As I was reading my book last night – namely the novel Ancillary Justice by Ann Leckie, – I came across a familiar-looking song, sung by the protagonist, Breq, to herself as she ventures off on a daring mission:
This blog is an exercise in vanity.
Vanitas vanitatum!
This is my favourite sentence that starts with ‘and’:
Or else there might be a drug in the laurel that could
have produced such an Apollonian effect. To test this, I have
crushed laurel leaves and smoked quantities of them in a pipe and
felt somewhat sick but no more inspired than usual. And chewed
them as well for over an hour, and very distinctly felt more
and more Jaynesian, alas, than Apollonian.
Whenever I open up and rinse a can of chickpeas, I find myself idly picking one up and with two fingers swiftly slipping off its transparent skin—
In which I reflect upon the inciting incident in my relationship with oomancy.
For the first time in my life, the nearest body of water to where I live (ignoring little ponds and the like) is artificial rather than natural.
I first met my fiancée on .
I have started using a paper notebook for an agenda/planner/to-do-list thing. It's been an interesting experiment.
I have a secret, which I’ve never revealed:
This city is a strange place—so much of it is paved.
The trees here—it must be lonely for them, not being in a forest; stretching their roots out and finding soil compacted by cement, soil sparse of arboreal conversation.
In which it is cold, early morning; mist over the lake; I set my service leaflet on fire.
I have a secret to-do list. The problem with my secret to-do list, though, is that it’s easy for me to forget what is on it.
I used to be able to make purple sparks shoot from my fingertips. I just had to snap my fingers at just the right angle, with just the right force, when the humidity was just right, when my hair was tied up in a bun in just the right way …
This morning, flatmates and I had a brief dance party in the living room. It was a lot of fun—it felt long overdue. It made me think of a note I had written to myself about a year ago.
In which I have to blow my nose.
Eternal praise! eternal praise!
Spotted Jack Mitchell searching the Perseus English-Latin lexicon for the word ‘virtuous’.
I was bored this afternoon, so I ate a raw clove of garlic.
That’s all.
As I was walking down Duncan street last Sunday evening, I came across a tree that that had a face—eyes, a nose and a mouth affixed to its bark.
Whatever is necessary that such dance parties as that of last night should happen again—that’s what matters to me.
Sometimes I space out for a moment.
I made a remark shortly after I came in the door—paraphrased from David Lebovitz—about the state of the Parisian baguette: Emma is this moment recording it in her quote-book. I am flattered.
I was pleasantly surprised to find the security area virtually deserted.