One doesn’t just read the Bible. One does so within a context. It’s very plain to me that I would not be undertaking it now, except as a process of retracing my steps: to revisit the ten-year-old Vincent and see through his eyes. It helps me see what I am now, and also how the… Continue reading The boy Samuel
On reading the Bible
When I read, I like to make an orgy of it, especially on a rainy winter’s day, curled up in my armchair in front of the glowing embers of a log fire. One book is not enough, I want to be surrounded by them, drawn into their world where time and space are condensed into… Continue reading On reading the Bible
On Christmas Eve
The Christmas spirit is a special thing. What is this “Peace on earth, goodwill to all men”? It’s tangible, that’s certain. I always feel that I receive it from others, never that I impart it to them. Or if I do emanate any of the glow, I feel it has been ignited first from a… Continue reading On Christmas Eve
Happiness machine
Matt Lowe of the blog “Liberal Jesus” wrote a post pointing to an article in the New York Times. Matt admitted “I can’t figure out quite what I think about it. I need a little goading I think.” I hastily appended my own working definition of happiness: that it's when one can say "I don't… Continue reading Happiness machine
Soul of an animal
The soul is feminine, I mean passive. It initiates nothing, does nothing but feel. It seems helpless to assert itself against will and intellect; like a slug on the sidewalk after rain, defenceless against accidental or deliberate squashing by human feet; or like a majestic brooding silence, the silence of a wilderness, defeated by the… Continue reading Soul of an animal
Preface
Intended as preface to a book I was planning in December, 2010 The soul is feminine, I mean passive. It does nothing but feel. Will and intellect are the masculine elements, delighting in action and creativity for their own sakes. In young men is a naturally warlike instinct: to fight, regardless of the cause espoused,… Continue reading Preface
Lambs and us
All you need to be a philosopher is to ask “Why?” By this standard, most three-year-olds are philosophers. When he hears the obvious answer, a philosopher thinks, “I’m not satisfied with this. There must be more to it!” The three-year-old responds to every answer with a further “Why?” until the adult tires of the game.… Continue reading Lambs and us
Sisyphus and the Rolling Stone (2)
Le Mythe de Sisyphe: essai sur l’absurde Albert Camus © 1942 Éditions Gallimard Translation © 2010 Ian Vincent Mulder Continued from extract (1): So what is this mysterious feeling which deprives us of vital sleep? A world explicable with reasons, even if they are bad reasons, remains a familiar world. But take away the illusions,… Continue reading Sisyphus and the Rolling Stone (2)
Sisyphus and the Rolling Stone (1)
Le Mythe de Sisyphe: essai sur l’absurde Albert Camus © 1942 Éditions Gallimard Translation © 2010 Ian Vincent Mulder I've decided to publish extracts of my new translation, which remains unfinished, on this blog, starting below: This book is about a certain sensitivity, which I call “the absurd”. You will find traces of it scattered… Continue reading Sisyphus and the Rolling Stone (1)
How I came to inhabit this body
Most days, I walk down the Desborough Road, to observe in passing the extraordinary variety of human life-forms on display. Suddenly the “brotherhood of all mankind” comes into my head. As usual, I’m glad to be me, thankful indeed. But then I reflect that my birth was no more of my choosing than theirs was… Continue reading How I came to inhabit this body
My Creation Myth
In the beginning was the void. How big was it? How long did it last? It’s impossible to say because time and space had not yet been created. Let’s imagine it as an empty matchbox. The Prime Mover, impatient for things to start, opened the box and the void escaped like a genie from a… Continue reading My Creation Myth
The Denial of Death
According to Ernest Becker, the wellspring of human action is the fear of death: correction, the denial of the fear of death. In his Preface, he actually says that the “prospect of death . . . is the mainspring of human activity” (my italics). He makes short work of the real fear of real death,… Continue reading The Denial of Death
The Joker Chuang-Tzu
Raymond Sigrist, by doing nothing and making no recommendation, finally got me to start reading Chuang Tzu. When I write about books, I adopt the same strategy as an unscrupulous professional reviewer: read a few pages, then rush headlong to the typewriter. Not that I can’t be bothered to read it through, but there’s nothing… Continue reading The Joker Chuang-Tzu
Angels
A propos my newly-confirmed belief in the existence of angels, Ashok says in his new post: “He will not believe in anything easily unless he has very sound proof of it.” Au contraire, my dear Ashok. (I seem to be starting each sentence in French.) There is no need for proof when the experience is… Continue reading Angels
Hell! said the Duchess
Hayden commented on my last with some excellent remarks on how to start a story, including the following: I love broadness and specificity in a beginning. A sense of mystery that isn't addressed by the ample facts stated. The facts situate the event in a time and space, anchor it if you will. The mystery,… Continue reading Hell! said the Duchess
Pygmalion & Galatea
Said Lehane, commenting on my last: “Would it also be sad to say that, through you, I’m kind of infatuated by this girl? Maybe on the way to falling in love with her.” Therein lies a phenomenon not unknown in the world of fiction. If a reader may fall in love with a character… Continue reading Pygmalion & Galatea
The secret life of strangers
How is it possible to remember a moment when nothing actually happened? I don’t know, but such moments are the ones I remember most vividly. There were some major works being done on the railway line which affected the bridge above, in the middle of the village’s main street. In consequence, traffic on the bridge… Continue reading The secret life of strangers
God is silent: angels are here
It's clear to me that there is no almighty God. My prayers and faith are directed towards freelance angels. I don’t know what they are “really”, only that they are real. Each one of us is vulnerable, so long as we are somewhere between birth and death. Being alive entails having everything to lose, bit… Continue reading God is silent: angels are here
Improvisation
Said Hayden, in a comment on my last: “I continue to think about your comments, Vincent, on your “magical” experience and the whisper in your ear. I'd love to hear more about it directly. Not the abstract philosophy that flows from it, but what you remember of the experience itself.” I didn’t know which experience… Continue reading Improvisation
The Chilterns
This is specially for Ashok, for comparison of the Chilterns with his real hills at Nainital. Here, the height above sea-level is never more than 200 metres. These vistas are all within walking distance of my house, which is near the middle of town, in the factory district. St Lawrence’s Church & Dashwood Mausoleum, photographed… Continue reading The Chilterns
Death will win
This sky is my paper, asking me to write on its clear blue surface, perhaps in sepia ink with my new fountain-pen. But it doesn’t tell me what to write. I don’t care, for my pleasure is in the writing more than the content. Gazing at the blue sky, I welcome the little clouds. Uninterrupted… Continue reading Death will win
Angst and Angels
Abstract ideas are all very well but unless you can feel them in your body or soul, you have no way of knowing if they are real. They might be the bastard children of human intellect mating with heaven-knows-what. So when Raymond proposed that existential angst is a universal experience, it left me unmoved. I… Continue reading Angst and Angels
Don’t be abashed
I’ve agreed to help publicize DBA Lehane’s competition, which is to help publicize his website. I don’t normally do much to publicize anything. Perhaps I just want to show you my own entry. I’ve never written a short story before, never mind a short short one. It is exactly 500 words and the title had to… Continue reading Don’t be abashed
Panspermia
Ashok in a blog post called Heaven, Scientifically Speaking refers to a theory called Panspermia. He thought I would be interested, or in his words, “excited”. I was in fact curious to ask myself why I am not excited. First his title. To me, Heaven, which featured in my recent post The Grand Scheme of… Continue reading Panspermia
Not understanding much
A BBC magazine programme about science, Material World on Radio 4, reports an ongoing study into the possible homing instincts of snails. I was interested, as a regular reader of this blog would not be surprised to learn. They are marking the snail shells with white correction fluid for identification; moving the snails somewhere else;… Continue reading Not understanding much
Bird-talk
I’ve been interested in the conversations of birds since a day in March 1971, in the churchyard of Hinderwell, a village in North Yorkshire. I had chewed a small square of wallpaper, which had been soaked in LSD. I learned the language of the rooks, almost. But that is a story for another day. This… Continue reading Bird-talk
Let them be
I’ve been interested in the conversations of birds since a day in March 1971, in the churchyard of Hinderwell, a village in North Yorkshire. I had chewed a small square of wallpaper, which had been soaked in LSD. I learned the language of the rooks, almost. But that is a story for another day. This… Continue reading Let them be
Graffiti
Further to my last, Rebb and Ashok doubtless speak for a majority in their negative attitude towards urban graffiti. I’ve evolved a different view, as expressed in several posts—see excerpts below. The illustrations are taken from this post on 27th April ’07. But where do the people walk? Yesterday in the drizzle I stepped carefully… Continue reading Graffiti
Alley creatures
At the weekend, Karleen and I went walking on a hillside meadow, full of wildflowers, that you can see across the valley from many vantage-points. Amongst the blooms was lots of ragwort, notorious for being poisonous to grazing mammals. I looked carefully for any sign of the cinnabar caterpillar, but none were to be seen.… Continue reading Alley creatures
Gerrards Cross and the wayfarer
I spent the morning engaged intensely in ‘writing’, if you can call it that. Needing a break, I revisited Gerrards Cross, keen to see if the Odeon cinema has changed since the photo (from the Sixties) that I published the other day. Never mind that. Does Gerrards Cross welcome the wayfarer? Consider the evidence. A… Continue reading Gerrards Cross and the wayfarer
Gerrards Cross
My wanderings usually take me through wild footpaths and unpretentious housing estates. I’ve had no occasion to visit the village of Gerrards Cross, which “has a reputation for being very upmarket and exclusive, with house prices being considerably higher than average. Located in the commuter belt of London, the village is the most expensive postcode… Continue reading Gerrards Cross
The visionary eye
Reality and imagination are forever intertwined, and it’s from their potent combination that magic is concocted. Modern scientists are often against this. Richard Dawkins has felt a vocation to keep reality and imagination apart, for the mischief they can cause when entangled. It’s rather like saying, “We know what boys and girls can get up… Continue reading The visionary eye
Cornfields near Amersham Old Town
Dedicated to Joanne (Serenity) because she is an artist and may appreciate the colours and textures. I'm in the process of writing and editing something else, so not many words today. From Chalfont St Giles, looking towards Amersham The colours are at their most seductive before the barley is ripe This is even truer of… Continue reading Cornfields near Amersham Old Town
To Hayden, on pets
I think Hayden is my longest-serving, faithfullest blogging friend. But when she writes about Jake, my empathy isn’t immediate. I prefer a cool relationship with wild animals who go their own way at their own pace, and don’t beg from me with soulful eyes. Slugs spring to mind, or rats. I’ve written here several times… Continue reading To Hayden, on pets
Reunion
I felt pleased on finishing my last piece, on Everything. What else was there to say? Much as Thomas Aquinas must have felt trying to wrap up his great work, Summa Theologica, but in a tiny way. But then in his latter years, Aquinas saw things in a different proportion, and said one day to… Continue reading Reunion
Everything but the Kitchen Sink
I do feel the urge to philosophize, if only the Muse will allow. She says I must not try the patience of my readers. Oh well, here goes, I’ll start with a sweeping generalisation: “Religion is about perfection, while science and engineering are about trial and error.” Before you have the chance to say “I… Continue reading Everything but the Kitchen Sink
Glimpsing Eternity
When we speak of God or gods, it’s to express the otherwise inexpressible. This is something that atheists and materialists seem to wilfully misunderstand, when they say that it’s irrational to believe what you cannot see. As you’ll see from various entries in this blog, there are two kinds of immortal I can’t do without… Continue reading Glimpsing Eternity
Four-leaf clover
I wrote a piece called Lucky in July 2008. I had wanted to illustrate it with a four-leaved clover, the symbol of luck. I had never found one, though in my dreamy childhood, I must have spent hours searching for them, especially when deployed as a fielder near the boundary of a cricket field. Perhaps… Continue reading Four-leaf clover
A modest school reunion
I often “dwell in the past”. It’s a fabulous museum, where you can look at the same exhibits time and again, and discover new ones you hadn’t noticed before, and see the familiar ones from new angles. My fondness for this pastime owes a lot to my sense that I didn’t live my life fully… Continue reading A modest school reunion
Under the Umbrella Tree
It suddenly dawns upon me—several hours before dawn—that there might be a point to all this. I mean the world, as it is; the discrepancy between the yearning and the reality; the intended and the manifest; the imagined joy and the actual dissatisfaction. Might it be that perpetual motion is the whole point? I recall… Continue reading Under the Umbrella Tree
Blue Sea
It’s nearly three weeks since I last posted here, but it seems much longer. Have I been too busy? No. Has there been a lack of interesting things to write about? No. Have I been too lazy? No. I’ve drafted stuff every day on voice recorder, in my black notebook, in Word documents, or (best… Continue reading Blue Sea
Climb the Lowest Mountain
Blogs are the molehills of literature. A mole plays havoc with a lawn by leaving little piles of soil as evidence of its nocturnal tunnelling. Nothing infuriates a gardener more. But a child is fascinated; none more so than the child who takes words at face value. Many times I would exploit a grazed knee… Continue reading Climb the Lowest Mountain
Back home in Blighty
Whenever I leave the country for a few weeks, something crazy happens to it. I still feel guilty about the Falklands War, which broke out during my sojourn in Kuala Lumpur as a consultant to the Malaysian Ministry of Health, which itself happened for a crazy reason. In such circumstances, we happy band of expatriates… Continue reading Back home in Blighty
More Jamaica
Keiko & ZACL said how they liked the Jamaican bars and trees illustrated in my last, so here are more: Mango tree from our balcony The same, from the pool At the bar Karleen with Vivilyn, friends from teenage years
Jamaican album
This is a personal selection from 175 photos taken on the trip. Most are of reunions with Karleen’s family and friends, after five years’ absence. I will not bore you with that kind of vacation snaps; only with these! Jamaica has beautiful skies like England (or most places). These were taken from our hotel in… Continue reading Jamaican album
90 minutes in New York
Taken from my seat on our Miami to New York flight I'm not well up on the Odyssey. Isn’t it Homer’s tale of a long trip home? His hero Ulysses wants nothing more than to get back to his wife Penelope, his dog, and the embers of a familiar hearth. Home is that cosy place… Continue reading 90 minutes in New York
From Jamaica
There are tourists, travellers and explorers. We were staying with Auntie Jean in a country area, of which more in a future post, no doubt. We had planned to be tourists for at least half a day but that was progressively downgraded. Ocho Rios & Dunn's River Falls were too far; Negril was too expensive.… Continue reading From Jamaica
In that place
I spent thirty years of my life in a structure of belief that I now find hard to explain. It was an extraordinary honey-trap which leaves me ashamed of having got caught in it. The essence of the creed was to be “in that place”. We all knew what it meant, thanks to our possession… Continue reading In that place
Amber
Writing is a medium for the preservation of thoughts. Within the preservative—a string of words— the thoughts are embedded or entangled, just as prehistoric insects are caught in amber. Even if we find insects—the subject matter, the thought itself—repulsive, we can still admire the golden translucence and high polish of a piece of amber. If… Continue reading Amber
James Lovelock – transcript of radio interview
Humphrys: I’ve been talking about climate change to one of the world’s most respected scientists, Professor James Lovelock, the man who developed the Gaia theory, which says the earth functions as a kind of giant self-regulating organism. His new book is called “The Vanishing Face of Gaia”. I asked him in what sense Gaia is… Continue reading James Lovelock – transcript of radio interview
To a nephew
Afam is my nephew by marriage, nearly 15, and goes to a good school where good money must be paid for the education provided. So I was asking him about that, and he told me his vocabulary had become somewhat depleted. He didn’t actually use the word “depleted”.. He explained that in earlier years he… Continue reading To a nephew
Wayfaring Again
This is the day I become clear about the purpose of my purposeless journey. Now the task is to express clearly what I see clearly. My path leads more to the past than the future, for “the past is my treasure” as an archaeologist might say. I heard the scraping shovel from behind a hoarding… Continue reading Wayfaring Again
Spring
To spare the young man’s blushes I shall abbreviate his name to A—. He’s my nephew by marriage, nearly 15, and goes to a good school. So I was asking him about that, and he told me his vocabulary had become somewhat depleted. He didn’t use the word “depleted” of course. He explained that in… Continue reading Spring
The past rewrites itself
Further to my last I’ve made a start on some real writing, as opposed to these blogging ephemera. Instead of an occasional post to commemorate a day, I am engaged on a so-far shapeless project to put down something a little more lasting: not just for a book, but a hardback; allowing myself a length… Continue reading The past rewrites itself
Not Knowing
Woke in the night, tried to get back to sleep, failed. Thoughts chasing one another. After half an hour’s dithering and still uncertain what to do, I came here, to the computer. I’m still plagued with uncertainty, not knowing. But who really does know? — "You never know, do you?" — "God knows. I haven’t… Continue reading Not Knowing
User-friendly
I really haven’t got time to write anything here. This makes it all the more important to do it anyway, for I write to discover what I really think. Think? I’m not referring to “detached thought”, that attempt to be rational that we learn as a trick, as a performing seal balances a beach-ball on… Continue reading User-friendly
Eternity in the City
This was written in the early Nineties and published on a website, before the dawn of blogs Cloistered all day, I had forgotten once again that an outside world existed. In a windowless office I saw no seasons, no day, no night. There was only harsh lighting, never switched off. The shock of emerging into… Continue reading Eternity in the City
Night and Day
If Day is the realm of Nature, then Night—at any rate to this brain, at this hour of darkness, still a long way from dawn—is the domain of artificiality. There are other claimants to the imperial mantle of Night. The most democratic, the winner of the majority vote, is Sleep. But I am interested in… Continue reading Night and Day
Theatre of Life
This evening a thin fog puts a halo around the streetlamps, and I see that they are different colours, in shades from lemon to orange. A car with bluish headlamps swishes past, leaving a tangible quietness in its wake, whilst I stand under a streetlamp, letting my own footsteps relapse into a special kind of… Continue reading Theatre of Life
Ticket to Paradise
(Inspired by Tracy Chapman’s ‘Fast Car’) He stares down at the ticket. The only other thing on his table is a coating of grey dust. Tears roll down his cheeks, splash in the dust. Ticket to paradise, ticket to life. He sits down with a thud. Ah, the years gone by! He was younger then,… Continue reading Ticket to Paradise
The Folly of a Clown
a long-lost post How much of human life is folly? Dare one even ask? If I’m an employee, I have only to utter some magic words: “It doesn’t matter, so long as they are paying me.” Or, if I’m an entrepreneur: “It doesn’t matter, so long as it makes money”. Thus we and the mess… Continue reading The Folly of a Clown
Life’s Predicament
Woke up this morning to recall that it’s my first ordinary day for weeks. I've emerged from a season of interruptedness, in which celebration took the form of reuniting with family; not all at once in a single gathering but serially; noting my kinship and resemblance with this one or that; seeing the big or… Continue reading Life’s Predicament
The slug, my ancestor
Andrew Marr’s Start the Week programme on BBC radio had four scientists as guests, including Richard Dawkins, that missionary for his indivisible cause, “evolution and atheism”. Perhaps he is the progenitor of that hybrid, for I don’t recall Darwin himself being an atheist. I understand Dawkins’ line of reasoning well enough. But where we differ… Continue reading The slug, my ancestor
The Pocket Diarist
The postman left a package which felt like a small book. Not expecting any such thing, I was delighted; then opened it, and was Deloitted. Deloitte Touche is the current incarnation of a company I left in 1985, known then as Touche Ross & Co, Accountants. I was in their management consultancy, but now I’m… Continue reading The Pocket Diarist
Holiday Job
This post had photos of the holiday camp as it was around then, but they've been lost. They were probably picked from Google Images After graduation I was determined not to stay in my parents' bungalow any more. Especially because my mother was curious about how I'd got on with Christina after my brief visit… Continue reading Holiday Job
Out of the Limelight
After my last post, I’ve been drawn to philosophical speculation. How can we talk of one world, except in given contexts, such as world cocoa prices? How can you ask whether there is hope for the world? I would answer, “Whose world are you talking about?” Each of us sees a different world of experience;… Continue reading Out of the Limelight
The world
Children these days seem to discover “the world” at a very early age, if my small sample of three grandchildren is anything to go by. Before their fourth birthday, they know how to stretch on tiptoe and describe arcs with the furthest reach of their fingertips, chanting “big as the whole world” as a kind… Continue reading The world
Unto the hills
“When I was someone else, that I am not now ...” continued. Let us assume that each one of us contains multiple personalities. Vincent exists in the written word, is not quite the same as his author, who inhabits other dimensions never written down. Vincent is several persons, separated by time-slices, spliced together into fragments… Continue reading Unto the hills
The pull of heredity
“When I was someone else, that I am not now ...” this is worth investigating. So said Ghetufool, commenting on one of my recent posts. I agreed the phrase is worth investigating, and it took me back through history, that fascinating subject, both the human and natural kinds, and especially the mysterious parts that we… Continue reading The pull of heredity
Literature’s miraculous god-child
What would it be like to be someone else? I suppose this is why we read literature, to see through others’ eyes, gaze into their souls. I like unusual views and the best way to find them in books is to avoid what’s popular today by delving into the past, or seeking out those who’ve… Continue reading Literature’s miraculous god-child
Here I’ll stay
Two years ago, when I’d just moved into this house and couldn’t get online, I’d go to the internet café on the Desborough Road and compose a blog post in an hour. One post, “Being Ordinary”, is an example, perhaps the only one, and didn’t work out too badly. Where did that simple spontaneity go?… Continue reading Here I’ll stay
Order
Odour, as complained of in my post Unseen Foe, has been replaced by order, after months of effort. The company responsible for sewerage has written a pleasant letter: “As you are aware our Engineer [—] has visited the site and carried out investigations. Our conclusion is that this is a private issue. Our sewers have… Continue reading Order
Backyard
It’s tempting with a digital camera to think that a picture is worth a thousand words, so you can just snap something and stick it in a blog, as if it had the power to capture the feeling which made you take the picture. But the camera’s just a soulless eye that delivers aspects of… Continue reading Backyard
Fernando Pessoa
Image from an article in Southern Cross Review I wanted to sing the unsung, but the unsung has already been sung, by Fernando Pessoa, who I discovered via Brett Johnson's site*, making the whole blogging project meaningful and eternally validated. After a misspent childhood, youth, manhood and middle-age, I spend my remaining years redoing, reviewing,… Continue reading Fernando Pessoa
Tooting Broadway dude
Three years ago my son gave me a denim jacket carrying the Caterpillar label. He’d got it from someone sharing the same student lodgings, who had submitted a number of original designs to Caterpillar. They made a few prototypes and mine is one, perhaps the only one of its exact style in existence. I’ve worn… Continue reading Tooting Broadway dude
Heaven-haven
Deep within me there hides a contemplative nun, who wants to do nothing in this world but observe its wondrous mysteries and pray for its wellbeing. It’s rather disturbing for a man to find this buried beneath his ingrained habit of action—to be always doing, whether or not it’s reasonable: action for the sake of… Continue reading Heaven-haven
X: the unknown
Aerial View of San Francisco in the Fifties showing Coit Tower from avaloncm on flickr Consider the game of peekaboo. In England the mother says “Peep-bo!” when she reappears after hiding, and the baby gurgles in delight. Then she hides again, nothing elaborate, just ducks out of sight, and the baby starts to become anxious.… Continue reading X: the unknown
Up through the floorboards
For weeks, probably months, I’ve been bothered by a fugitive stench, hanging in the air at various places, various times, in the kitchen and dining room, not always the same smell. Every mammal knows not to foul its own nest and the sense of outrage at any fouling by others must be etched deep into… Continue reading Up through the floorboards
The mysterious impulse
"It would be idle to inquire why Mr Razumov has left this record behind him. It is inconceivable that he should have wished any human eye to see it. A mysterious impulse of human nature comes into play here. Putting aside Samuel Pepys, who has forced in this way the door of immortality, [we observe… Continue reading The mysterious impulse
body consciousness …1
Body consciousness
My body is an instrument, both scientific and musical. I use it to discover the world through the senses. Meanwhile, it vibrates with its own frequencies, for no other purpose but joy and sensuous pleasure. “Body consciousness” needs what Wikipedia calls “disambiguation”. In the media, which is to say in the lowest common denominator of… Continue reading Body consciousness
Nightmare
I’ve taken a vow to post here daily, to discover what is happening to me. A million things hit my consciousness each day, so what can I mean? I shall write in accordance with blind compulsion, with no guarantee of truth, other than some poetic kind. Yet, as they used to say in the slot-machine … Continue reading Nightmare
Walking in a painted landscape
My life is a series of blessings, like a string of pearls. If a blessing is possible, surely it is bestowed, distributed, not hoarded by a miserly God. And if blessings occur, why should they ever stop? For a blessing by its definition is a supernatural thing. No obstacle stands in its way. So I… Continue reading Walking in a painted landscape
The Abyss
Scattered amongst these pages is a series of sketches which, extracted and sorted in chronological order, constitute a personal memoir; more of a collage than a coherent portrait. But I’ve never yet managed to cover the era between the ages of sixteen and sixty-four. Until this moment of writing—in which dawn has not yet broken,… Continue reading The Abyss
a wayfarer’s notes 