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Ten minutes dead. Then a machine started its heart. A Soviet lab filmed all of it in 1940.

2026-10-25 04:00:00

Rewatch: the red ring on the eye in the first seconds, the stopwatch, the pulse trace. Then ask what the last line is really asking.

Every quoted line is the film's own narrator. "Experiments in the Revival of Organisms" (1940), Techfilm Studio, Moscow, for the Soviet Film Agency (Dr. S.S. Bryukhonenko's experiments; narrated by Walter B. Cannon). Public domain via archive.org — archive.org/details/Experime1940

What you're looking at

Experiments in the Revival of Organisms is a 1940 Soviet science film, shot at the Institute of Experimental Physiology and Therapy in Moscow. Its subject is Sergei Brukhonenko's autojektor, an early heart-lung machine: two pumps and an oxygen reservoir that could do the work of a heart and lungs outside the body. The English version opens with the British biologist J. B. S. Haldane on camera, vouching for it: "I have seen some of the experiments shown in this film actually carried out" (00:58).

The film builds up in steps. First a dog's heart beats in a tray, fed with blood through tubes. Then a pair of lungs breathes on a bellows. Then a dog's head, kept alive on the machine, which the narrator says "lives on for hours and reacts to external stimuli" (05:39). Then the main event: a dog is drained of its blood until its heart stops. "Ten minutes have elapsed since the animal died" (14:00), and the autojektor pumps the blood back in. The heart flutters, restarts, the dog breathes, and the machine is disconnected.

The ending is a roll call of survivors. One dog was revived "after 15 minutes of death" (18:52); another is "the offspring of revived parents." The film says the revived dogs "live for years, they grow, they put on weight, and have families."

How much of it is a straight record is still argued. The experiments themselves are generally accepted as real, and Brukhonenko had shown the machine keeping a dog's head alive at a Moscow congress in 1925. But some commentators suggest the film re-stages them, and some scientists who saw the head experiment said it lived minutes, not hours. The film was screened in London in 1942 and to about a thousand American scientists in New York the next year, as the Second World War made the Soviet Union an ally.

File FILE_006.MOV
Kind Reel, 9:16
On Instagram 23 OCT 2026
Rights Public domain
Source Open the archive.org file
References Quotes are from the soundtrack (timestamps in brackets)Wikipedia: Experiments in the Revival of OrganismsWikipedia: Sergei Brukhonenko
Instagram Watch it on Instagram

Ethos, Pathos, Logos: Game Texts as Texts, Part I

2026-10-25 02:33:12

Game books are books. It seems silly to open with this fact, but the state of discursive practice in this sphere is such that I suspect it is required. Game books are books.

Let's take a step back. Let's say you and I just met. I'm from a few states over, just moved to your town. We're nine years old. We just met, maybe I'm your neighbor, and while playing outside we decide, in the way that children do, that we will play Hide and Seek. I close my eyes, count to 100, and you hide from me. You decide to hide inside your house. It's especially fun for you, because you can peer out of the window and watch me fruitlessly search for you outside. After a time, you see that I'm visibly frustrated and having a bad time, so you appear and announce that you won that round. But I'm livid. You can't hide inside! It's against the rules! Hide and Seek is an outside game, at least when you're playing outside.

Of course, our problem is one of expectations. I simply play Hide and Seek differently than you do. And with some up-front negotiation, we could have arrived at a mutually agreeable set of rules for this game of Hide and Seek that we are to play together. Perhaps we'll try it differently another time. This is all very normal, a normal part of playing games with other people. We establish norms that enable us to play coherently with one another, either before or during play (or, in all likelihood, both before and during play). This is not what I want to talk about. I want to talk about how we establish those norms in the first place.

Let's suppose that we were especially precocious children, and we wisely set the bounds of our specific Hide and Seek game before we began playing. I might say, "Hiders must hide outside, because we are playing outside." You might object. It's fun to be able to hide inside when you're playing outside. You mount your argument, and you provide evidence for it's value. You support it with case studies from previous games you've played, with appeals to the thrill of voyeurism for the hider, the thrill of increased uncertainty for the seeker. You note that the added complexity of the landscape of play keeps the game from becoming repetitive. Perhaps I'm convinced. Perhaps I serve up my own set of arguments and counter-arguments. Perhaps we decide we will try it both ways and draw conclusions together.

A game book is a book. It is not a game. It is, perhaps, about a game. If it's any good, it makes a set of arguments about how to play that game. I sit down with a game book, perhaps as a representative of a group of players I intend to play with, and I allow the book to describe a game to me. Perhaps it's a game I know already, or perhaps it's one I don't know. I certainly know games like it. Further, I allow the book room to convince me of its version of this game. If I'm an especially savvy reader, I assess possible counter-arguments, I think through the implications of the game described in this book. Perhaps I arrive at a compromise. Perhaps I decide to try it multiple ways, and draw my own conclusions. The game is whatever I play. It was never in the book, because the book is a book.

Stay tuned for Part II, in which we discuss some broad ways in which game books can attempt to be persuasive.

Facebook Exit

2026-10-24 23:51:00

Facebook Exit

Jsem přesvědčený, že Facebook jako platforma není dobrá pro nikoho individuálně, ani pro společnost jako takovou - a rozhodně ne pro mně.

Zároveň, přes několik pokusů, které selhaly více či méně rozpačitě a trapně, jsem nikdy nedokázal dotáhnout exit z Facebooku do konce. Což je pro mne dlouhodobě zdrojem frustrace, protože zažívám v tomto kontextu silnou kognitivní disonanci, kdy vím, co pro mě není dobré a proč, vím, co nechci dělat, vím, co bych měl dělat místo toho - a zároveň to nedokážu. Je to kombinace všech těch závislostních technik, které jeho tvůrci používají, ať už je to dynamicky se objevující obsah, aby co nejvíc poutal pozornost (a nejlépe rovnou polarizoval a vyvolával falešně silné emoce), koncept lajkování jako posilující zpětnovazební smyčka odměny (nebo trestu, když se odměna nedostaví), ale i praktické hodnoty Facebooku. Pořád je to jediná hra ve městě, pokud jde o informace o larpech, o sociálních aktivitách jako večírky a výlety, a o dalších praktických aspektech organizace života ve fyzickém světě. Ale přínos těch pozitiv je tragicky špatný a platíme za to pozorností, schopností vnímat delší formáty textu, kvalitou spánku a hlavně časem, který je konečným neobnovitelným zdrojem. A v patologičtějších formách úzkostmi, pokřiveným obrazem světa a své hodnoty v něm, a když už nic jiného, tak alespoň den po dni rostoucí polarizací na úrovni společnosti.

Zkusil jsem za ty roky, kdy mi tohle hryže v hlavě leccos. Cold turkey přístup, kdy jsem dokázal celý měsíc se na FB nepřihlásit (a pak stačilo jednou nahlédnout kvůli nějaké události a bylo to v loji), oddělení Messengeru a Facebooku (to vlastně fungovalo docela dobře, než člověk narazí v diskuzích a skupinových chatech na vábničku “podívej co píše XY tady…!”), vnitřní složitá pravidla jako “budu číst, ale nebudu psát”, “budu maximálně odpovídat, nebudu nic iniciovat sám” atd. Střídavé úspěchy byly vždy vykoupeny fakt velkou mírou diskomfortu a pocit zklamání sama ze sebe, když se je opět nepodařilo udržet se vracel jako starý nevítaný známý.

Takže další pokus? Jestliže proč zůstávám polapený v síti Facebooku jsou lidi, jedna z možných cest, kterou zkouším je postupné odstraňování lidí z kategorie “Friends” (ta sémantika je vážně chytrá, jak nepříjemné je říct “zbavím se přítele”, i když jde o známého at best nebo člověka, kterého jsem viděl naposledy před deseti lety), snaha psát málo a průběžně mazat, ideálně v poměru “na jeden napsaný příspěvek dva staré smazat” - a hledat substituci. Třeba tento prostor, blog, jako náhražkovou drogu za chuť “napíšu něco chytrého bez čeho se svět neobejde”, ale alespoň v delší podobě, na platformě, kterou vyvíjí jeden konkrétní člověk jako zase SVŮJ vzdor vůči enshittifikaci Internetu v etické a idealistické podobě. Nebo čtení knih.

A s přiznanou slušnou pravděpodobností, že to zase nevyjde, ale stojí za to to zkoušet. I když to znamená, že jak budu dávat vědět, že jsem něco napsal? Ano, na Facebooku. Ta ironie mi neuniká. Ale je to nejlepší co umím dělat právě teď.

Silence Cried The Mountain

2026-10-24 22:47:00

written in sand outside the reef, washed away by the ever shifting current: for a moment in gentle scrapes for all creatures of the sea to witness

Buried in sand,
endless weight to cover me
from the hearts of the reef,
the schools flashing bright,
families safe among the coral.

What sick power, my dread tail.
What harsh weight, my dread tail.
What venomous burden, my dread tail,
to flint behind my gentle smile.

Out in the wastes where the current pushes
trash, bottom feeders, invertebrates
into the cavernous maw of the Trench.
Eight Legged Air Breather,
Angus the Knight, Axo Wreathed in Glitter,
and my kin, Jet:
we heard the Singing Mountain.

Gleeful and keen we danced hello,
sang back its melodies learned and cherished.
A disinterested snort, "Do not stand in the way of Mountains, little things."
Is there no difference in the cruelty the large give the weak
from the cruelty the safe give the vulnerable?

With fury gathered
the band clung and clashed.
The Singing Mountain rose rose rose rose rose rose rose
ROSE!
to breach Heaven.
And though the kiss of God's breath was brief, it was enough.

Guided by rage and the force of We,
The Mountain sank,
choking desperately,
all of us wrapped in the darkness of ITS Life.

Except,
Eight Legs covered the mouth of the Mountain,
its song sputtered and squelched,
the last note came softly, freeing We with a belch.

--

In the glory after,
no other fish did see,
Me or Jet as heroes,
Our dread tails say it aloud:

THE TIDE MAKES HOMES OF US ALL.

sun

2026-10-24 20:48:00

they captured the sun
now they are happpiyi
tomorrow they will miss her
sorry little sun
we love you
they will say

-->

Performativism

2026-10-24 14:17:14

I find that the idea to disappear from existence, wiped away from peoples memories, and to erase the impact you've had to others, to be a captivating idea. Unfortunately for this idea, I like attention. I expect to be praised even after death. I expect that the time I’ve had with these individuals will help them rise up to be who they truly are. I expect them to be one with the Earth in a way I could never be. I expect people to reach great heights because of what I’ve said and done.

And yet I do nothing that is worth of praise. Only my words ring. And they don't even ring true.

I am performative to a fault. I say one thing, but act in the spirit of another.