Saturday, 10 August 2013

"It's not the black side, it's not the white's the interface, the edge."

Thursday, 8 August 2013

More Nabokov

My picture book was at an early age
The painted parchment papering our cage:
Mauve rings around the moon, blood orange sun;
Twinned iris; and that rare phenomenon
The iridule- when, beautiful and strange,
In a bright sky above a mountain range
One opal cloudlet in an oval form
Reflects the rainbow of a thunderstorm
Which in a distant valley has been staged-
For we are most artistically caged.

-Nabokov, Pale Fire
I once had the opportunity to buy a hat emblazoned with the words "If you ain't a fisherman, you ain't shit.", but didn't.

Regret means this, and nothing more.