Cleaning out my desk at school, I found a monster I doodled years ago into a German-language portfolio of architecture paintings.
my twitter gets dark after midnight
….one of those long, romantic novels, six hundred and fifty pages of small print, translated from French or German or Hungarian or something — because few of the English ones have the exact feeling I mean. And you read one page of it or even one phrase of it, and then you gobble up all the rest and go about in a dream for weeks afterwards, for months afterwards — perhaps all your life, who knows? — surrounded by those six hundred and fifty pages, the houses, the streets, the snow, the river, the roses, the girls, the sun, the ladies’ dresses and the gentlemen’s voices, the old, wicked, hard-hearted women and the old, sad women, the waltz music — everything. What is not there you put in afterwards, for it is alive, this book, and it grows in your head. ‘The house I was living in when I read that book,’ you think, or ‘This colour reminds me of that book.
Ok but that post that’s like ”WHAT WOULD A CORRUPT FIREMAN EVEN LOOK LIKE??”
Here’s what it would look like:
- Refusing to put out fires in poor or minority neighborhoods
- Claiming that fires in poor or minority neighborhoods were too far away or that there was “nothing that…
aw Kelvingrove Museum! I will be living pretty near this again shortly!
This is also where the second (and last) independence referendum is taking place in thirty minutes)
I’m the same way! I’m okay with expressing myself via text, but talking face to face makes me stutter and mumble and more often than not I just mutter “hi” and “thank you” if i meet someone at a book signing because I’m too nervous.
I’m the same way. Introductions and trying to spark conversations are so excruciating sometimes I just run away home.
This makes me feel less of a weirdo, thank you both.