Seriously, a line, carved in concrete, a line from “The Waste Land.”
Along the banks of the Thames (Queens Walk +/-) — where it is engraved in stone. Or cast in concrete.
No Matter:
I know I’ve written about this before, the old typewriter, as I still have on in the closet. Portable, Royal, not unlike that one.
Always wanted to use it, but it’s difficult, at best.
See this Sagittarius horoscope. Then, true confessions in the Libra horoscope.
SXSW, then and now?
Mother Jones thinks it’s “SXSW is the 21st-century equivalent of a medieval market town,” done that thing, you know, “Jumped the shark?”
Shark Jumping defined.
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That Sagittarius scope referenced above? Beautifully written. I hope it finds a place in one of your books.
Using a keyboard (I touch type) is as natural to me as playing the piano once was. The thoughts, like notes, flow from brain’s neurons through directly to fingers, which move in rhythm to tap the keys
and voila! there it is: the thought. Then, ever evanescent, it disappears into the cloud. Or wherever, never to be retrieved, I suppose. But it’s out there. I wonder sometimes about the cloud of thoughts and ideas and analyses, maybe some millennium becoming self-aware and our entries part of its conscious (or subconscious).