1 June 2006, around 12.24.
It’s quietly raining outside, while I copy down transcripts for my intermediate English class. For the beginners, we’ll be talking about weather and listening to weather forecasts. ‘We want simple words, words we can use, red, blue, Monday, Tuesday, desk, chair…’ Let’s review, then, until we’re all blue in the face. It will make you feel better. It might make me feel better. Give us all a sense of success, achievement; let’s practice the better part of valor.
It’s raining and I left the windows open at home. I should close them.
return to stacks
2 June 2006, around 16.50.
This library is a catacomb in which each book is a tomb; and I who disturb its quietness visit the grim place like an improvident necromancer. I revive, as the whim takes me, one or another of the dead, where but for my unwholesome arts would decay peacefully each uncharmed compost of rags and glue and oak and macerated wood splinters. I offer an initiatory strange sacrifice, of time and eyesight…
—James Branch Cabell, These Restless Heads, (p. 195)
A view (18)
8 June 2006, around 10.27.
10 June 2006, around 12.15.