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the bones

Continuing the thought of the things we lose to bias and prejudice and all that sort of thing…

Did you know that we have multiple extant contemporary guides to ancient divination practices? We read our horoscopes in the newspaper (ok fine, on popsugar or whatever) and feel connected to the past in that way, but not only do we have Proper Ancient Divination knowledge… in some cases we have COMPLETE KEYS to divination systems that are actually millennia old, even from practices long abandoned or subsumed. Among other things, not yet complete but impressive nonetheless, we have a set of Babylonian tablets, dozens and dozens of them, which describe literally thousands of potential omens which might be witnessed via celestial observation — stars, planets, wind, the length of days, etc. — and mapped onto events of the world. (This collection is called Enuma Anu Enlil, if this catches your fancy, and represents a practice used and shared across a thousand years or more, from 2000-3000 years ago)

The one I’ve been thinking about a lot recently is astragalomancy, which you’ll most often see as people rolling dice nowadays in search of truth or answers, but which started (and in several cultures persists, having evolved independently) as casting the conveniently-shaped knuckle bones from ruminant animals. If you looked at a set of these bones, you might think “wow, what strange hard styrofoam packing peanuts,” because that’s the basic shape. They have some interesting qualities. For one, they are effectively four-sided dice, because the bones won’t rest on their curved ends. Secondly, they are not remotely fair. The keys used to interpret the results take that into account. The structure of the bones gives rough preference for certain outcomes. And they naturally form four unique faces, which can be assigned different numbers or symbols and mapped onto a key.

The ancient Greek version of this practice (with some variation, including in number of bones used) assigned the numbers 1, 3, 4 and 6 to the faces, and used 5 bones for a possible 56 total results (the super negative outcomes are apparently less common with the actual bones themselves, which might be a relief). Our complete copy was engraved on a pillar in Anatolia from … maybe 400BC? I’ve lost the journal article I was reading, but here’s a reference with a different translation: http://opsopaus.com/assets/Astagalomanteion_Enkheiridion.pdf

Imagine, you’d be throwing your bones, likely scavenged from sacrifices and prepared, and read that pillar to determine your fate, and now we can do exactly the same process well over two millennia later and come out with exactly the same results. You can even buy these bones on Etsy!

If you’ve been listening to me babble recently you might have caught a note about the Gods and their epithets serving as different facets of a God’s responsibilities, invoked separately and specifically to seek favor in a particular area when mentioned during ritual or prayer. Here, too, we can see these examples, telling us a little more information about the outcome of our divination.

Take Zeus: we see Zeus Ammôn, which isn’t strictly Zeus as we understand him but a syncretic merger with the Libyan/Egyptian father of gods, which might refer to something like wisdom as this was a fairly remote shrine to which people were willing to travel to seek good counsel. There’s Zeus Ktêsios, which is the aspect of Zeus connected to household wealth (and specifically with keeping your larder full). That’s the epithet you might use when praying to Zeus as one of your household gods. We also see Zeus Xenios, which refers to Zeus as the protector of guests and travelers. And so forth. Layers of meaning which might flavor the interpretation of the outcome. It’s interesting stuff, and it’s amazing that we can simply mimic the very same practices which might have led people to make the decisions we’re now living through the impact of so much later.

time warp laundromat

All but the newest laundromats seem to have a funny timeless quality to them. Tile that is inevitably broken and aged, but broken and aged juuuuust enough that it could be ten years old or fifty. Washers designed for strange commercial applications with designs that haven’t changed appreciably in years. Lighting that hurts your eyes no matter where it comes from or which bulbs they use. A laundromat is just there to scream “come on inside and feed me quarters, you unwashed wretch!”

We have an especially confusing one, clearly placed over the nexus of multiple temporal events. Several of the machines are old enough that they ARE recognizable as long-discontinued styles of machines, made by long-defunct companies, 80% with signs claiming them to be out of order.

Sepia-toned photograph of a bank of older washers, photo by Sonny Sixteen.

The plants are dead, and have been dead for years. Remarkably well-preserved! But dead. Stickers proudly proclaiming chamber of commerce membership decorate the sliding doors, somehow stuck in place since 1995, continuously open nearly that full time, with an occasionally staffed counter (so it seems, though we’d never seen any proof of it) and a single employee who would come and silently sweep at a bit after midnight before locking himself into a back room, face oddly unmemorable.

It seems an end of an era, then, to have recently visited and discovered that the flow of time had somehow suddenly been jostled… artwork of unknown vintage replaced by a local public health poster, a fresh clock on the wall and a brand new sign: Open 6am-Midnight. Doors automatically lock at 11:50pm.

As if now to eagerly reclaim all the time it leaked out into the wrong spaces over the years, our own little twilight zone. Now, suddenly, for one night, a proper laundromat. Or maybe this is the true laundromat, the version it was always meant to be, just for a moment, caught at the right time when the timelines synced up perfectly. Maybe next time we visit, it will have come once again unmoored from our timeline, anachronism creeping back in. The artefacts indicating displacement still lined the walls depending on where you looked. The 1970s vintage soap dispenser looking bright and cheerful as always, prices unchanged, still one of the rare sources for a refreshing can of Slice, virtually impossible to find in the outside world. I expect next time we’ll wander in to find Ms Pacman restored, the lighting near the entrance broken once more, a pile of 90s magazines to flip through and enjoy.

There’s a price to time loops and portals, of course, and thermodynamics takes its toll: now a full 90% of the machines are inoperable.