raw steak with onions and egg. all in the same condition of cookedness. it shouldn't taste nice but it does to me. (months ago i would have said that without the 'to me' bit but my experience of twitter and it's running slalom of comment and opinion have taught me to be less didactic)
rain sprinkled dark songs written in the warm sunbasked mediterranean. stories of noir where the whiskey is drunk only to keep warm and interested. that line was stolen from raymond chandlers 'the big sleep' which i am reading in both english and french. I don't know why but reading books in a foreign language seems to languish and percolate in my minds eye a little differently to one in the tongue of my mother. in fact french words are so alien to me that my unconscious has to make meaning up as i go along, drawing the words of romance that have floated up on our island into making some connection with these altogether more random seeming latin based words that my eyes are seeing
writing doesn't always get written in the place it is written about. the opposites can flower the most amazing contradictions.
raw steak with onions and egg all in the same state of uncookedness. try it
