"Sensual Objects as comprised of their notes" ©Graham Harman. Guerilla Metaphysics

For Pete's Handy Magnets

"HANDY TABLES" "RE-INVERSING WITH PTOLYMY"  8 MArch 1646. 8 A.m. I wake up, washed and tired by Ficino's company. His book is open, ready to hand, but I reach for wine, red wine, like they used to make it Albany. What a joke. I lean over and strike up a Lucky from the pack, and no, Shelby hasn't nicked the lot. Then I look over his ad for the collections of tables and set about earning my keep.
      "Just how handy are those tables?" he asks, coming in from the bathroom. " Given to handedness, I'd say". I leaf over the glass that sprates mefrom Blake, and my breath steams up the glassy surface. Probably bulletproof. I give it a pat and feel certain the alarm... But not one alarm. That confident, I thought, and wrestled myself, bags and all beside a tourist scene fromn the seventeeth century, wigwams, wumpums and what not in oils. As I had a moument to recoup, I collected the data is my head about the astrologer's tables, and the purpose to which tables are pt in general as substance. Tables as salt, as paper is to scissors. I scrawled quickly before the blogger beside me could see. Certain I was done with it I shapnled up the top and set to galazing once again at the other beauty. The 16th century masterpiece from Manilla, engraved by Don Alfonso the Friist, nee Cousin of Hebridyia Daertius, one of the few queens to survive the Tiamat. IN the vestibule over to the left, some guards were standing near a young looking Gtrecian Urn. The mastering eye concocted a blur above my head up into the King's Chamber where he had undoubtedly set his astrolabe to work. I felt the urge to say something funny, and grinned stupidly at Shelby while the lunacy took over my mind. "You can see from his hands he's a juggler; just look at the end of his juggling club. You couldn't ffind a better one today. Still, a bit clumpy with his other end tho. Still, I suppose, no problem juggling that, he did have an encyclopedic avenue to the heavens after all." Shelby was muttering in French to a side officer. She liked to talk shop wherever she could, and deferred to my irreverent tours of these museums which I was prone to, sulking and euphoriating over this and that, not her style. The manuscripts pile up on the tables. I search for a good image to illustrate to him my purpose. "It does much more than that now, " I say. "Here," and he hands me the copy naturally. "You can see how the astrolabe worls."