August 1st, 2007 § 0
To compensate for the titanic post of tedium most delirious wot I wrought yesterday, I bring you today Thirty Thousand Streets.
Oddly poignant and eminently readable short stories based on one young man’s experiences of moving to London. Only two instalments at this time, but as Shaw Taylor would have advised, keep ‘em peeled for more.
(Via Ade).
–c.
October 4th, 2006 § 0
“I have of late–but wherefore I know not–lost all my mirth, forgone all custom of exercises; and indeed it goes so heavily with my disposition that this goodly frame, the earth, seems to me a sterile promontory, this most excellent canopy, the air, look you, this brave o’erhanging firmament, this majestical roof fretted with golden fire, why, it appears no other thing to me than a foul and pestilent congregation of vapours.
What a piece of work is a man! how noble in reason! how infinite in faculty! in form and moving how express and admirable! in action how like an angel! in apprehension how like a god! the beauty of the world! the paragon of animals!
And yet, to me, what is this quintessence of dust? man delights not me: no, nor woman neither [...]“