Nine Feet Underground

Gonna take it slow today.  Breakfast of coffee and almond croissant. Take my time drinking the coffee, maybe make another. Not much of note today either. Did a load of jobs and chores, you know, the usual: washing; cleaning en-suite; cut my hair; trimmed my beard (weird). Also found time to read the papers, read a bit of the 'Wake and continue a dialogue with a friend that started on Saturday. I was pleased to see I got a reply from Henry Eliot, author/presenter of the 'Borges' course, to my course comments and questions. He wrote an interesting and detailed reply which did agree with my thinking on the parallels between Borges and Joyce. More research to be done, I think. For a change we decided to have a takeaway from our local Italian restaurant for dinner: it's good not to cook all the time. Booked the collection time in the early afternoon (last time we tried to book a collection they were full, so took no chances today!) I'm experimenting with the Hi-...

Some days words don't come easy. Or rather some days the words have flowed elsewhere and are spent. None are left. There's nothing to write that I haven't already written. Writing it doesn't change anything, other than releases those words from their synaptic prison. As I write these words devoid of content I am listening to Laura Nyro singing 'Captain for Dark Mornings' from the album 'New York Tendaberry', which seems strangely appropriate, though coincidental. I probably ought to write something about Laura Nyro at some point, but she's not the musical subject of this post. The post could have been about International Teachers of Pop's eponymous album, but it's way too poppy and dance-y to fit with the general (lack of) thrust of the post. ITOP will get their day soon, for sure.  Instead the sepia tones of Rustin Man and the slow burning but ultimately all-consuming album 'Drift Code', released earlier this month.  I...