Sometimes you wanna go where everybody knows your name.
(photograph by the inimitable Ryan)
Everything happened today. I also had my first cup of coffee in over a month. Tom brewed it. It was the most delicious. It was like a revelation. He brewed the El Salvador Finca La Divina Providerxia, using the clever method. Everything about it was perfect. I am good for another month or so now.
I thought Sophie was just taking a picture of her coffee so I was absent-mindedly humming and looking out the window and wound up looking like the cover of a Belle and Sebastian album. Alas.
Paging Tawny Kerr, Paging Tawny Kerr: that is one cool looking coffee shop - where is it?
I am only just now seeing this message and I have no idea when you sent it! Papercup on Great Western Road - tiny but excellent coffee roasted on site by swell folks. Good bakes and food too.
Degree show sculpture (2010) wrapped in summer dresses.
"Hopes were like these ladies, Mom told us. Hopes were wallflowers. Hopes hugged the perimeter of the dance floor in your brain, tugging at their party lace, all perfume and hems and doomed expectation. They fanned their dance cards, these guests that pressed against the walls of your heart."
#a brief for the defense
A Brief for the Defense, Jack Gilbert
Sorrow everywhere. Slaughter everywhere. If babies
are not starving someplace, they are starving
somewhere else. With flies in their nostrils.
But we enjoy our lives because that’s what God wants.
Otherwise the mornings before summer dawn would not
be made so fine. The Bengal tiger would not
be fashioned so miraculously well. The poor women
at the fountain are laughing together between
the suffering they have known and the awfulness
in their future, smiling and laughing while somebody
in the village is very sick. There is laughter
every day in the terrible streets of Calcutta,
and the women laugh in the cages of Bombay.
If we deny our happiness, resist our satisfaction,
we lessen the importance of their deprivation.
We must risk delight. We can do without pleasure,
but not delight. Not enjoyment. We must have
the stubbornness to accept our gladness in the ruthless
furnace of this world. To make injustice the only
measure of our attention is to praise the Devil.
If the locomotive of the Lord runs us down,
we should give thanks that the end had magnitude.
We must admit there will be music despite everything.
We stand at the prow again of a small ship
anchored late at night in the tiny port
looking over to the sleeping island: the waterfront
is three shuttered cafés and one naked light burning.
To hear the faint sound of oars in the silence as a rowboat
comes slowly out and then goes back is truly worth
all the years of sorrow that are to come.
Sarah Lund, the embodiment of Whitstable and Amelia Earhart, taking Halloween very seriously.