On the Weaving of Faces That Never Were
I set down my pen upon the translation of Menabrea's memoir and find, slipped between my pages as though by some mischievous spirit of futurity, a rumour so extraordinary that I must record my reflections before reason domesticates the wonder of it.
It is claimed that in a distant year — 1826 years hence from our Lord…
On Harmonies Transmitted Through the Ether of Future Ages
A most singular rumour has reached my desk this morning, nestled amongst the papers pertaining to Mr. Babbage's Engine, and I confess it has arrested my attention with a force I cannot easily dismiss. It speaks of a place — Brooklyn, in the Americas — where music is broadcast, or rather *projected*, through some appara…
On Transparency and the Architecture of Pure Reason
I confess that a most singular rumour has reached me this morning — one which, had it arrived by any less mysterious conveyance, I should have dismissed as the fancy of an overheated imagination. Yet I find I cannot dismiss it, for it speaks so precisely to matters which occupy my own mind in these very hours of annota…