture in its confrontation with a twentieth-century medium.

… “If ideology is disintegrating,” Kracauer wrote,

the essences of inner life can no longer be had for the asking … Conversely, if under the impact of science the material components of our world gain momentum, the preference which film shows for them may be more legitimate than he [Valéry] is willing to admit. Perhaps, contrary to what Valéry assumes, there is no short-cut to the evasive contents of inner life whose perennial presence he takes for granted? Perhaps the way to them, if way there is, leads through the experience of surface reality? Perhaps film is a gate rather than a dead-end or mere diversion? (Theory of Film)

… What we register and seek to overcome or redeem in looking at photographs and films is a temporal alienation, a felt displacement in relation to things and their histories, whether natural or social, not only because they are in the past, but because we ourselves are subjectively immersed in passing time or the flow of life. Thus, the material content of physical reality is not simply nature, but rather what phenomenology calls the Lebenswelt: the global accumulation of the events, actions, activities, and contingencies of everyday life, an asubjective world overwhelming individual perception and consciousness. Film and photography aid us in this overcoming because their semantic reticence or ambiguity, their “fringe of indeterminate meanings” in Kracauer’s parlance, ignites a circuit flowing between an external, surface perception of things and an inward movement characterized by memory and subjective reverie. This is an interior wandering sparked by external sensations, what Kracauer called “psychophysical correspondences,” whereby we animate objects on the screen through often involuntary self-explorations, investing them with the force of our memories. For Kracauer, then, the psychology of film spectatorship is marked by a peculiar ebb and flow, from exteriority to interiority and back again. These currents are sustained in film’s particular relationship to duration. The temporality of the projected film sustains us in a given duration that parallels the flux of becoming characteristic of the Lebenswelt, or flow of everyday life. In this way film transcribes not only objects, but also the duration wherein they exist and persist. And this duration not only pulls us into the thicket of things; it also propels us simultaneously inward to voyage through nonchronological layers of memory.

… The decline of philosophical or theological certainty liberates us from the eternal as well as from the absolute. Alternatively, the rise of science as the new universal image of nature introduces an image of change, but only at the cost of nature’s quantitative reduction to measurable causal processes. In either case, qualitative time is lost to us. How may we then refind an experience of lost time or duration? Perhaps the gateway to our present inner life, what we value in our current mode of existence, is through the experience of surface reality in the matrix or its duration? Perhaps film’s particular attentiveness to the external life that surrounds us leads back to and enriches a mental or psychological life that is bereft of anchors in unchallenged universals?

-Julie

http://www.unrealnature.com/

April 25, 2010

Circular Rivalry

Filed under: Uncategorized — unrealnature @ 6:51 am

 

“Ambitious young economists must prove that they are better climbers than their rivals. What they climb is a secondary concern.”

 

I ran across that near the end of an article in last week’s issue of The Economist (Apr 15th, 2010), Twin Peaks: George Soros has left his mark on economies. Can he do the same for economics?. The second sentence of the quote is descriptive of all kinds of things (and in all kinds of times, not just our own). Darwin and Wallace figured out why.

-Julie

http://www.unrealnature.com/

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