March 26, 2007
March 24, 2007
March 22, 2007
March 21, 2007
March 20, 2007
March 18, 2007
I'm so tired
I haven't slept a winkI'm so tired,
my mind is on the blink
I wonder should I get up
and fix myself a drink
March 17, 2007
March 16, 2007
March 15, 2007
March 14, 2007
F.
"Ours, the scientists keep telling us, is a universe which is disposable. You know it might be just this one anonymous glory of all things, this rich stone forest, this epic chant, this gaiety, this grand choiring shout of affirmation, which we choose when all our cities are dust; to stand intact, to mark where we have been, to testify to what we had it in us to accomplish. Our works in stone, in paint, in print are spared, some of them for a few decades, or a millennium or two, but everything must fall in war or wear away into the ultimate and universal ash: the triumphs and the frauds, the treasures and the fakes. A fact of life... we're going to die. 'Be of good heart,' cry the dead artists out of the living past. Our songs will all be silenced - but what of it? Go on singing. Maybe a man's name doesn't matter all that much."
March 13, 2007
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