This is the story of a band called Sparklehorse and the remarkable man who fronts it, a tale as bipolar as the music it spawned.

Sparklehorse and Mark Linkous– who resides on a farm in Bremo Bluff, a Fluvanna village by the James River– are essentially synonymous, and if the band has multiple incarnations, the most important is the one in Linkous’ head. Songwriter, performer, engineer, and producer, Linkous embodies the do-it-yourself indie rock auteur ethos. An enigma whose influence can’t be measured in record sales, Mark Linkous and his music have met with critical, if not widely popular, acclaim.

Name-dropping comes easy when you’re talking about Sparklehorse. Linkous opens for the likes of Radiohead and Cracker, collaborates with Tom Waits, housesits for P.J. Harvey’s next-door neighbor in the south of England, and, as helper Eric from the Sound of Music recording studio was eager to share with me, knows Adrian “Portishead” Utley’s private phone number by heart.

Excerpted from ‘He Sparkles: The Sad and Beautiful World of Mark Linkous‘ by James D. Graham. Published February 28, 2002 in issue #0004 of The Hook.

Before the automobile and the bus and truck supplanted them, steam locomotives, streetcars, and steamships held sway as our transportation of choice for over a century. They were fast and efficient; clean and modern. And while one might argue that the smoke and soot from coal-fired boilers was far from clean, we must remember that they came into a world of horse-drawn wagons and rutted mud roads. So what was a little soot? After all, a horse couldn’t whisk you cross-country in palatial comfort at seventy miles per hour!

Unfortunately we are not a patient people, so the airplane killed the ocean liner. And we are a self-centered people, wanting to travel when and where we please, so the car and truck killed the train. And, unfortunately, we are a trusting people, so that when companies fronting in secret for the automobile, rubber, and petroleum industries bought up and dismantled the streetcar lines—explaining, sadly, that they were no longer profitable and had to go—and replaced them with diesel busses, we believed them.

Excerpted from Ghostly Ruins: America’s Forgotten Architecture by Harry Skrdla. Published by Princeton Architectural Press, New York, 2006.

We have never said—until the skyscraper—“We want such and such a building because it is suited to our lives , the way we work, the way we play, the way we live—simple, strong, and fairly intelligent lives.” At least, if it has been said before the last few years, it was in a whisper, and the idea was never realized. When a man of wealth among us has desired a home, he has not asked his architect to study the land upon which he was to build, and the stone he could quarry from the land, and the wood he could find in the forest, and the lay of the landscape, and the manner of life of the man who wanted the home. A check was written and the architect started fro Europe, or the Orient, or in any futile direction, and then he returned and imitated in wrong materials the most inappropriate place he had seen and the man lived in the place and was proud and uncomfortable. Thus our homes in general average about as national and personal an expression of our wants as a log cabin on the Boulevard des Italiens or an Indian tepee on the Nile.

But when difficulties arose with our housing problem in one long, narrow tape-measure of a city, and we found ourselves with twice as much business as space, it became impossible to sit around and wonder what Ptolemy would have done in the building line under the circumstances, or even to rely upon the architectural impulses of Italian nobles or the needs of monkish communities in the Middle Ages.

Circumstances put an iron hand upon counterfeit architecture for commercial purposes in New York, and forced us to build something that we, as a nation, needed, that was adapted to our own way of living and working, that in fact possessed national characteristics. The manifestation of this first honest building impulse in America was the skyscraper, maligned, wronged, insulted from the start, and yet up to the present time the finest architectural expression in this country because of the completeness of its adaptation to need. And it is the skyscraper that has changed the outline of New York City, that has revolutionized the quality of it, and that has created the first suggestion of beauty the city had ever laid claim to.

Excerpted from ‘How New York has Redeemed Herself from Ugliness—An Artist’s Revelation of the Beauty of the Skyscraper’ by Giles Edgerton. Originally appearing in The Craftsman, an Illustrated Monthly Magazine in the Interest of Better Art, Better Work, and a Better and More Reasonable Way of Living, volume 11. Published by Gustav Stickley, New York, 1907.

We learned again that this America, which Abraham Lincoln called the last best hope of man on Earth, was built on heroism and noble sacrifice. It was built by … voyagers, who answered a call beyond duty, who gave more than was expected or required, and who gave it with little thought to worldly reward.

We think back to the pioneers of an earlier century, and the sturdy souls who took their families and the belongings and set out into the frontier of the American West. Often, they met with terrible hardship. Along the Oregon Trail you can still see the grave markers of those who fell on the way. But grief only steeled them to the journey ahead.

Today, the frontier is space and the boundaries of human knowledge. Sometimes, when we reach for the stars, we fall short. But we must pick ourselves up again and press on despite the pain. Our nation is indeed fortunate that we can still draw on immense reservoirs of courage, character and fortitude.

Excerpted from President Ronald Reagan’s eulogy of the seven Challenger astronauts, delivered in Houston on January 31, 1986.

When choosing a restraining device, there are several options to consider. Some owners like it if Fido rides in a dog carrier. Others don’t like the confinement of a carrier, choosing instead to educate Fido to sit still in a doggy seat belt (yes, they really do make them. Would I kid you?). Still others prefer to have a passenger hold Fido on a leash …

What to do, what to do? It’s so confusing. There are so many types of dog carriers on the market. Most people don’t have a clue as to which one to choose and are often mislead by salespeople who may or may not have the appropriate knowledge to make such purchase decisions. Much of your decision should be based on the nature of your travel needs. There are pros and cons for almost any selection. Final approval, though, rests with Fido. If he doesn’t like it, everyone’s stuck.

Excerpted from How to Get Your Dog to Do What You Want: A Loving Approach to Unleashing Your Dog’s Astonishing Potential by Warren and Andrea Eckstein. Pubished by Random House, New York, 1994.

It was a calm, still evening. The broad bosom of the Thames was scarcely ruffled by the little breeze that stirred the drooping sails of some of the river craft. Over the city and over the forest of masts, the round full moon was rising. Touching on the dome of St. Paul’s, it glances down over roofs and under bridges till it lay a broad path of light on the sleeping river. The gas lamps flickered and looked pale before its light, and many a weary pedestrian, hurrying across the crowded bridges which span the river, paused a moment to gaze at the full-orbed globe which even to weary eyes was a wondrous revelation of beauty.

It was dark under the bridges, and the water lapping against the piers had something mournful in its sound. One of the slow river-barges was just passing into shadow.

Excerpted from ‘Poppets’ by Amalie La Forge. Published in St. Nicholas: Scribner’s Illustrated Magazine for Girls and Boys, volume IV, conducted by Mary Mapes Dodge. Scribner & Co., New York, 1877.

If you don’t like “street photographer,” how do you respond to that other tiresome phrase, “snapshot aesthetic”?

I knew that was coming. That’s another stupidity. The people who use the term don’t even know the meaning. They use it to refer to photographs they believe are loosely organized, or casually made, whatever you want to call it. Whatever terms you like. The fact is, when they’re talking about snapshots they’re talking about the family album picture, which is one of the most precisely made photographs. Everybody’s fifteen feet away and smiling. The sun is over the viewer’s shoulder. That’s when the picture is taken, always. It’s one of the most carefully made photographs that ever happened. People are just dumb. They misunderstand.

That’s an interesting point, particularly coming from someone who takes — or rather, composes and then snaps — lightning-fast shots.

I’ll say this, I’m pretty fast with a camera when I have to be. However, I think it’s irrelevant. I mean, what if I said that every photograph I made was set up? From the photograph, you can’t prove otherwise. You don’t know anything from the photograph about how it was made, really. But every photograph could be set up. If one could imagine it, one could set it up. The whole discussion is a way of not talking about photographs.

From Visions and Images: American Photographers on Photography by Barbaralee Diamonstein. Published by Rizoli, New York, 1981.

Ten years ago, when the economy and peoples of the world were beginning to stabilize themselves after the great war – a man had a dream. To build a new way of life – a better way of life for the average man. The dream became a vision – and the vision a burning desire. The “way of life” developed into a community – a better community – the very finest community that the world has ever seen.

Where in the World Should Such a Community be Located?

World economic conditions led the search away from foreign shores and pointed to the coastline of the United States. Reams of research, thousands of miles of travel from one coast to the other…gradually, the elimination narrowed itself down to Florida for the weather…to the West Coast for unspoiled areas and beautiful beaches…to the Tampa – St. Petersburg regions for proximity to metropolitan cities. Then, finally, to the Gulf for the warm calm waters…until, one day, TIERRA VERDE was discovered.

Louis Berlanti was a builder, and his dream of building the ideal community for a better life was going to be a reality…no matter how much effort…no matter how much money it took.

This dream was too big for one man or even one organization. There was only one other firm in the United States whose principals matched the mettle, foresight and vision of Lois Berlanti and who had the financial stamina to help make this dream come true – the firm of Murchison Brothers, Clint Jr. and John.

Excerpted from ‘The Treasure of Tierra Verde,’ a promo booklet designed and published by Charles Friedlander Advertising, Inc. of Miami, Florida, circa early-1960s.

Munich authorities on Monday tightened security checks at Oktoberfest and detained two suspected Islamists just days after terrorist threats led them to declare airspace above the festival a no-fly zone this weekend.

Bavarian Interior Minister Joachim Herrmann said on Monday that extra security and traffic checks had been erected around the entire festival grounds, known as the Wiesn, daily Süddeutsche Zeitung reported.

A ministry spokesperson told the paper the situation remained “highly sensitive,” and that the original team of 300 police officers manning the festival had been significantly increased.

According to the paper, increased security began on Sunday with bag checks, and increased video surveillance.

Excerpted from ‘Islamist suspects detained amid tightened Oktoberfest security.’ Published in The Local on September 28, 2009.

It is almost stating the obvious to say that the 1998 World Cup has completely transformed the way football is seen in France. However, what now seems self-evident was almost unthinkable only a few months ago.

Riding contentedly on the crews of the wave, or should I say the tidal-wave, created by the success of Aimé Jacquet and his players, French football is nevertheless keeping the basics strongly in mind. The success of les Bleus in eventually acquiring the World Cup crown that had eluded them ever since the invention of the competition by our fellow countrymen Jules Rimet was due in part to the high standards of technical training available in France. French training and coaching methods are admired internationally, as is amply demonstrated by the interest shown in young French players by the big foreign clubs. Coaching policy in France is under direction of the Direction Technique Nationale (DTN) of the French Football Federation, and the DTN has always made coaching its principal objective. Ever concerned to improve its activities, in the early 1990s the DTN even introduced a far-reaching scheme of Youth Development (‘pré-formation’ or ‘pre-training’) for very young players, who can learn advanced skills in seven football centres across France. The current elite of young players of the French First Division have all developed their skills in one of these centres, and the policy of Youth Development has turned out to be a total success, promising a rosy future for French football in the coming years.

Excerpted from France and the 1998 World Cup: The National Impact of a World Sporting Event by Hugh Dauncey and Geoff Hare. Introductory text written by Gérard Houllier of Liverpool FC. Published by Frank Cass Publishers, London, 1999.

Medea: Jason, I crave thy pardon for the words I spoke, and well thou mayest brook my burst of passion, for ere now we twain have shared much love. For I have reasoned with my soul and railed upon me thus, “Ah! Poor heart! Why am I thus distraught, why so angered ’gainst all good advice, why have I come to hate the rulers of the land, my husband too, who does the best for me he can, in wedding with a princess and rearing for my children noble brothers? Shall I not cease to fret? What possesses me, when heaven its best doth offer? Have I not my children to consider? Do I forget that we are fugitives, in need of friends? When I had thought all this I saw how foolish I had been, how senselessly enraged. So now do commend thee and think thee most wise in forming this connection for us; but I was mad, I who should have shared in these designs, helped on thy plans, and lent my aid to bring about the match, only too pleased to wait upon thy bride. But what we are, we are, we women, evil I will not say; wherefore thou shouldst not sink to our sorry level nor with our weapons meet our childishness.

I yield and do confess that I was wrong then, but now have I come to a better mind. Come hither, my children, come, leave the house, step forth, and with me greet and bid farewell to your father, be reconciled from all past bitterness unto your friends, as now your mother is; for we have made a truce and anger is no more.

The ATTENDANT comes out of the house with the children.

Take his right hand; ah me! my sad fate! when I reflect, as now, upon the hidden future. O my children, since there awaits you even thus a long, long life, stretch forth the hand to take a fond farewell. Ah me! how new to tears am I, how full of fear! For now that I have at last released me from my quarrel with your father, I let the tear-drops stream adown my tender cheek.

Excerpted from Medea by Euripides, translated into English by E.P. Coleridge.

What to do
1. Choose a magazine picture.
2. Cut an important part of the picture such as the head of a dog, a baby’s foot, or a glass of milk. Glue it to the base of the paper or cardboard.
3. Choose another unrelated magazine picture and add a part of that picture to the first part. The idea is to make a silly picture combining unrelated parts such as the head of a dog, the body of a boy, two feet made of bananas, and so on.
4. When a substantially silly picture is complete, dry for an hour or so.

More to do
More art: Glue a part from a magazine picture on a piece of paper. Give the artist the challenge of adding other parts to the pre-glued piece.

Excerpted from ‘Mixed-up Magazine’ by Mary Ann Kohl. Originally appearing in The Giant Encyclopedia of Art & Craft Activities for Children 3 to 6, edited by Kathy Charner. Published by Grypon House, Beltsville, Maryland, 2000.

How often, in looking over the blue waters of the ocean, we wonder at the mysterious life of the depths, and imaging the strange creatures which dwell there. Poets have described their fancies of it, scientists have written down in their exact language its characteristics, but what a revelation to see it for one’s self! The glass-bottom boats are unique in California, I believe, although but an adaptation of the marine observation glass which has long been in use. From these boats it is possible to look down into the water to the depth of fifty to one hundred feet and observe the life as clearly as we look about us on land. Rowing over the kelp beds, the observer is suddenly transported into a wonder world which surpasses his most fantastic dreams. Great trees loom up out of the gloom and spread their broad corrugated leaves of amber in the bright sunlight. They wave and sway with the gentle motion of the water, and in and out swim the fish, now darting into the shadow of the kelp and again flashing in the sunlight. Schools of little fish glide with lithe motions back and forth. The golden perch glistens in its radiant armor. Now and then the iridescence of a little rainbow fish shimmers in the sun ray. The boat floats over flower beds of red, green and blue seaweed, and over rocks which are alive with the strange creatures of the deep – spiny sea urchins, sprawling starfish, floating jellyfish, and those interesting low marine creatures, tunicates. All is silent save for the gentle lapping of the waves on the boat’s side, but we are looking into another world with the same curiosity and awe that the inhabitants of Mars might look into ours. It is a fascinating, never-to-be-forgotten scene …

Santa Catalina is a lovely spot in which to rest and dream away the summer days in a climate that is balmy and tempered, where the gentle breeze just ripples in the undulating surface of the bay, and where the unending succession of fair days is a constant inducement to out-of-door life. In this sheltered retreat of Avalon we are on historic ground, for here, centuries ago, the Indians lived in peace and caught their fish and hunted among the rocks for abalones; here came the discoverer of Alta California, Cabrillo; and later, he who christened it with its present name, Vizcaino. Still later is formed a retreat for the buccaneers of the coast, and then the Franciscans came to induce the Indians to leave their happy home and dwell and toil about the missions. At least this is the supposition, for the Indians have vanished from the island and left behind them only their mortars and other implements of stone and shell. In this quiet bay of Avalon the Indian fishermen has paddled his canoe, the Spanish caravels have sought refuge from the tempest, the freebooter has lain in wait for his prey, and today pleasure boats glide over its waters and the shrill whistle of the steamer sounds to warn us that the hour has come to leave for San Pedro.

Excerpted from Southern California by Charles A. Keeler. Published by Raymond & Whitcomb, Santa Fe Route, 1899.

Imprisoned in the library by the rain while our host was busy elsewhere, the Professor and I had spent the morning rummaging through the shelves. The Professor’s find had been a black-letter treatise on etiquette, in the French of the fifteenth century. I had unearthed from behind a row of tattered magazines what at first sight I had supposed was an empty book-cover, but which had turn out to be an old scrap-album of the kind popular during the first half of the nineteenth century. The album had been begun but never filled up. Its sole contents were a few newspaper cuttings, and the little rice-paper drawing of the goldfish was pasted on the first leaf.

“There is something that strikes me as peculiar about this sketch, but what it is I can hardly say,” I observed as we all three stared at it.

“The mouth is distended in a rather unusual fashion for a carp,” remarked the Professor.

Gilchrist turned to him sharply: “What makes you call it a carp?”

The Professor shrugged his shoulders. “The goldfish is a variety of the carp species,” he replied quietly. “You appear to know that.”

“I know it; but I didn’t think that many other people did.”

“It is a Chinese variety”—the Professor was continuing when I uttered an exclamation. The word China had come to me as a revelation.

“This drawing has come from China!” I proclaimed confidently. “It is not the work of a European.”

Gilchrist nodded.

“Now I understand why it seemed to me that there was something strange about it,” I added.

Excerpted from ‘The Celestial Carp’ by Allen Upward, a short story appearing in The Living Age, volume XIII. Published by the Living Age Company, Boston, 1901.