of the seven deadly sins, the eighth and worst by far is emotional blackmail ... the diligent practise of this subtle and ancient art creates a constantly evolving darwinistic moral vacuum in which the brightest new manipulative ideas and stratagems flourish ... and which only you, or i, can fill !
Sunday, August 10, 2008
Saturday, August 09, 2008
Friday, August 08, 2008
Thursday, August 07, 2008
Wednesday, August 06, 2008
eclectic's corner ... a delightful homage to gustave courbet on crowborough hill
Tuesday, August 05, 2008
Monday, August 04, 2008
a handful of dust
After a life-time of hoovering,
... I am now reasonably certain that most household dust is of a feminine origin
… because nothing derived from the male could be so fine and fluffy
… ennit ?
... I am now reasonably certain that most household dust is of a feminine origin
… because nothing derived from the male could be so fine and fluffy
… ennit ?
Sunday, August 03, 2008
from a short piece by hilary mantel in the guardian review
Sentimental people will try to convince you that stories, like the act of reading, are as natural as breathing.
They say that we are narrative animals, but the broken stories of people who enter psychoanalysis suggest that if stories are natural to us they are not easy to construct in a way that serves both our sense of personal continuity and our need for freedom.
A story is always on the move, and from the author's point of view there is nothing natural about it.
Constant readers become writers at the point in life when they acquire a fascination with a process of falsification: with imposing shape while simulating the evolution of character and event, making determinations while fostering an illusion that in the next chapter anything might happen.
A novelist spends a lifetime in the business of presenting what's life-like, but not like life.
It's a sobering thought - life won't actually do.
Verisimilitude and the truth are conjoined twins, one often flourishing at the expense of the other.
http://www.guardian.co.uk/books/2008/aug/02/fiction7
They say that we are narrative animals, but the broken stories of people who enter psychoanalysis suggest that if stories are natural to us they are not easy to construct in a way that serves both our sense of personal continuity and our need for freedom.
A story is always on the move, and from the author's point of view there is nothing natural about it.
Constant readers become writers at the point in life when they acquire a fascination with a process of falsification: with imposing shape while simulating the evolution of character and event, making determinations while fostering an illusion that in the next chapter anything might happen.
A novelist spends a lifetime in the business of presenting what's life-like, but not like life.
It's a sobering thought - life won't actually do.
Verisimilitude and the truth are conjoined twins, one often flourishing at the expense of the other.
http://www.guardian.co.uk/books/2008/aug/02/fiction7
Saturday, August 02, 2008
roll up, roll up, to the wellcome institute for skellingtons of old london
blue rosette for best teeth in show ...
http://www.wellcomecollection.org/exhibitionsandevents/exhibitions/skeletons/galleries/WTD041693.htm
green rosette for oustanding success in the knobbly knees section ...
http://www.wellcomecollection.org/exhibitionsandevents/exhibitions/skeletons/index.htm
Thursday, July 31, 2008
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
Monday, July 28, 2008
Sunday, July 27, 2008
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