So far from replying, she dissolved into the darkness and silently shut the door.Robert Aickman – The Inner Room
Imagine you were the member of a club having never asked to join and that only through death should be allowed to leave.
Now imagine everything else.
Found a message in the sand.
It read, “Just do the best you can.
This world’s not how I planned.
You’re on your own.”
James – Strangers (from Millionaires)
And God said to Moses, “Don’t forget to use some kind of clear demarcation for the hypertext code. Otherwise they’ll take it for law.
“And, oh yeah, I’d use a sand wedge instead of the nine iron on that next shot.”
Relinkin’ blog’d & self- re referencial, this punctuation to a poem I once wrote to someone I’d never know, this time as a belated 65th-tribute to Justin Hayward, still on the road chasing the ever-rising retirement age, which, the masters willing, will be dying on the job in due time.
And that’s it for the Sunday Paper. Because, frankly, there’s nothing really going on.