Budak. Well, I'll be a slashed balloon. It's not that I think earth is dull. I'm besotted with it. But I have thought that my preoccupations bore, and my pictures of what moves me are maybe just so inferior that I should just give up doing them--that this blog is some lame vanity press. If you happened to see this post, then you must be one of the two readers of Medlar Comfits--for which I am very grateful, especially since I think your blog is a model of what communication should be, and what a great mind you are, an observer, poet, compassionate person who never spouts like a wrung sponge. The bright rock of outer space is not what I find interesting at all--the interest it has is the pull of the imaginaries who live on the imaginary Asteroid *. I live not for praise or agreement, but for engagement. It's eerie that you wrote because I think of you quite a lot.
Ah, dear Alice. As you know about rabbit holes, surprises lurk just when you think life will be comfortably dull. I'm writing this from waystation Limbo, where I'm stuck in quarantine. Although my tour has been planned and Astroidians are waiting, authorities stepped in to, as they put it, stop the Threat from Earth. They are convinced that I must be carrying a communicable disease that is fatal. I keep telling them that not all of us have Twitter.
4 comments:
i don't understand
what's the damn difference between
bright rock and dull earth?
Budak. Well, I'll be a slashed balloon. It's not that I think earth is dull. I'm besotted with it. But I have thought that my preoccupations bore, and my pictures of what moves me are maybe just so inferior that I should just give up doing them--that this blog is some lame vanity press. If you happened to see this post, then you must be one of the two readers of Medlar Comfits--for which I am very grateful, especially since I think your blog is a model of what communication should be, and what a great mind you are, an observer, poet, compassionate person who never spouts like a wrung sponge. The bright rock of outer space is not what I find interesting at all--the interest it has is the pull of the imaginaries who live on the imaginary Asteroid *. I live not for praise or agreement, but for engagement. It's eerie that you wrote because I think of you quite a lot.
Happy travels.
Ah, dear Alice. As you know about rabbit holes, surprises lurk just when you think life will be comfortably dull. I'm writing this from waystation Limbo, where I'm stuck in quarantine. Although my tour has been planned and Astroidians are waiting, authorities stepped in to, as they put it, stop the Threat from Earth. They are convinced that I must be carrying a communicable disease that is fatal. I keep telling them that not all of us have Twitter.
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