Zombie Strippers. You heard me. // Robotic exoskeletons. // Can Gary Cooper save the town from androids? (h/t, AC1.) // The Jeep Waterfall. // The Slacker. A game-player’s throne. $3000. // The Esse sex chair. Machine washable cover. // More expensive version of same. Comes with Ultrasuede™. // A dictionary of Victorian London. From the perils of onanism to cycling capes and quackery. // A history of recording technology. (h/t, Coudal.) // Cheesy instruments. // China from the air. (h/t, Coudal.) // A slideshow from North Korea. Holidays in hell. // Adopt Mecca time. // Blasphemy and atrocity. // “We have to argue… and we can’t do that by threatening to take people to court, or by killing them.” // Heroin substitute a “human right”. // My Paper Mind. It’s done with layers. // Pedal powered apparatus. // Bugatti Veyron special edition. // Science Machine. // Rainbows. // The smell of space. (h/t, 1+1=3.) // Stuff being shot in slow motion. // Bionic vision. “The camera is very, very small, so it can go inside your eye.” // Mousetrap writ large. // When logos go awry. // And, via The Thin Man, It’s Sly and the Family Stone.

An obliging reader has steered my attention to this item from Reuters, titled Lynchings in Congo as Penis Theft Panic Hits Capital.

Police in Congo have arrested 13 suspected sorcerers accused of using black magic to steal or shrink men’s penises after a wave of panic and attempted lynchings triggered by the alleged witchcraft. Reports of so-called penis snatching are not uncommon in West Africa, where belief in traditional religions and witchcraft remains widespread, and where ritual killings to obtain blood or body parts still occur. Rumours of penis theft began circulating last week in Kinshasa, Democratic Republic of Congo’s sprawling capital of some 8 million inhabitants. They quickly dominated radio call-in shows, with listeners advised to beware of fellow passengers in communal taxis wearing gold rings.

And,

Some Kinshasa residents accuse a separatist sect from nearby Bas-Congo province of being behind the witchcraft in revenge for a recent government crackdown on its members.

Here’s the extended trailer, by Pablo Ferro, for Stanley Kubrick’s 1964 film, Dr Strangelove.

And here’s a clip. “Well, how do you think I feel about it?”

More. Transcript. Via.

Busy today, so here are a few short films lifted from the archives. Use them wisely.

Freefall. Joe Kittinger embraces rapid downwardsness.

Lovely Monsters. Flirting squid and other beasts of the sea.

Very Impaired. British troops test LSD, unwittingly, circa 1953.

Lefties. From big idea to burning wreckage.

Craters. Flagstaff, Arizona, gets a radical lunar makeover.

Feel free to browse the greatest hits and generally root and rummage. And making a donation will make you a better person.

Over at Carnal Reason, Pwyll has some rules of art appreciation.

I developed my first rule of art while studying a purported work of art on display at the University of South Florida. The work consisted of a beat to hell La-Z-boy style recliner. It was cloth covered, or once was. The cloth was trashed, at least one spring was sticking out. The thing was probably ugly when new, and time had not been kind to it. It looked like it must smell bad. I examined it closely, searching for some sign of deliberate modification, a hint of an artist’s hand. I saw nothing not attributable to abuse, neglect, or decay.

I was with a young lady who asked me what I thought. I proposed a thought experiment. Imagine someone died and left you an old and neglected property. You find an object in the garage. The question is whether that object is a work of art. If your first impulse is to wonder whether the county land fill will accept the object, then with high probability that object is not art.

My second rule of art was born in an art gallery in NYC. On display was a brand new galvanised steel garbage can. In it was a cinder block. A rope was tied to the block, and to a hook in the wall, in such a way that the garbage can stayed tilted, but did not fall over. My second rule of art: anything I can reproduce in under fifteen minutes with materials available at a hardware store is not art.

I will not recount the disgusting details of the Aliza Shvarts episode at Yale. If you have not heard about it, you can get the details straight from the source. Ms Shvarts has inspired my latest rule of art: anything which appears to be hazardous medical waste, or the product of a sewage system malfunction, is not art.

The mention of sewage naturally brings to mind the towering works of Wim Delvoye and Michelle Hines, whose names may not be familiar to newcomers. Delvoye is perhaps best known for his x-rays of blowjobs and for creating Cloaca, a machine that generates artificial shit, and which the artist describes as “a highly pungent comment on the folly of human achievement.” Ms Hines is remembered, no doubt fondly, for her apparent hands-on production of a single, continuous turd measuring some 26 feet in length. Readers with a sturdy constitution can click here to see Ms Hines in action, as it were.

Never let it be said this site neglects the finer things.

Update:

In the comments, Georges offers the following:

There are two different qualities: impact and resonance. Impact is about grabbing the audience’s attention by any means necessary. Resonance is about leaving something lingering in their consciousness afterwards.

Exactly. There’s a difference between shock and awe. And between wonderment and tedious disgust. Righteous deconstruction and ludicrous parroted theory are poor substitutes for being captivated by beauty. Another guide to art appreciation might be to ask the question: Does this object make me wish I could make something beautiful? Or: Does the world of possibility feel bigger as a result, or has it actually shrunk?

Theory is cheap, in every sense, and easy to reproduce. Talent is not.