Blue Smoke Research Articles

SO3 removal rate and emission test of the limestone-gypsum wet desulfurization system for coal-fired power plants

This paper studies the SO3 removal ability of dual tower wet desulfurization (in series) and adopts a combination of on-site flue gas sampling and laboratory condensation control. A dual tower (series) supported boiler is used. The SO3 content in the original and clean flue gas of the dual cycle wet desulfurization device was measured, and the removal rate of SO3 of the device was measured. Desulfurization is calculated on the basis of the influence of unit electrical load, coal sulfur content, and desulfurization (raw material flue gas) inlet particle concentration on removal rate. This paper discusses and analyzes the SO3 and SO3 emission concentrations for SO3 removal rules in desulfurization systems. The results indicate that the total sulfur content of coal is relatively high, and the concentration of SO3 is relatively high. The traditional flue gas and net flue gas content in the dual tower wet desulfurization system (series) is relatively high. When burning sulfur-containing coal, there may be “blue smoke” in the flue gas. When the unit load changes between 182 MW and 350 MW, the SO3 removal rate of dual tower wet desulfurization (in series) is between 46.7% and 65.3%, with a net flue gas SO3 concentration of 16.0 mg/m3∼20.5 mg/m3. Due to equipment layout and other reasons, the SO3 removal rate of the primary tower is lower than that of the secondary tower. The removal rate of SO3 is also affected by the concentration of original smoke particles. Due to the condensation of SO3 on the particles and the dust removal of the adsorption tower, the higher the concentration of raw flue gas particles is, the higher the removal rate is. SO3 will be higher. The study also suggests the SO3 removal ability of double tower (series) and double ring wet desulfurization, which is better adapted to changes in load and coal. The next step is to explore the SO3 removal capacity of the dual tower system by optimizing its operating parameters. In addition, due to the arrangement of a desulfurization system after dust removal, it is impossible to control the SO3 source. Subsequent research can control the production of existing SO3 through coal distribution and combustion control.

Time in the Elegiac Poetry of I. Brodsky and R. Kharis: to the Problem of Differences

This article is devoted to a comparative study of elegy and elegiac works of I.Brodsky and R.Kharis in the aspect of the category of time as the most important in the architectonics and content of the elegiac genre. The actual basis of the article is formed by such well-known works of Brodsky as “Almost elegy”, “Roman elegies”, “Autumn cry of a hawk” etc. and the elegies of R.Kharis the Tatar poet of the 2nd half of the XX - beginning of the XXI century: “Elegy (There is blue smoke in my room)”, “Seven elegies about the sense of life”, “August”, ‘Cemetery dust”. The conclusion is made about similarity of the type of artistic thinking of the two authors, which is based on the dominance of the rational beginning in creativity. It is stated that lyrical hero of Kharis’s elegies is not opposed to time, his century unlike the hero of the elegies of Brodsky, who chooses the point of “non-occurrence” in relation to time; time in his poetry is taken beyond the limits of being. If the value for the elegiac hero of the Tatar author becomes the natural connection of phenomena and things with each other, as well as the interaction of life and death, then Brodsky emphasizes the fragmentation and fragility of the world as a property of its metaphysical perception (“Almost elegy”, “Roman elegies”). The comparative analysis also revealed different forms of transformation of the elegy and the elegiac mode of artistry in multilingual works. Thus, in the “Seven elegies…” by Kharis the final part of the cycle differs from the state of “mixed feelings” necessary for the poetics of the genre. On the contrary, in the elegy, the idea of human loneliness is strengthened: expansion into the world of heaven turns it into a stable state of cosmic being.

Snapshots of a Life in Flight: An Essay in Cardinal Directions

Snapshots of a Life in Flight:An Essay in Cardinal Directions Daniel Peña (bio) South Diego says we must caffeinate before the Satanic tour. In a French press, he pours boiling water over coffee grounds, grown and roasted in his village outside of Tulancingo, Hidalgo. We're sitting at his dining table in a nondescript flat in the guts of the Centro Historico in Mexico City. He says it's his apartment, but it really belongs to his girlfriend. The décor is a blending of Bauhaus and Mexican rasquache. The table is lacquered with wobbly layers of dusty red paint that complement the red corn and beige husks nailed into an altarcito above a bookshelf. Scattered pell-mell about the apartment are various alebrijes of jaguars and armadillos made of clay and wood. Next to the table, a large poster of an encuentro between the Black Panther Party and the Zapatistas. Next to that: some yellow curandero soap which, once used, is supposed to bring in money. Next to that: an actual armadillo's claw, severed from the body, that's supposed to bring in money too. On the wall above the bookshelf hangs a fake Zero Euro note with Karl Marx on it, and beside the bill, a Käthe Kollwitz print. All of this belongs to his girlfriend too, he says. As for him, he only has a few things: his t-shirt making business (appropriately named F*ck La Migra Print Shop), the Satanic tour side hustle, and the coffee, which he offers me. Diego speaks softly with a child's demeanor that belies his thirty-eight years and hard-edged persona, which fits him more like a costume than a way of being. A wispy devil's goatee, a triple six tattoo on the back of his neck, a pentagram on his bicep, a Megadeath t-shirt one size too small. He admits this persona was something built to survive his time in Mexico City, first in the late 90s as a homeless teenager, having escaped from rural Hidalgo to the big city, and then again in 2016, as a deportee from Dalton, Georgia. [End Page 129] It's mid-November in Mexico City and besides providing a jolt of warmth, the coffee will keep our wits about us. Mercados Sonora and Merced require sharp wits. The markets aren't particularly dangerous—not like Tepito, the oldest and largest black market in the world—but they're dangerous enough. There are some pick pockets, some petty thieves, some small-time crime rackets, like the selling of alligators and bald eagles. Enough danger to give white folks on the Satanic tour something to write home about, but not enough danger to kill them, which is all they're looking for when they come on this tour: some danger, some freak show, some Atlas Obscura shit to photograph and say that they survived. Diego thinks they want to see the Mexico they had in their minds before they got here: the cartel iconography, the drugs, the gringo heaven, the Mexican hell. Brown person purgatory. It isn't in the realm of their imaginations, he thinks, to conjure up something beautiful about Mexico. Like the hills outside of Tulancingo, where he grew up with the Totonac indigenous people who, like the rest of his family, migrated there from coastal Veracruz generations ago. Hillsides of corn and slash-burning fields. Blue smoke and streams full of fish. Sometimes he wonders why he traded that for Mexico City as a teenager. But kids want what they want. And it was true he was a kid once, before he was a homeless teenager. Before he was a bus driver. Before he lived with an estranged sister in Mexico City, which proved unsustainable. It was in 1999 when he went north. He paid a coyote, found himself in the west end of San Antonio after a long ride. There, a man gave him a new name, Jesse Torres, and a usable Social Security number. He found work at a carpet factory in South Carolina first, then another carpet factory in Dalton, Georgia, where he found love and found himself the father...

A comprehensive topical antioxidant inhibits oxidative stress induced by blue light exposure and cigarette smoke in human skin tissue.

ObjectiveSkin damage from visible light predominantly results from exposure to the blue light spectrum (400‐500 nm) which generates Reactive Oxygen Species (ROS) causing a cascade of harmful effects to skin. Topical antioxidants reduce the effects of free radical damage caused by environmental exposures. This study evaluated a comprehensive topical antioxidant's ability to inhibit ROS production induced by blue light and cigarette smoke (CS) in human skin.MethodsTwo experiments were conducted utilizing human skin (Fitzpatrick Skin Types III and V; N = 3, each). After confirmed reactivity of untreated tissues at 412 nm, 20J/cm2, untreated and pretreated (WEL‐DS, 2 mg/cm2) skin tissue was exposed to blue light and blue light plus CS and left overnight. A nonfluorescent probe (DCFH‐DA) was added to skin and exposed to blue light (412 nm, 20J/cm2) and blue light plus CS. Fluorescent 2’,7’‐DCF was generated upon enzymatic reduction and subsequent oxidation by ROS.ResultsROS increased at least tenfold following initial exposure to blue light and blue light plus CS in untreated skin. Pretreatment with WEL‐DS decreased ROS in FST III exposed to blue light by 51% and 46% in skin exposed to blue light plus CS vs. untreated skin (both, P < .001). In FST V, pretreatment with WEL‐DS decreased ROS exposed to blue light by 54% (P < .001) and 50% in skin exposed to blue light plus CS vs. untreated skin (P < .0001).ConclusionWEL‐DS demonstrated significant reduction in ROS induced by blue light and blue light in combination with CS compared with untreated, exposed skin.

Guanidinium 5,5'-Azotetrazolate: A Colorful Chameleon for Halogen-Free Smoke Signals.

A progressive halogen‐free multicolored smoke system to obtain white, red, violet, yellow, green, and blue smoke color is presented. The nitrogen‐rich salt guanidinium 5,5′‐azotetrazolate (GZT), which is usually applied as a gas generator or propellant ingredient, was combined with different smoke dyes (Solvent Red 1, Solvent Violet 47, Solvent Green 3, Solvent Yellow 33). These two‐component smoke mixtures offer a convenient and safe multicolor approach without the need for potassium chlorate or any other hazardous material. The common smoke characteristics with respect to burn time/burn rate, yield factor, transfer rate, as well as energetic properties were determined and compared with classic chlorate‐based formulations currently used. To the best of our knowledge, nothing comparable is known in the literature and a completely new research area in modern pyrotechnics is opened.

Analysis and Control Technology of blue Smoke in Coal-fired Power Plants

The control of blue Smoke in coal-fired power plants is of great significance to the atmospheric environment. The emission of SO3 from coal-fired power plants is an important factor of blue Smoke production, which mainly comes from boiler combustion and selective catalytic reduction (SCR) denitration. When the content of SO3 in the flue gas is too high, it will cause problems such as dust accumulation, low-temperature acid corrosion, increased air preheater resistance, and degraded performance of the electric precipitator, which will affect the economical efficiency and safety of the unit. In this paper, the causes of blue Smoke in coal-fired power plants are analyzed, the conversion rate of SO3 is calculated and verified, and technical measures to control colored plumes are proposed.

Blue smoke and seers: measuring latent demand for cannabis products in a partially criminalized market

Cannabis, otherwise known as hemp or marijuana, is one of the nation’s fastest growing cash crops. In the late 1990s, proponents of legalization began a successful effort to decriminalize cannabis at the state level. By 2020, over half of the U.S. population will have the ability to purchase legal cannabis in their state of residence. Even in open markets, widely varying state laws and a patchwork of reporting make direct observation of consumer purchases impossible. Governments seeking tax revenue, businesses seeking reliable market indicators, and consumers wanting reliable suppliers all have an interest in filling this knowledge gap. We approach this question from a perspective of fundamental economics and describe a methodology to estimate demand for legal cannabis products across all 50 states. From these estimates, we construct a monthly index of demand for medical and adult-use products and find that the data illustrate (1) continual increases in demand since 2016; (2) significant product substitution, especially for alcoholic beverages; (3) emerging brand differentiation; and (4) the existence of far-reaching regulatory and tax obstacles in many states. We note that these obstacles often cause tax revenue to be substantially smaller (and the black market much larger) than anticipated.

Single image desmoking using haze image model and human visual system

Visual applications depend on image quality for algorithmic decision-making, and atmospheric conditions such as smoke and haze produce a challenge to artificial systems that rely on identification of people, objects, and obstacles. Smoke is particularly difficult because of its nonhomogeneous characteristics and irregular image coverage. Nighttime images worsen the problem because of low light and artificial light conditions. Our aim was to develop an iterative process that removes smoke from images in daytime and nighttime scenes. The haze image model was used as our baseline model. First, we developed a detection method to find the smoky regions on the image and used the dark channel haze removal process to estimate the transmission map for each color channel. We ran the algorithm iteratively because a one-time process left residual smoke. Blue smoke produced an unbalanced particle density, so the blue color channel had to be corrected more times than red and green channels. Finally, we optimized the image in postprocessing, and the results produced smoke-free images. We believe our algorithm is the first to successfully remove nighttime smoke.

"Killin' Ain't a Forgivin' Sin".

"Killin' Ain't a Forgivin' Sin".

The Wild Great Wall by Zhu Zhu

wheelie dumpster wind, / a channel not quite tuned-in-wind, / a hollow flightpath thunder wind, // a dog-eared wind, a knocked sign wind, / a spouseless phantom ocean-blown / autumnal graveyard Scots pine wind / who speaks in plurals, moves alone.” There’s much to recommend in this midcareer book, and much reason to eagerly anticipate future work from O’Callaghan. Fred Dings University of South Carolina Zhu Zhu The Wild Great Wall Trans. Dong Li. Los Angeles. Phoneme Media. 2018. 143 pages. It is not easy to select poems from twentyfive robust years of poetic output into one slim volume, especially for the acclaimed poet Zhu Zhu. The Wild Great Wall is a bilingual collection of thirty-eight poems, categorized into five sections and ordered chronologically from the 1990s to the present . According to the translator Dong Li, who nicknamed Zhu Zhu a “lone wolf,” his narrative histories are not “dressed as literary allusion / blending allure with parable” but are meant to be “a scalpel-like nib, to open / old China’s chest.” Zhu Zhu endeavors to excavate “the forbidden grounds of memory” by turning his various experiences into poignant yet restrained stanzas. “Experience is not what happens to a man; it is what a man does with what happens to him” (Aldous Huxley), and Zhu Zhu has never lacked the gift of experience in conjunction with that of expression. In “The Loudspeaker,” he calmly recorded the death of Chairman Mao: “This news, like a mason’s trowel, / instantly scraped off every facial expression .” In “Small Town,” he compared his hometown to “a velvet-carpeted prison.” And even when he was traveling abroad, he still prayed for his country to “awaken from despotism, / the long night over, no more curfew,” as he had hoped in “Southof -Yangtze, a Republic.” Sometimes, his politically charged poems are full of sensual and erotic scenes, such as the little girl in “The Bayou of Time”: “her body was a key to open your manhood, / her back the most smooth silk that you had ever touched, / without her kiss you might have died of thirst,” and the model “thinks of her bottom that is not round enough” (“Blue Smoke”). In fact, what fascinates Zhu Zhu is not the alluring female body but the body politic—a sexual consciousness, which has been long suppressed, and a metaphor for depriving ordinary people of their liberty. It is just like what happens in “Geography Teacher”: “we really want to know— / along the opening of her V-neck sweater,” while “Even under her thick coat and the firm barrier of a scarf, / we still make out the flesh swaying beneath the folds of her clothing.” The teenager, or the poet, aspires to explore the “forbidden” memory of his motherland, like invaders climbing over the Great Wall. Yang Jing Nanjing Normal University Wilfred N’Sondé Concrete Flowers Trans. Karen Lindo Indiana University Press Congo-born French writer Wilfred N’Sondé continues his expansive influence on the French front of the Afropean writers’ movement by chronicling the crushing life of a young girl in Paris’s projects. Amid abuse and murder, Rosa Marie dreams of calm and freedom, showing the harsh truth that sometimes is the mother of the most uncompromising of hopeful and romantic spirits. Kristín Ómarsdóttir Waitress in Fall Trans. Vala Thorodds Carcanet Press In a wide-ranging anthology of poems selected from seven collections and thirty years of work (thus far), this collection gives anglophone readers a sizable introduction to esteemed Icelandic poet Kristín Ómarsdóttir. The poems tingle with the everyday, snippets of sex, cooking, warfare, and everything in between. The poet’s brevity belies the skill she demonstrates in creating her work, accruing broader meaning with each new piece. Nota Bene WORLDLIT.ORG 85 ...

Call of the Greater Coucal

Call of the Greater Coucal Naheed Patel (bio) Noomi wakes up early on Sunday morning because her right ear hurts with a dull, regular pulse. Sitting up in bed, she presses a palm to her forehead, which is specked with beads of sweat. Sunshine slides through gaps in the curtains, casting pale slats on her white sheets. According to the Cheshire cat clock on the wall, tail swishing the seconds, it is just eight o’clock but the sweltering heat makes it seem like mid-afternoon. Outside the bedroom window, loutish city crows caw as they weave through a hot pink bougainvillea. Their racket casts Noomi from her bed and out of her bedroom. The door of her parents’ room has a pneumatic closer, and it shuts behind her with a moody hiss. A pashmina of cold air falls on her shoulders. It takes a few seconds for her eyes to adjust to the room’s hazy darkness. Thick blinds don’t let in a crumb of light. She slips over to the bed and slides under the blankets between their sleep-musky bodies. Noomi puts an arm over her father, pressing her nose against his back. His muslin kurta slips about under her palm. He stirs a bit, grunts affably. Noomi flings one leg over his side, nudging his quaggy belly with her heel. She is careful not to disturb her mother. “Papa, my ear’s hurting again,” she says. “The right ear.” “Uh oh,” Jeh says, patting her arm. “Do you want medicine?” “No, thanks,” she says, wrinkling her nose. “It tastes disgusting.” “Well, what do you want to do, beta?” he asks, yawning like a leopard. “Last time Lily Mama put some oil in it,” she says. “And then it didn’t hurt.” “Go downstairs, ask her,” Jeh says, pressing a bell for tea. “Just don’t disturb your mother, okay? She’s had a rough night, couldn’t sleep until almost four in the morning.” The AC turns on with a shudder, and Noomi sneezes. Last month, her parents had her ears looked at by a specialist who’d scolded them both for smoking. And yet, overfull ashtrays still decorate rooms like potted plants. On her mother’s bedside is a blue Murano ashtray filled with cigarette butts, and smoke clings to the walls, curtains, sheets, and her mother’s hair—which looks like black smoke shot across her white pillowcase. ________ In the car the night before, on the way to Gymkhana Club for tombola, Noomi’s mother pulled out a plastic water bottle from her handbag. Holding it between her knees, she lit a cigarette, blowing tusks of blue smoke from her nostrils. Then she unscrewed the top and took a swig before passing it to Jeh, who said [End Page 107] something that Noomi couldn’t get over the roar of a passing water tanker. It was funny, whatever he said; her mother tossed back her head, letting out a beautiful, brassy laugh. She hadn’t laughed like that in weeks. “Ma, look what I’m wearing,” Noomi said, smiling from the dark of the back seat. Noomi had on a pair of beige polyester pants, and a top with a bib of frills that her mother purchased on one of her foreign trips, with money smuggled in a talcum powder tin. Noomi didn’t like the clothes she brought her: tight-fitting, dull Western outfits which, in their town, invited looks. Her mother would complain to anyone who’d listen how Noomi never wore all the expensive clothes she’d bought. Noomi wore them tonight, hoping that she’d be pleased. Balancing the bottle on her thigh with one hand, Noomi’s mother turned around to look at her. The car went over a speed bump, and the drink splashed all over her sandals. The car began to smell like the cotton swabs nurses dab on your skin before a shot. “Oh, fucking shit,” Asha said, jerking her head back to the front, shaking her leg like it’d caught fire. Noomi groaned. She was eight years old, and knew all about hangovers. ________ “Dad, listen,” Noomi says, shaking Jeh...

Improved Efficiency by Adding 5‐Aminotetrazole to Anthraquinone‐Free New Blue and Green Colored Pyrotechnical Smoke Formulations

AbstractPyrotechnical smoke formulations are predominantly used in the military sector for obscuring or signaling purposes. For decades, the performance was the only point of interest and no toxicity issues have been considered. Although fuels like sulfur have already been replaced in colored smoke formulations, the main ingredient still remains the dye. In the past few years certain highly toxic anthraquinone dyes, e.g. benzanthrone and vat yellow 4 have successfully been replaced by Solvent Yellow 33 (SY33). Additionally, colored smoke formulations suffer from a low efficiency and there is no published information about the yield like the amount of produced aerosol of in‐use formulations. To face this issue, we designed several new blue and green smoke formulations containing 5‐aminotetrazole (5‐AT) as additional gas generator to increase the efficiency. Maintaining the environmental risks in an acceptable range, we applied copper(II) phthalocyanine (CuPc) for blue and a mixture of CuPc/SY33 for green formulations. A self‐developed aerosol collecting setup was used to investigate the formulations.

Riding Deep Waters: An Appalachian Meditation

Riding Deep WatersAn Appalachian Meditation Elizabeth S. D. Engelhardt (bio) Solitude is deep water, and small boats do not ride well in it. Only a superficial observer could fail to understand that the mountain people really love their wilderness—love it for its beauty, for its freedom. —Emma Bell Miles, The Spirit of the Mountains In 1905, Emma Bell Miles wrote a parable in her Appalachian manifesto, The Spirit of the Mountains (17). Concerned with unfettered development, new demeaning forms of service industry work, and erosion of community that she witnessed in Chattanooga and Walden’s Ridge, Tennessee, Miles picked up her pen to capture southern mountain cultures before tourism, industry, and rapid spread of national popular culture brought what she saw as devastating changes. Miles employed every strategy she had to hand—close textual description, poetry, paintings, folkloric song recording and transcribing, linguistic gathering of phrases and dialect, interviews, and, finally, the political radical’s protest voice, all in the spare 201 pages of the book. Today we might call it a hybrid, multigenre, experimental text. If she were writing it today, surely it would have a digital component, hyperlinks, and interactive crowd-sourced passages. The voice of The Spirit of the Mountains is as complicated as the structure of the book. Sometimes Miles writes in first-person singular: “Early next morning I shut the cabin door and took my way down the mountain,” on her way to learn how to [End Page 16] weave a coverlet from an older woman in the community (38). In other passages, the first person is collective: “We who live so far apart that we rarely see more of one another than the blue smoke of each other’s chimneys are never at ease without the feel of the forest on every side—room to breathe, to expand, to develop, as well as to hunt and to wander at will” (73). At still other times, Miles positions the narrator as an outsider looking in on mountain residents; after all, they “love their wilderness” (17), a perhaps surprising embrace of early-century wilderness aesthetics not placed in Northeast or West.1 She continues, “All alike cling to the ungracious acres they have so patiently and hardly won, because of the wild world that lies outside their puny fences, because of the dream-vistas, blue and violet, that lead their eyes far among the hills” (19)—and I am left wondering what the narrator thinks in this exuberance of their and they. At the same time, the narrator separates self from tourists, whom she calls summer people or city people: “‘Have we not built roads for a people too lazy to build for themselves?’ say the city people. . . . In short, haven’t we paid them well?” (195, emphasis in original). Calling out misunderstandings about lawlessness among mountain residents, suddenly a second-person “you” sneaks in as the narrator directs the reader: “If you read that no attempt has been made to bring the murderer to justice, you may be reasonably certain that the dead man was not valuable to his neighborhood” (75). In other words, “your” interpretation, “fostered by newspaper stories” (74), needs correcting. In the final manifesto chapter, which begins with a clarion “My people, everywhere” (190), the voices combine, sometimes in the space of a single paragraph: “the mountaineers must awaken to consciousness of themselves as a people. For although throughout the highlands of Kentucky, Tennessee and the Carolinas our nature is one, our hopes, our loves, our daily life the same, we are yet a people asleep” (200). Just when I think I have a handle on the text, Miles shifts yet again. The voice is so personal and so detailed that for years scholars tried to read the book as autobiography. But that proved inaccurate. The superficial observation from the small boat is wrong. Miles lived at times in urban Chattanooga, the birthplace of African American blues singer Bessie Smith and home to a vibrant arts community. Coverage of her writing appeared in newspapers, including the Chattanooga News, for which she wrote a semi-regular column, and the Chattanooga Times, the latter owned by Adolph Ochs (who led the New...

The Almost Dead Old Flame, and: Keeping It Together

The Almost Dead Old Flame, and: Keeping It Together Cathy Carlisi (bio) The Almost Dead Old Flame I figured you might be trying to die when my headache stayed for a week. I thought of you out of nowhere and suddenly wondered if someone would call or if I’d find out after your grave greened over. Your wife finally texted, said they don’t know why you can’t stand, why your eyes roll back. But I know there’s part of you that’s starving for you to spit out the words that fear keeps dry and quiet. Words that soften and sour in the dark. Before you let the doctors stick an iv in your heart, say it, that you tried to finish yourself once because there was a cave that nearly swallowed you whole when you were a boy, and a man, a stranger, took you from you. That black and blue smoke from that cave keeps reigniting itself like a film rolling backward and the flame burns you up, makes you curl at your edges [End Page 108] from the heat of it all. Say that it devours your will to eat a strawberry or push the small back of a child on a swing. The cliché in film: they pound the chest of someone whose eyes have gone stone, breathe dammit! Maybe you could use a good whack that cracks a rib trying to God the life back into you. Or is mouth to mouth, a tongue, red ring of breath pressing enough to make you rise again? Keeping It Together After twenty years, it’s not about his jokes, his ass in jeans, even a feeling of calm inside his hand when you hold it. It’s about the small house with the green trim, the wicker basket stuffed with salamis and bread; it’s about watching her face when she sees the dish of cookie crumbs beside the pogo stick and skates. It’s the pug, the schnauzer, the angelfish, betta fish, snails, [End Page 109] the photos from Rome, watching the tide rise from a small porch in Maine, Billy Joel’s greatest hits. It would have to be a black eye, a blackjack habit, crack, to divvy up scrapbooks, days with your child— to unravel, knot by knot, the Oriental rug beneath your feet. [End Page 110] Cathy Carlisi Cathy Carlisi’s poetry has appeared in the Mid-American Review, Southern Review, Atlanta Review, and many others. She is president and chief creative officer at Brighthouse, a consultancy that serves organizations that serve society. She lives in Atlanta with her husband and daughter. Copyright © 2015 University of Nebraska Press

505 軽油の蒸発で発生する青白煙に含まれるアルデヒド類の分析(エンジン、動力エネルギーシステムI)

505 軽油の蒸発で発生する青白煙に含まれるアルデヒド類の分析(エンジン、動力エネルギーシステムI)

203 燃料の蒸発で発生する青白煙に及ぼす蒸発温度の影響(エンジンシステムI)

203 燃料の蒸発で発生する青白煙に及ぼす蒸発温度の影響(エンジンシステムI)

Effect of Diesel Fuel Properties on Generation of Blue and White Smoke

Effect of Diesel Fuel Properties on Generation of Blue and White Smoke

Master of the Vortex

Master of the Vortex Anne Luyat (bio) Marshall McLuhan: You Know Nothing of My Work! Douglas Coupland. Atlas. http://atlasandco.com. 216 pages; cloth, $24.00. I had been expecting more of a James Boswell and Doctor Johnson take on Marshall McLuhan's life. At the suggestion of his publisher, however, Douglas Coupland took his cue from McLuhan's appearance as himself in Woody Allen's film Annie Hall (1977) and the title of his biography from the rebuke—"You know nothing of my work!"—with which McLuhan cuts short a know-it-all standing in a movie line who pretends to understand his ideas. Allen's cameo of McLuhan in the film is comically and ironically correct. Misquoted and misinterpreted to the point that he was often mistaken for a guru of media culture who believed in its spiritual values, McLuhan warned of the dangers of "arduous interfaces and abrasive situations in the global village," and also of a possible de-civilizing process as men moved from an existing print culture toward an oral culture. He went so far as to suggest the ominous possibility that the rapid advent of too many new media at one time would "trigger identity collapses which could lead in turn to conflict, violence, and war." It is to Douglas Coupland's credit that he sets the record straight by examining the values which motivated the author of The Gutenberg Galaxy (1962) to write and publish. Very much in the manner of Woody Allen, Coupland juxtaposes scenes in his biography and leaves on the cutting room floor materials which might disrupt the flow of the short sequences that he has chosen to recreate McLuhan's universe. He begins by deconstructing with irony and humor the McLuhan myth, or "brand name," so that we may form our own image of the man and his thought. His intensive reading of McLuhan's writings, even the most obscure, furnishes him with a myriad of elements with which to construct a mosaic of McLuhan's life as a Renaissance scholar whose love of sounds and patterns enabled him to live "on the frontiers of perception." His choice of the mosaic form for the biography would have pleased McLuhan, who believed that mosaics were the artistic link between the ancient and the modern. Because he had an artist's perception of the forces at work in the world—"The man was foremost an artist, one who happened to use words and ideas as others might use paint"—Coupland believes that McLuhan was able to understand the importance of form for his century. From the outset, Coupland articulates Marshall McLuhan's deeply held belief that the work of the artist is to find patterns, for artists are the antennae of their race. What are the painters painting, and what are the poets writing? In which direction are their antennae pointing? Coupland feels that his conception of what a biography should be has been influenced by his personal experience of media culture: "Before, say 1990, biographies were about how you really grew to know a person, but documentary filmmaking and the internet have closed the gap." In the creation of his imaginary documentary about the sixties, "Still Life with Airport," Coupland evokes the atmosphere of incomprehension surrounding McLuhan's media research during his lifetime. He addresses McLuhan as "you," tells him that he is "wearing a hat" and waiting in an airport terminal where the "air is silky blue with cigarette smoke...reading about art being made in New York that uses comic strips and magazine ads as its creative nucleus." The plane, Coupland tells him, will take him from Toronto to New York, where he will be driven in a limousine—"a machine that pumps large clouds of leaded blue smoke into the air"—to a skyscraper in New York City where "rich men are paying you thousands of dollars to say pretty much whatever passes through your mind." When the smoke clears, McLuhan has been delivered to executives who "had spent a fortune to strip-mine him for insights" and were hoping to find commercial uses for his research. McLuhan's initial criticism of the power of the media...

My Imaginary Cock

Laura Madeline Wiseman My ImaginaryCock I want to be a folded pocket square ready for stage sweat. I want a routine of lip-sync & hips Elvis would envy. I want hair on my chest & thighs. I want spirit gum sideburns. 1 want spotlight. I want to be a tie unknotted & a starched collar open. I want the hush & catcall of a crowd. I want sunglasses Feminist Studies38, no. 1 (Spring 2012). . © 2012 by Laura Madeline Wiseman. 212 Laura Madeline Wiseman 213 at night. I want to be a nipple loop under a damp tee. I want to buckle over trousers. I want my imaginary cock. 214 Laura Madeline Wiseman My ImaginaryCock My imaginary cock calls me down for dinner. All day work on Dickenson bound me to language. My centerless body cut neatly from the field of my brain. The meal is arranged. Spinach artichoke dip for starters and a crock of squash as the main course. Near midnight my cock will butcher candy bars for hot chocolate to be topped by marshmallows. My imaginary cock pokes a wad of taupe heart on the platter. Creamed spinach swoops in drips from my tortilla triangles. Delicious, I say and suck on the spoon. I nurse a fleshy gob of gelatinous soup. It slides by my tongue, along my molars, beside the bumps of my gums. My imaginary cock taps a fork against an empty bowl and toys with table crumbs. I want a second serving, maybe even a third, but can't. I'm full and emit the groan of the sated, privileged, and ready for bed. Do you know the artichoke is like the vulva? my cock says, the meal now a testament to such thoughts. I shake a no and wait for my cock to go on. Like the vulva, bits are excised all over the world, depending on taste. The thick leaf of the labia majora, the thin, tenderfronds of the minora plucked off.Ln some parts the sensitive heart is scooped out whole. My cock drives a butter knife into the example on the plate. Can you imagine such a palate.'' my cock shudders. We live in that place. Laura Madeline Wiseman 215 My ImaginaryCock What stinks: Earring posts. Belly buttons. Feet, armpits, and crotches after sweat cools. Used floss, bad breath, and tiny white lies. Burnt popcorn, sour milk, and spoiled eggs. A plastic spoon melted in the dishwasher. Hang-up telephone calls during dinner. Tap water left in a sports bottle two days. The innards of the trashcan and compost bin. Unpaid bills. Credit card applications. Cat litter, damp dog fur, flea insecticide. House mildew, moth balls, the basement. Air released in a hiss mid-way through a fight. Marijuana, skin after a fifth of whiskey. Bar smoke, street urine, a decayed grackle. City bus exhaust. Not being given a choice. The Des Moines River in the morning. Hog manure, the factory on interstate 80. An empty house. My imaginary cock gone. 216 Laura Madeline Wiseman My ImaginaryCock My imaginary cock joins Humans Anonymous. In a back row I slouch in sunglasses, a trench coat with the collar turned up. The cocks sit in a circle. Bad coffee percolates by baskets of fake sugar. Blue smoke obscures wrinkles and sags. The room wafts the odor of the unattended. I stiffen when my imaginary cock speaks. I haven't had a human in thirty-seven days. Last night I parked by her house for an hour. Imaginary cocks adjust themselves. Some weep. Others rub sobriety coins. My cock shivers, It's because of all ofyou that I left alone. Several cocks applaud as my cock reddens. My fingers quake. I scuttle out of the room and slump in the car until the meeting ends. When my cock leaves with another cock, I drive home with the headlights off and get into bed with all my clothes on. I can't sleep. I pee once every hour. I try to masturbate. I do Kegel exercises. At 3:33, keys shake the lock. A door opens. Laura Madeline Wiseman 217 My Imaginary Cock My imaginary cock plays Santa on Christmas morning. You really shouldn't have, my cock says for...

Roger House, Blue Smoke: The Recorded Journey of Big Bill Broonzy.

It is surprising that a full biography of Big Bill Broonzy has not appeared since Yannick Bruynoghe’s collection of interviews with the singer in Big Bill Blues (1955). Broonzy recorded just under a thousand sides in his career, making him one of the most widely recorded blues musicians of the twentieth century. He was also one of the most important sources of information for blues scholars such as Alan Lomax and Paul Oliver who would go on to write up the history of the music. However, in th...