What is that (Wallace) Stevens poem, where he slurs and mangles the syllables of the months to get to November as frozen in limbo?  I think the name was Metamorphosis – here’s a link to it though that may die in the fullness of time (http://poettreeyr.wordpress.com/2013/03/11/march-11-wallace-stevens-metamorphosis/) and even a bit of a clipping –


Yillow, yillow, yillow,
Old worm, my pretty quirk,
How the wind spells out
Sep – tem – ber….

Summer is in bones.
Cock-robin’s at Caracas.
Make o, make o, make o,
Oto – otu – bre.

And the rude leaves fall.
The rain falls. The sky
Falls and lies with worms.
The street lamps

Are those that have been hanged.
Dangling in an illogical
To and to and fro
Fro Niz – nil – imbo.


Now that’s more introduction than there is story here, even mis-introduction inasmuch as this is not about metamorphosis or being frozen in limbo, but the part that is a proper introduction is the mangling of the Octo- prefix, “Octobox”.

This ambitious box must be listed among the failures.  Each wall has two tenons.  I cut the tenons on a tablesaw and they are reasonably precise.  Likewise I cut the angles on the pillars with a tablesaw and they are reasonable precise too.  The mortises I used a hand router, there’s a little imprecision there (what is a ‘little’ imprecision?!) but the whole thing still comes out as a ring that fits together.



It may not be a pure fail but it certainly says a lot about how small imprecisions can have multiplicative consequences.  There is further saga and evidence on this one, I’ll have to return with more.  You can see though that the floor is not going to be easy, that a lid is certainly above my pay grade.  This was/is part of the conceptual polygon research theme too.


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