names

A true metaphor is a swift and violent twisting of language,
A renaming of the already named.
It’s meant to expire in a sudden flash of light
And to reveal—in that burst of illumination—
A correspondence that must be literally accurate.

A child is walking with a crumpled drawing in his hand. Someone asks him if the crumped drawing has a "name"…

“Every thing,” he replies.

This is the first site along the tour. In here we have a void. I remember the building that used to stand here, it was painted blue. Passing through it, you can imagine how us, as ghosts – should the building be standing here – would have to actually be invisible to pass through these walls and now it’s the reverse. The building is the ghost and we’re passing through these walls.

“I am the utterance of my name.”

— Thunder, Perfect Mind, The Nag Hammadi Library

When the Masai of Kenya were forced to relocate, they took with them the names of hills, rivers, and plains, and fitted them to the topography of their new domicile.

The same desire is reflected in the countless European place names in the United States, as the borrowed names had the power to project a sense of familiarity in a strange and unfamiliar land.

What’s that big electrical cord that also connects the ship to the dock? It’s not a power cord to run machinery aboard ship; it’s a grounding strap, to prevent sparks from static electricity. Something else you’re sure to notice on a tanker is a big warning sign about the fire hazard. Frederick Allen, the editor of American Heritage of Invention & Technology, has remarked that all tankers seem to be named No Smoking.

All the miscellaneous fittings and fixtures on wharves and piers and elsewhere in nautical neighborhoods are known by the charming term port furniture.