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Lazarushian-leather Tap Shoes in the Labyrinth

Yes, Din! Din! Din!
You Lazarushian-leather Gunga Din!
Though I’ve belted you and flayed you,
By the livin’ Gawd that made you,
You’re a better man than I am, Gunga Din!

Gunga Din by Rudyard Kipling

I Tell You Why President Trump is on the Verge of Total Victory… | Scott Adams’ Blog

We can print you:

In a paper published in the journal Biomaterials Science, the researchers demonstrate a method of generating implantable tissues with functioning capillaries, the tiny blood vessels responsible for supplying the body with oxygen and other nutrients. Lab-grown capillaries are here, 3D-printed organs are just around the corner

Elsewhere in the Meat Universe: How Cellophane Changed the Way We Shop for Food – HBS Working Knowledge – Harvard Business School Initial versions of cellophane were waterproof, but not moisture-proof. So, while it was effective for wrapping products like candy and cigarettes, it wasn’t effective for packaging fresh food.

YOU CAN’T INSULT A WHORE: Deplore the cry of “Fake News” while being the high priestess of it. It is impossible to shame Katie Couric. Katie Couric Decries Fake News, Still Faces $12 Million Defamation Lawsuit

Next week I propose we discuss the word ‘niggardly’. As in: ‘this year’s grant to the excellent campaigning organisation Black Lives Matter was niggardly, to say the least. How many flights will they be able to disrupt henceforth?’ Meaning parsimonious or mean. No etymological connection whatsoever with the very bad word — it comes instead from the Old Norse verb ‘nigla’, which means to fuss about small matters. And from which we get the word ‘niggle’. And yet niggardly, too, has caused furore in the past, because of its phonetic similarity to the aforementioned very bad word. If you are determined to be outraged and offended, then you will leap on niggardly with a sort of euphoria, and accuse whoever uses it of racism. Because you are driven and demented, I’d suggest.A vicious reaction to a very bad word

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Something Wonderful: Books



Built to Last

Upstream they’ve allowed the water level of the river to fall until the dam’s top blocks can be seen as the waterfall retreats. The river’s bottom emerges and a spring shorebird skitters along the edge of the green muck, its beak probing the dirt. Three pigeons pace on and peck at the drying granite blocks. Each block in the slightly curved dam wall under their feet is an easy ton of stone. The dam spans the river and, when the water is allowed to rise, it vanishes under a sheen of falling water. But now the water is low even though the river still flows.

Behind the dam a grating of steel bars lets the river flow under the dam and gush out the spill pipe at the foot of the stone blocks. There the river continues to flow under the footbridge, between the stone and brick walls of the mill, over another waterfall further on, and then, past other mills still downstream, out to sea.

The mill holds the river tight between its walls for a short span and, in the past, the dipping, turning wheels would have spun drawing the river’s power into the mill and, through rods and pulleys, relayed it on to the machines.

The first mill at this turn of the river was a saw mill in 1649. Then a grist mill came in its place. In time that too was torn down and the granite and brick buildings here now were raised up. The mill rises above the river, five stories of brick set on many courses of granite foundation stones. In its current form the mill made fabrics from civil war uniforms to fine cashmeres. Another mill just downstream made munitions for our arsenals. One gun from those foundries and lathes went first north to Portland and later west out over the ocean to Pearl Harbor. Later that mill’s machines made other parts out of case-hardened steel and pig iron. Other products, over the years, came from the mill: Christmas tree ornaments, cameras and film, paint, ice creepers for the Russian troops during World War II, rifle grenades, ski poles, waterproof boxes, and wooden shoes.

Today those machines are gone. Today the mill houses those who admire the fashionability of loft-like apartments; who value the anonymity of its corridors and numbered doors.

On massive granite blocks the mill as it now is has straddled the river for over a century. With care and maintenance its good for another century — or two or three — even though its use then cannot be foreseen anymore than the builders of the mill would have thought in their day that they were building housing.

The men who built the mill built better than they knew; far better than the Frank Lloyd Wright fancy “Falling Water,” once lauded by all but now already being rotted out and reclaimed by the stream it enfolded. The mill was not built as a fancy but as a machine for making and now for living, built to last by men whom we cannot hope to emulate.

In full spate the river surges between the mill’s walls and, at times, rises to flood the lowest apartments much to the distress of its fashionable tenants.

At flood speed the river rushes beneath the lower windows with a rumble and a stifled roar as if some endless ghost freight train was passing, passing, passing.

But then the spring flood abates to the hushed rustle and hum of flow. Over the calmer water swallows daub their nests under the eaves and, at dusk, dart and flicker over the water. And the mill around them, built long ago on the rocks of capital, skill, muscle, sinew and faith, contains the river below and the spring sky seen in its surface. The mill, raised on granite and formed from fire-forged bricks laid one after the other by arm and hand, mortar and trowel, built to last, endures.

Today we live in the reflection of their times. Today we taste the afterimage of events.


Kids Today, The Later Years

“We interviewed students in D.C. to get their opinions on Socialism. Yes, they love it. No, they’re not too sure why. Watch them try to define what socialism is….”


Ground Loops in the Labyrinth

The Devil of course thrives on stupidity — which is what makes Democracy so attractive to him — but his intentions are not merely stupid. On the D-word

“The assumption behind all these dystopian/Orwellian/Hitlerian scenarios is that Trump’s secret purpose is to build an oppressive superstate. Fortunately, anyone with a fourth-grade education who lives in the Midwest—unlike the cultural Brahmins at Lincoln Center—can see that he’s doing the opposite. He’s tearing stuff up. He’s castrating the EPA, hollowing out the Department of Education, carving up HUD, firing people for disloyalty to him personally, deciding that we don’t need foreign ambassadors anymore. If you’re looking for entertainment-related metaphors, you don’t need Shakespeare. Use any Monster Truck Show.” Exit the President

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Japan: How it got “that way” in 8 Minutes


Kids Today

They say it is a mental flaw to let things go “in one ear and out the other,” but at my age it is merely a question of deciding what fresh factoids to save to the hard drive in my skull. Mine is a large but, alas, limited hard drive, and at this point it is pretty much full. To save something new to it means I often have to delete something else from it. Often what I am deleting is not known to me until later when I search for it. At my age I don’t view this “in one ear thing” as a flaw but rather a necessity. I don’t forget a thing so much as I let it just “slip my mind.”

A common variation of this slippage is our deplorable habit of letting something slip “in one ear and out  the mouth” without first striking either a reflective surface or passing through a BS filter — preferably both. Once you realize that this “In-Ear-Out-Mouth Syndrome” (IEOMS) is an affliction of epidemic proportions in contemporary America you can spot it maiming and killing brain cells everywhere.

The latest notable example of IEOMS showed up a few nights ago at a meeting of troubled Americans that I, being troubled by Americans, often attend. A woman of middle years was — yet again — bemoaning the fact that she is just, well, nuts. Being nuts is, according to her, part of “Being all I can be!” Even though being crazy makes her unhappy, she seems as determined to hold onto her nuttiness as she is to “let go” of her girlish figure “and let God” bring on the burritos.

It is not that she is nuts that is her real problem. The problem is that she has a burning need to “share” her nutty insights. These reflections on her part often give way, as such reflections do, to the nostalgic and idealistic:

“Things were better when…,”
“If only I had what I had when….,”
“Don’t you all think I should have now what I had then…..?”

She thirsts for the past. It is her central theme. But last night she introduced a variation on her theme of yearning for the past. She yearned for the deep past — when she was a child, or, even better, an infant.

In the course of announcing this insight to the stupefied listeners counting the seconds until her 3 minutes were up, she emitted a pure bit of IEOMS. She said,

“I was feeling extra crazy so I took a walk down to the town beach where all the new babies were out and all the children were playing. And I saw, so very, very clearly, how lucky the babies and children were to be so simple, and so deeply, deeply sane.”

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In the summer of 1966 on Martha’s Vineyard, where the mail was rendered sticky and soft by the damp salt air, as if permeated by a melting island unreality, I received a questionnaire from some British editors asking—in the manner of a book compiled, thirty years before, of opinions oh the Spanish Civil War—“Are you for, or against, the intervention of the United States in Vietnam?” and “How, in your opinion, should the conflict in Vietnam be resolved?” Had the questions arrived on the mainland, where I had so much else to do, I would probably have left them unanswered: but in the mood of islanded leisure and seclusion that I had come to afford I sat down at my makeshift desk and typed out, with some irritation, this response:

Like most Americans I am uncomfortable about our military adventure in South Vietnam; but in honesty I wonder how much of the discomfort has to do with its high cost, in lives and money, and how much with its moral legitimacy. I do not believe that the Vietcong and Ho Chi Minh have a moral edge over us, nor do I believe that great powers can always avoid using their power. I am for our intervention if it does some good—specifically, if it enables the people of South Vietnam to seek their own political future. It is absurd to suggest that a village in the grip of guerrillas has freely chosen, or that we owe it to history to bow before a wave of the future engineered by terrorists. The crying need is for genuine elections whereby the South Vietnamese can express their will. If their will is for Communism, we should pick up our chips and leave. Until such a will is expressed, and as long as no willingness to negotiate is shown by the other side, I do not see that we can abdicate our burdensome position in South Vietnam.

My discomfort increased when the New York Times, in a story covering the publication of Authors Take Sides on Vietnam in England, gave my impromptu response a prominence it never hoped to have. I wrote this letter to the editor:

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Come for the simple minded animation. Stay for the sub-titles: “I am Bolo. I am all alone. All my friends have been eaten.”


“I’m an Englishman.”

From a BBC’s 2001  NCS Manhunt:a speech by a man called Laurence Bright, played by the excellent Marc Warren.

[Transcript] “I’m an Englishman. I’m from Bermondsey, South-East London. My father was called George. He was also from Bermondsey. His father, another Bermondsey man, was called George too. And his father, my great-grandfather, is from the same place. He was called Edward.

“These three generations of my family, were in the fish trade. I’m the first member of my family not to work at the market in Billingsgate. My great-grandfather had eleven brothers and sisters. I dont know exactly how many of his generation married or exactly how many children they produced. I’ve so far tracked over two-hundred of them.
Many still live in Bermondsey. Some are still in the fish trade.

“There are seven called George, and five called Victoria. I stand here, in front of you, as a representative of all of them. And I ask in their name the great question put by our patron, Mr Powell. What do they know of England, who only England know? Or, what can my family, who come from England, who lived in England, who know only England, say of this, our country?

“Mr Powell once spoke of the destruction of ancient Athens and the miraculous survival in the blackened ruins of that city of the sacred olive tree; the symbol of Greece, their country. And he also spoke of us, the English, at the heart of a vanished empire, seeming to find within ourselves that one of our own oak trees, the sap rising from our ancient roots, and he said perhaps, after all, we who have inhabited this island fortress for an unbroken thousand years, brought up, as he said, within the sound of English bird song under the English oak, in the English meadow, beneath the red cross of St. George, it is us who know most of England.

“And I appreciated him for saying that, because it was as if he spoke for my family, who understand well their own country. Who understand even better their own capital, London town, as we used to call her. As we strolled in her parks, as we marveled at her palaces, as we did buisness in the city, went west for a dance, took a boat on the river. The pale ale and eel pie of old London. The London of my family for as many generations as I know. The London that will in less than fifteen years will be less than fifty percent white. London, where in fifteen years a white person will be in the minority.

“Am I racist? No. Do I have anything against people of other races? No. So what then is my gripe?

“My gripe, and I speak on behalf of seven men called George and five women called Victoiria, my gripe is quite simple.

“My gripe is that we were never asked. My gripe is that we were told, not asked, and everyday we are told again and again how we are to be and how our country is to be. We are told by them, and we know who they are, they’re English too. They are the class that has always set themselves apart, they are the class that has always taken what they wanted for themselves, and now they are the class that is giving England away.
They have never asked us, and they never will.

“Do we allow them to sell our heritage? Or is it time for us to speak?

“To speak, to refuse them the right to give away our holy, or bountiful, our only England that has, that has nurtured us, naked, grown us as the oak. Is it time for us that England know to come yet again and defend our country? With our fire, our fists?

“Is it time for us sons to rise again?

“I say yes.

“I say yes.I say… Yes.”


We need the following warning labels — once I am Emperor — placed on ALL movies where they fit:

1. Gay stuff. Contains copious amounts of stuff that will have no meaning for you if you’re not gay, or a gay-rights social-justice warrior.
2. Not in English. You have to keep looking at the subtitles because it’s in Surrender-Monkey language with all its out-of-place apostrophes and junk.
3. English, but dubbed.
4. Liberal preachy garbage. This movie wants you to have a certain opinion about current events…which you’re not going to have, since these opinions are contrary to common sense, so it’s a waste of time. ++cough++ Star Trek Save The Whales ++cough++
5. Scary movie that isn’t scary. It just has jump-scares for people who have been guzzling too much Starbucks.
6. An actor who acts just barely well enough to make some good stuff when he is acting under a good director…is acting under a poor director. You will fall asleep before your third beer.
7. Excessive amounts of time chewed up with “pretty people yelling at each other.” If that’s not your thing, this is a waste of your time.
8. The shark, or zombie, has very little screen time. The bulk of the movie is spent on the hopelessness of the plight of the good-looking people trapped on the buoy, or in the shopping mall, by the shark or zombie. Lots of pretty-people-yelling-at-each-other.
9. The “special effects” amount to CGI being used to make a package of Q-tip heads look like millions and millions of people.
10. CONFERENCE ROOM SCENE which is bound to ruin the whole movie.

– – Morgan K. Freeberg at “The Blog That Nobody Reads”


Saturday Review 3

And he hasn’t even reached his final form.

For some reason, many Righties are allergic to learning from the Left. THAT’S NOT HOW THE RIGHT DOES THINGS, they bellow, by which I assume they mean unpleasant stuff like “winning.” But you don’t have to do everything the way Lefties do it to learn some of the lessons they’ve learned. The Left has been working hard for decades, and they’ve been good enough to put some of their knowledge and experience into books that anyone can read. If you’re going to oppose the Left, it’s useful to know how the Left actually works. A lot of Righties have an inaccurate view of how the Left works, in part because our press is astonishingly incurious about one of the major power centers of our time. Radical Book Club: the Decentralized Left | Status 451

If the media became unhinged in the adulatory Obama years through hubris, it might have earned back its respect and professionalism by covering Trump in even-handed fashion. But Nemesis does not work that way: those it destroys, it first makes mad. America’s Media Meltdown | 

‘Dunkirk’ review in USA Today warns ‘no lead actors of color’ in WWII-inspired film –    A USA Today review of “Dunkirk” is under increased scrutiny from industry peers for warning viewers that it lacks women and minorities.

Identify Anything, Anywhere, Instantly (Well, Almost) With the Newest iNaturalist Release    The app’s users upload photos of all manner of creature, with both a date and a place accompanying the photo. Other users help with identifications, and once two users agree on a species an observation is elevated to “research grade.” iNaturalist recently passed five million observations, 2.5 million of which have reached research grade. [click to continue…]


Sleepers Awake on the Edge of the Precipice

With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams,
it is still a beautiful world.
Be cheerful.
Strive to be happy.


“We have legions of lefties whose purpose in life is to “CHANGE THE WORLD”.

“For decades, now, children have been taught this from kindergarten to grad school. “The world” means people.

“Human nature cannot be changed, but the children can dream up something to be offended by, and work very hard to pass laws against it. This is religion to much of America, and they are fanatical.

“Look at the result: In our daily life it is impossible not be reminded of the creeping totalitarianism that has taken away so much of our liberty. Pocket knives, cigarettes, grocery bags, self-censoring our speech both in person and on-line. 24/7 lies and disinformation from the media.

“The very serious problem that this creates is personal. If you allow yourself to focus on it you become angry. And the anger is real and poisonous. So you tend to avoid that which sparks the rage, because the rage is misery, and the rage is hell.

“I drive less. I hate walking into a market. The beach has become a disgusting freak show of once-pretty girls who trashed their bodies with tattooing. Radio sucks, and I can’t even think of watching a TV set. Keep dodging the crap, avoiding the reminders.

“I wait for some well meaning sort to suggest that I “get involved” and join the fight against the left.

“Yes, that’s it. I shall become a wholly and totally political creature and devote my time, money, energy, and attention into changing the world back to the way it was, and ought to be.

“Surely happiness lies in that direction.”    —  JWM in Tap Dancing Through the Labyrinth


Ticket Stubs from the Labyrinth

Your Inner Child Needs this NYC Rooftop Cottage: The rest of the 3000 square foot property for sale includes the top two floors of the building on 72 East 1st Street, with 18ft ceilings and two wood burning fireplaces. And now the $3.5 million price tag probably starts to make more sense, at least, in the current market.

American elites are mindlessly floating toward an unspoken belief in the sacredness of what I call the Zeroth Amendment: that American citizens should get no say in who gets to move to America because huddled masses of non-Americans possess civil rights to immigrate, no questions asked. And this Zeroth Amendment overrides the obsolete First Amendment, so you aren’t allowed to question it.  The Zeroth Amendment   


Congress should repeal Obamacare, and we, ordinary Americans, will take charge of replacing it with what we want. The DiploMad 2.0: Bored with It All (Almost)
Hollywood is surely aware of what happened to the pornography business and what is now happening to the news business. Hollywood Math
You’re not going to turn gay-haters into gay-lovers by surrounding them with gay stuff. The same is true of eco-cups, solar panels, windmills, smart cars… House of Eratosthenes
Effects of Centuries of Extreme Inbreeding Among Muslims: Low IQ, Violence and Terrorism 
The Law Of Merited Impossibility which states: “It will never happen, and when it does, you bigots will deserve it.”
The higher we’ve flown under the influence, the more down and dirty is the experience of the morning after. – – The Metaphysics of the Hangover –
While we were playing by the rules of dignity, collegiality and propriety, the Left has been, for the past 60 years, engaged in a knife fight…. He Fights – Evan Sayet
Exceptions to free speech — like exceptions to rights in general — are applied disproportionately by the powerful against the less powerful. Shock, Dismay In Academia At Scorpion Acting Like Scorpion     
City budgets $65,000 to build stairs in a park. Man does it for $550. City wants to tear them down.  CTV News
Jonathan Kay on the tyranny of Twitter: How mob censure is changing the intellectual landscape 
Other than ALL of them? The Most Hated Online Advertising Techniques
What ‘teleporting’ a photon to space means | Cosmos
Shoving Alinsky’s Rules for Radicals Right Back in the Left’s Ugly Face – Kurt Schlichter
The Fall and Rise of Roger Federer


The man who wants to bring the BRAIN DEAD back to life: Scientist whose life’s work will be used by US company that’s ready to start trials to ‘reanimate living cadavers’ in Latin America (and they’ve already got volunteers) Dr Sergei Paylian   has spent his life researching how to combat aging – and at his Florida lab  makes ‘bioquantines’ that are being used in a trial to reverse brain death.

“Every one there will give big cheer! Everyone there will have moved here!” The test case is Puerto Rico, a Third World nation that enjoys open borders with the United States. Despite a per capita GDP almost triple the world average, Puerto Rico is currently depopulating, with about three-fifths of all Puerto Ricans now in the mainland U.S. The Zeroth Amendment 

The Trump administration announced Thursday that it would eliminate dozens of paperwork requirements for federal agencies, including an obscure rule that requires them to continue providing updates on their preparedness for a bug that afflicted some computers at the turn of the century. As another example, the Pentagon will be freed from a requirement that it file a report every time a small business vendor is paid, a task that consumed some 1,200 man-hours every year. Trump Orders Government to Stop Work on Y2K Bug, 17 Years Later 

Certain people  are convinced that Rodney Stooksbury does not exist. This is because, even though Rodney Stooksbury was the 2016 Democratic congressional candidate in Georgia’s 6th District, nobody could ever actually seem to find a photograph of the guy. Or a campaign website. Or any campaign material. Or anyone who has actually met Rodney Stooksbury. News outlets tried to track down Stooksbury, to no avail. According to one investigation, “when reporters went to his town house in Sandy Springs, no one answered the door. When they inquired with the neighbors, no one had heard of him. He apparently had run no campaign, and had raised no money.” Current Affairs | Culture & Politics



Love Gone Missing


“Why did you come to Seattle?”
“I came to Seattle for the love.”
“The love? But Seattle is a desert.”
“I was misinformed.”

Back at the beginning of this century, absent being in a coma, being a hermit monk somewhere on a high mountain, or being sunk to your neck in the middle of a cypress swamp, you could not escape the story of “The Runaway Bride:”

“The runaway bride case was the case of Jennifer Carol Wilbanks (born March 1, 1973), an American woman who ran away from home on April 26, 2005, in order to avoid her wedding with John Mason, her fiancé, on April 30. Her disappearance from Duluth, Georgia, sparked a nationwide search and intensive media coverage, including some media speculation that Mason had killed her. On April 29, Wilbanks called Mason from Albuquerque, New Mexico, and falsely claimed that she had been kidnapped and sexually assaulted by a Hispanic male and a white woman. Jennifer Wilbanks gained notoriety in the United States and internationally, and her story persisted as a major topic of national news coverage for some time after she was found and her safety was assured. “

At the time Wilbanks was the plat du jour of selfishness and fear in our blighted age and was the “Story of the Decade” for as long as her story lasted. When she finally showed up and confessed she was parsed and probed, drawn and quartered, and generally eviscerated by the rapacious media until she was little more than a damp spot on some discarded surgical sponge.

I despised The Runaway Bride from the first moment it was revealed she had simply freaked out and taken the geographic cure by getting gone to Las Vegas. It was a match made in hell. Along with Wilbanks sane people have to hate Las Vegas too — a place that promotes itself by proclaiming the whacked-out psycho’s vacation destination of choice. Being a psychopath’s institutional refuge is a pathetic reason for a town to exist, but cheap and low places need to work with what they have. After all, nobody would mistake Vegas for Vatican City until, of course, they build a 1/3rd scale model of Saint Peters and slam six thousand slots into the basilica — something I am sure is in the planning stage.

“No matter how many in the media beat up their peers

for paying too much attention to this tawdry tale,

it reveals a deeper truth about ourselves and our lives.”


Still Vegas was the perfect place for The Runaway Bride to select as the terminus of her bus ticket. Once you go psycho in America it seems you have to pass through at least a Las Vegas of the mind and soul even if your final destination is someplace much more mundane like…. Albuquerque.

Let her go.Let her go. God bless her,
Wherever she may be.
She can search, search this whole world wide over….

— St. James Infirmary

In sum, Wilbanks freaked out, flipped out, bugged out, came back, fessed up, and was forgotten in a wave of law suits…. ”then all collapsed, and the great shroud of the sea rolled on as it rolled five thousand years ago.”

That’s the story. That’s the surface. Let’s strap on our scuba gear and dive.

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“Time makes refugees of us all, and orphans.”

In a corner of my building there are two children,

whom I have watched grow through thirteen years (the older is now fourteen). Not the free-range children of my own childhood, but raised like chickens in a coop. Yet with coloured chalks they drew faces, and the grid for hopscotch on the sidewalk outside, and I have heard their childish laughter in the halls. They will move away, and remember this some day, with all the nostalgia from that further displacement; and think back on this, perhaps, from old age. For all of this, too, will pass.

Where are we going, refugees and orphans, in a world ever ceasing to be our own? Where is the hope in a life from which finally everything will be taken, as memory itself withdraws in the encroaching darkness? How shall we, with all our human longing for a home, find our way to a place of belonging, that will not crumble around the next turn?

War, war, our world is all war. And unless our sight is fixed upon the Heaven, there can be no peace.

 – – David Warren @ Essays in Idleness

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The Fuller Projection Map is the only flat map of the entire surface of the Earth which reveals our planet as one island in one ocean, without any visually obvious distortion of the relative shapes and sizes of the land areas, and without splitting any continents. It was developed by R. Buckminster Fuller who “By 1954, after working on the map for several decades,” finally realized a “satisfactory deck plan of the six and one half sextillion tons Spaceship Earth.” The Buckminster Fuller Institute

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Floating on the Frame Rate

When reviewing the security footage from outside his house in Austin, Texas, Al Brooks spotted an unusual sight: a bird seems to hover past the camera with its wings completely stationary. Of course it wasn’t really hovering (and no, it’s not suspended by strings) but rather the frame rate of the camera  matched the flaps of the bird’s wings perfectly resulting in a stroboscopic illusion. This is the same stroboscopic effect you might see in a video of airplane propellers that aren’t moving or when the wheels on a car appear to be frozen.

Floaty Bird: Colossal