reads.

and on.

fir se dilli.

dilli.

don mccullin.

all lovely, but this is today's.

hocvs pocvs.

CMT

own.

'Is it tired you are, stranger?' said one girl. I was walking very slowly, to pass the time before my return to the east.

'Bedad, it is not, little girl,' I answered in Gaelic, 'It is lonely I am.'

'Here is my little sister, stranger, who will give you her arm.'

synge.

peress.

night.

literateur.

miltonists make me happy.
:)

on summertime and related.

The Year the Rice-Crop Failed

“Traveling is a brutality. It forces you to trust strangers and to lose sight of all that familiar comfort of home and friends. You are constantly off balance. Nothing is yours except the essential things - air, sleep, dreams, the sea, the sky - all things tending towards the eternal or what we imagine of it.” - Cesare Pavese

joma.

reads.

to use arendt's phrase, the banality of evil.

delhi.

baker street.

THE classic. and worth reproducing in full.

The Murder of the Impossible

Reinhold Messner

What have I personally got against "direttissimas"? Nothing at all; in fact I think that the "falling drop of water" route is one of the most logical things that exists. Of course it always existed - so long as the mountain permits it. But sometimes the line of weakness wanders to the left or the right of this line; and the we see climbers - those on the first ascent , I mean - going straight on up as if it weren't so, striking in bolts of course. Why do they go that way? "For the sake of freedom," they say; but they don't realize that they are slaves of the plumbline.

They have a horror of deviations. "In the face of difficulties, logic commands one not to avoid them, but to overcome them," declares Paul Claudel. And that's what the 'direttissma' protagonists say, too, knowing from the start that the equipment they have will get them over any obstacle. They are therefore talking about problems which no longer exist. Could the mountain stop them with unexpected difficulties? They smile: those times are long past! The impossible in mountaineering has been eliminated, murdered by the direttissima.

Yet direttissimas would not in themselves be so bad were it not for the fact that the spirit of that guides them has infiltrated the entire field of climbing. Take a climber o a rock face, iron rungs beneath his feet and all around him only yellow, overhanging rock. Already tired, he bores another hole above the last peg. He won't give up. Stubbornly, bolt by bolt, he goes on. His way, and none other, must be forced up the face.

Expansion bolts are taken for granted nowadays; they are kept to hand just in case some difficulty cannot be overcome by ordinary methods. Today's climber doesn't want to cut himself off from the possibility of retreat: he carries his courage in his rucksack, in the form of bolts and equipment. Rock faces are no longer overcome by climbing skill, but are humbled, pitch by pitch, by methodical manual labor; what isn't done today will be done tomorrow. Free-climbing routes are dangerous, so the are protected by pegs. Ambitions are no longer build on skill, but on equipment and the length of time available. The decisive factor isn't courage, but technique; an ascent may take days and days, and the pegs and bolts counted in the hundreds. Retreat has become dishonorable, because everyone knows

now that a combination of bolts and singlemindedness will get you up anything, even the most repulsive-looking direttissima.

Times change, and with them concepts and values. Faith in equipment has replaced faith in oneself; a team is admired for the number of bivouacs it makes, while the courage of those who still climb "free" is derided as a manifestation of lack of conscientiousness.

Who has polluted the pure spring of mountaineering?

The innovators perhaps wanted only to get closer to the limits of possibility. Today, however, every single limit has vanished, been erased. In principle, it didn't seem to be a serious matter, but ten years have sufficed to eliminate the word 'impossible' from the mountaineering vocabulary.

Progress? Today, ten years from the start of it all, there are a lot of people who don't care where they put bolts, whether on new routes or on classic ones. People are drilling more and more and climbing less and less.

"Impossible": it doesn't exist anymore. The dragon is dead, poisoned, and the hero Siegfried is unemployed. Not anyone can work on a rock face, using tools to bend it to his own idea of possibility.

Some people foresaw this a while ago, but they went on drilling, both on direttissimas and on other climbs, until the lost the taste for climbing: why dare, why gamble, when you can proceed in perfect safety? And so they become the prophets of the direttissima: "Don't waste your time on classic routes - learn to drill, learn to use your equipment. Be cunning: If you want to be successful, use every means you can get round the mountain. The era of direttissima has barely begun: every peak awaits its plumbline route. There's no rush, for a mountain can't run away - nor can it defend itself."

"Done the direttissima yet? And the super diretissima?" These are the criteria by which mountaineering prowess is measured nowadays. And so the young men go off, crawl up the ladder of bolts, and then ask the next ones: "done the direttissima yet?"

Anyone who doesn't play ball is laughed at for daring take a stand against current opinion. The plumbline generation has already consolidated itself and has thoughtlessly killed the ideal of the impossible. Anyone who doesn't oppose this makes himself an accomplice of the murderers. When future mountaineers open their eyes and realize what has happened, it will be too late: the impossible (and with it, risk) will be buried, rotted away, and forgotten forever.

All is not yet lost, however, although 'they' are returning the attack; and even if it's not always the same people, it'll be other people similar to them. Long before they attack, they'll make a great noise, and once again any warning will be useless. They'll be ambitious and they'll have long holidays - and some new 'last great problem' will be resolved. They'll leave more photographs at the hut, as historical documents, showing a dead straight line of dots running from the base to summit - and on the face itself, will once again inform us that "Man has achieved the impossible."

If people have already been driven to the idea of establishing a set of rules of conduct, it means that the position is serious; but we young people don't want a mountaineering code. On the contrary, "up there we want to find long, hard days, days when we don't know in the morning what the evening will bring". But for how much longer will we be able to have this?

I'm worried about that dead dragon: we should do something before the impossible is finally interred. We have hurled ourselves, in a fury of pegs and bolts, on increasingly savage rock faces: the next generation will have to know how to free itself from all these unnecessary trappings. We have learned from the plumbline routes; our successors will once again have to reach the summits by other routes. It's time we repaid our debts and searched again for the limits of possibility - for we must have such limits if we are going to use the virtue of courage to approach them. And we must reach them. Where else will be able to find refuge in our flight from the oppression of everyday humdrum routine? In the Himalaya? In the Andes? Yes certainly if we can get there; but for most of us there'll only be these old Alps.

So let's save the dragon; and in the future let's follow the road that past climbers marked out. I'm convinced it's still the right one.

Put on your boots and get going. If you've got a companion, take a rope with you and a couple of pitons for your belays, but nothing else. I'm already on my way, ready for anything - even for retreat, if I meet the impossible. I'm not going to be killing any dragons, but if anyone wants to come with me, we'll go to the top together on the routes we can do without branding ourselves murderers.

- Mountain #15, 1971

reading.

landed, loved, and in love.

i just found out this was online.

ralston i read almost two years back, now.

fisher muldoon kinsella. from an evening's kerriganating.

erasmian.

rediscovery.

language. again.

'Ninian [St Ninian] (supp. fl. 5th–6th cent.), missionary and bishop, is credited with building Candida Casa at Whithorn, in south-west Scotland, where he was buried. It is symptomatic of the paucity of firm information about his life that there should be entrenched scholarly disagreement even about when he lived. It was generally assumed, on inadequate evidence, that he flourished in the fifth century; but more recently it has been argued, from the same inadequate evidence, that he was active as late as the mid-sixth century. Another suggestion is that there were, in fact, two Ninians, who flourished in the fifth and sixth centuries respectively. The only certainty is that the life and career of the real St Ninian is impenetrably obscure.'

from the oxford dictionary of national biography. scholarly writing, and all that.




p.s.

there is a notice on this page ('Create post') of blogger that says: 'Scheduled outage at 2:00AM PDT on Monday (5/11).' in my infinite wisdom, and, indeed, in my scholarly way, i thought i read 'Scheduled outrage at 2:00AM PDT on Monday (5/11).' i thought it a bit rich, and therefore re-read. and corrected myself. well.

grantchester.

ex nihilo

drive.

17th c.

one.

oooh the fun of this!

800.

already!

anti climb paint!
Originally uploaded by olidhar

among other things.

i love walking.

http://www.brentstirton.com/photojournalism.php

birthday.

i agree about the response, i think.

carrying on from the last post, and because acd featured in a remarkable way in this.
where we got to hear about and see a great many instances of spirit photography right down from the middle of the nineteenth to the first half of the twentieth century. i wondered for a long time that a very reasoned and rational person is, of course, just as susceptible to losing a son in the trenches, and having no way to get that son back physically ever after, as anyone else. and that he wishes to reach out, possibly, as much as the next person does. so many people lost so much. (here, some of the much older people, for instance, never take their poppies off. some of them are wearing their poppy still, although 11 november is long gone.) and then, the 'extras', the 'ectploasm', the 'ether', the 'other', the 'one's very own' appeared beside their loved ones in the photographs.

strange leisure. but i have grown to like the strange friendship. and brilliant writing. no getting around that.

elections (which i had not thought to take this kind of interest over) and fireworks (sans any guys) over.

christ's is pretty. but to me special for strange reasons. their year.

i have read le clezio for a while and loved reading. i can't seem to be able to post the nobel link, for some reason. but my etoile errante he wrote on is now at home, and i suddenly miss it.

stranger

read.

amidst few and precious bijoyas.

r pointed out: this this and this.
makes me absolutely mad.

although we had a lovely time in delhi, and actually quite fruitful, even in the Places Where They Mainly Trust Figures.

Citizens' Initiative, Kolkata

and

Women's Studies Programme, School of Social Sciences, JNU

request the pleasure of your company and participation at

Under Development: Singur


Panel Discussion on Displacement and Development

Amar Kanwar, Praful Bidwai, Tanika Sarkar

Committee Room, School of Social Sciences (1), JNU
Wednesday 10 September
5 pm to 7 pm


Photo Exhibition on Singur

School of Arts and Aesthetics, JNU
Wednesday 10 September to Wednesday 17 September
9 am to 7 pm

Development Dialogues

by the members of the Citizens' Initiative, Kolkata

Tuesday 9 September
Lady Shriram College for Women

Monday 15 September
Women's Studies Programme, School of Social Sciences, Jawaharlal Nehru University

Tuesday 16 September
Indian Institute of Technology, Delhi

Wednesday 17 September
Miranda House

Thursday 18 September
Indian Institute of Technology, Kanpur

All are welcome

citizensinitiativecal@gmail.com

t.

watch.

heh

Henri Cartier-Bresson a 100 ans



Venez voir

L'AMOUR TOUT COURT



le 22 aout 2008
15 h 45
AV Room, Department of English, JU

discussing.

reviews. most of the stuff isn't readily available here, is the trouble.

i never imagined i would be sorry with the olympics. this, though, is beyond shame. about the policing of the entire set of pre-monsoon weather windows, the non-allowance of all other climbers on any higher reaches while the 'torch' was being taken up by an 'assault' team, of the great 'mountaineering' at evidence in the effort, i don't want to say.

in any case, one won't find anything save the most wide-mouthed smiles here. i recall tacitus citing calgacus of caledonia: they create a desolation and call it peace.

today is a sad day for sport.

i am, of course, a very industrious person. so i was reading my old blind man, as usual, and cleaning up my stuff, as usual. when i read this.
i think i would much much rather be like the old blind man -- messed up though that may be, because of how bull-headed one may be in certain things and spend one's life urging those things -- than a good critic of the old blind man.

You cannot cross over into the world of magic until you put everything else aside and behind you—including your own desires and needs—and focus on bringing an experience to the audience. This is magic. Nothing else.

i can understand passion used like that. a function of love.

passion
c.1175, "sufferings of Christ on the Cross," from O.Fr. passion, from L.L. passionem (nom. passio) "suffering, enduring," from stem of L. pati "to suffer, endure," from PIE base *pei- "to hurt" (cf. Skt. pijati "reviles, scorns," Gk. pema "suffering, misery, woe," O.E. feond "enemy, devil," Goth. faian "to blame"). Sense extended to sufferings of martyrs, and suffering generally, by 1225; meaning "strong emotion, desire" is attested from c.1374, from L.L. use of passio to render Gk. pathos. Replaced O.E. þolung (used in glosses to render L. passio), lit. "suffering," from þolian (v.) "to endure." Sense of "sexual love" first attested 1588; that of "strong liking, enthusiasm, predilection" is from 1638. The passion-flower so called from 1633.

i am in awe.

it would be so lovely to have something like this done for the bangla. off the top of my head, i don't know nearly enough, and that's what i kept thinking.

'He rested the shopping bag on the bare concrete floor of the landing, realizing that his arm had gone quite sore from supporting the twenty pounds and more of groceries and books. He discounted the enticing possibility that "it was all a dream," for the dream-world is the reality of the dreamer, to which he could not weakly surrender, no more than one could surrender to the realities of life. Besides, he was not dreaming; of that he was quite sure...'

another gaiman pointer.

i first read any merely mortal Tom after he was dead.

in the daily papers now, and some clarifications are necessary.

singur is not a village. it is a block. of which, we were in six villages.

ci has not discovered that 100 acres and no more or less will be used for purposes of the factory. we could have done no such thing without having been privy to plans of the owners/leasees of that land. however, we do know that the factory itself will not use all the 997 acres of land, and that ancillary units and god knows what else will indeed enjoy the use of a large fraction of all the leased land.

the exhibit is over at 8 pm on 2 july.
watch it now and, well, forever lose your peace.

Under Development: Singur

Photo Exhibition
27 June to 2 July, from 2 pm to 8 pm

Panel Discussion on Displacement and Development
4.30 pm, Friday 27 June

Speakers:

Professor Samik Bandyopadhyay (Senior Film Critic and Scholar)
Dr. Kavita Panjabi (Professor, Department of Comparative Literature, Jadavpur University)
Dr. Rajarshi Dasgupta (Fellow in Political Science, CSSSC)
Dr. Paromita Chakravarti (Senior Lecturer, Department of English, Jadavpur University)

Film Festival
Saturday 28 June and Sunday 29 June

28 June 2008

11.00 am - Bombay Our City – Anand Patwardhan (India: 1985, 82 min)

2.00 pm - Mahua Memoirs – Vinod Raja (India: 2007, 80 min)

4.30 pm - Czech Dream – Vit Klusak and Felip Remunda

(Czechoslovakia: 2004, 90 mins)

6.00 pm - An Aura of Development - Shubhasree Bhattacharyya and Sumantra Roy

(India: 2008, 65 min)

7.00 pm - Unnayan - Banduker Nole - Pramod Gupta (India: 2007, 44 mins)

29 June 2008

11.00 am - A Narmada Diary – Anand Patwardhan (India: 1996, 60 min)

2.00 pm - Still Life – Zhang ke Jia (Hong Kong: 2006, 111 min)

4. 30 pm - Mahua Memoirs – Vinod Raja (India: 2007, 80 min)

6.00 pm - Teardrops of Karnaphuli – Tanvir Mokammel (Bangladesh: 2006, 60 min)

to be held at the
Seagull Arts and Media Resource Centre, Kolkata.

All are welcome.

a weirdo a day. such marvellous authors.

we have been advertised.

stories.

i had a most marvellous browse.

sorrow beyond i can tell.

let me entertain you.

chanced upon.

as early as 2006.

howl. linked from here.

'Those were, however – with the exception of pointing out the occasional objective mistake – simply my opinions, and I don’t consider them to be privileged. Once you’ve written something it’s not yours any longer: it belongs to other people, and they all have opinions about it, and every single one of those opinions is as correct as that of the author – more so, perhaps. Because those people have read the work as something perfectly new, and, barring amnesia, an author is never going to be able to do that. There will be too many ghost-versions of the story in the way, and besides, the author cannot read it for the first time, wondering what happens next, comparing it to other things that he or she has read.

So while I may, opinionated myself, disagree with some of the conclusions presented here, I am quite content for the opinions to exist; after all, the people who came to them read the work for the first time, which is more than I’ve ever managed... I’ve always enjoyed it, perhaps because I’ve always had a healthy respect for academia. Even when I'm puzzled by it, it treats art like it matters. And for those of us who make art, that’s a fine thing to experience.

I’m always particularly delighted by academic attention to comics – partly because I think we need the best critical minds to point to what we do and explain it to ourselves, and partly, even mostly, because it shows how much things are changing. (A decade ago I was invited to speak at one major American university by the art department, and was informed, apologetically, that the English department were, ah, boycotting my talk, because, after all, I did comics. These days the invitations come from the English departments...)'


the branagh, in one of his moments of obtuse honesty, said he thought actors were nice people. well, i think academics are nice people. and i think the department of english is a marvellous thing.

the cite is from the journal. the man can write.
but then, it is the sort of writing i would like, because of how much reading there is in it.

i dare say there was no call for it. but i have just scared myself silly reading some blake. there is some gall to a man who can do that in that kind of metrical ease.

we got the masculinities.

je voyais, j'ecoutais

edith piaf
je ne regrette rien

paroles: michel vocaire
musique: charles dumont

Non ! Rien de rien
Non ! Je ne regrette rien
Ni le bien qu'on m'a fait
Ni le mal tout ça m'est bien égal !

Non ! Rien de rien
Non ! Je ne regrette rien
C'est payé, balayé, oublié
Je me fous du passé !

Avec mes souvenirs
J'ai allumé le feu
Mes chagrins, mes plaisirs
Je n'ai plus besoin d'eux !

Balayées les amours
Et tous leurs trémolos
Balayés pour toujours
Je repars à zéro

Non ! Rien de rien
Non ! Je ne regrette rien
Ni le bien, qu'on m'a fait
Ni le mal, tout ça m'est bien égal !

Non ! Rien de rien
Non ! Je ne regrette rien
Car ma vie, car mes joies
Aujourd'hui, ça commence avec toi !

among the many he pointed out.

the why. a different sort of why. very valid.

weekend.

now improvising, having run out of space on my own account.
i must say i have no dearth of excitement.

miltonweek.

out of sorrow.
there is an unrepeatability about figures like that. for obvious reasons, perhaps, but even so.

this is young dibbo's idea, and the delay is because it is singularly difficult for me to shuffle my music. i have gone to great organisational heights in the last few months, and the result is that my music is actually even on different drives. o well, i have shuffled the little bits i had scattered around, some repeats from stuff i have elsewhere, but really, much more of the colourful music is in classified folders, all.
also, power is important. we have current now, incidentally.

Rules:
1. Put any music player (like Windows Medias Player, Winamp, iPod) on shuffle/random mode
2. For each question, press the next button to get your answer.
3. You must write the name of the song no matter what. No cheating!

1. IF SOMEONE SAYS “IS THIS OKAY?” YOU SAY?
try and catch the wind - donovan
that's a bit like swapanda, actually, asking little kids to look for question papers in refrigerators.

2. WHAT WOULD BEST DESCRIBE YOUR PERSONALITY?
streets of philadelphia - bruce springsteen
never been there, i'm afraid. but i do love to walk, there's that.

3. WHAT DO YOU LIKE IN A GUY/GIRL?
there is an end - holly golightly
even i won't own to that!

4. HOW DO YOU FEEL TODAY?
(a bagpipe rendition, folk)
very lovely.

5. WHAT IS YOUR LIFE’S PURPOSE?
while my guitar gently weeps - beatles.
escapes me.

6. WHAT IS YOUR MOTTO?
just the two of us - grover washington jr with bill withers
i don't know.

7. WHAT DO YOUR FRIENDS THINK OF YOU?
wind of change - scorpions
ask them. but i usually think of my friends with a mild sort of sympathy. this is why. i drag them around willy nilly quite enough. most of them are great sports, i should say.

8. WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR PARENTS?
summer wine -bono and the corrs
complete overdose.

9. WHAT DO YOU THINK ABOUT VERY OFTEN?
only you - grania renihan (from starlight express, andrew lloyd webber)
o well.

10. WHAT IS 2+2?
the music of the night - john diedrich (phantom of the opera, again andrew lloyd webber)
there is a logic to this, i think.

11. WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR BEST FRIEND?
evergreen tree - cliff richard
although i doubt i would ever put it like this. sometimes cliff richard can be very persuasive.

12. WHAT DO YOU THINK OF THE PERSON YOU LIKE?
berkeley woman - john denver
likable, yes.

13. WHAT IS YOUR LIFE STORY?
ballad of a thin man - bob dylan.
because something is happening here
but you don't know what it is

14. WHAT DO YOU WANT TO BE WHEN YOU GROW UP?
(a piano rendition, i don't know who by)
nicely obscure, albeit very melodic.

15. WHAT DO YOU THINK WHEN YOU SEE THE PERSON YOU LIKE?
cotton fields - the new christy minstrels
nope. songs of distant lands and distant things.

16. WHAT DO YOUR PARENTS THINK OF YOU?
southwind -john denver
they try not to think very much on this subject, actually.

17. WHAT WILL YOU DANCE TO AT YOUR WEDDING?
seeing is believeing - janis kelly (aspects of love, andrew lloyd webber)
that's nicely sceptical.

18. WHAT WILL THEY PLAY AT YOUR FUNERAL?
over and over - nana mouskuri
i wouldn't, all said and done!

19. WHAT IS YOUR HOBBY/INTEREST?
anywhere is - enya
admitted. BIG interest, all of that.

20. WHAT IS YOUR BIGGEST SECRET?
crying - don mclean
mm?

21. WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR FRIENDS?
year of the cat - al stewart
mm. sort of.

22. WHAT SHOULD YOU POST THIS AS?
puff the magic dragon - the brothers four
i have this thing with dragons, admitted.

i tag the long-suffering hack. and am myself going to resist all and any tags hereonwards.

photographs.
but 'whatever we have done, [he] did first.'

'I used to work in a shed in my garden. But it got too crowded with books and manuscripts and all kinds of bits and pieces, and I got fed up with being down at the end of the garden, especially on rainy days; and then we moved house anyway, and I had to decide whether to take the shed with us or leave it there. In the end I gave it to a friend, the illustrator Ted Dewan - on condition that when he's finished with it, he'll give it to another writer. He's replaced the windows and some of the roof, and I like the idea that it'll get passed on to lots of other writers and illustrators, and each of them will replace this bit or that bit until there isn't an atom of the original shed left.'

blake, dickinson, and above all milton, who is turning 400 soon. a most fervent 'long live' for that last.

but to come back to what i was saying -- pullman and his dark materials. over the recent film.
(and some drawings from the books.)

i can see how to think pullman's thrust contradicts milton's, but the point is milton makes him think like that at all. i should say that i can see difference, but not what i would call contradiction. but i don't have to argue very hard. pullman is quite vocal about his affection.

walking the city, 'I’d rather concentrate on ideas than the technical side of things.'
and other things.

shame.
the headline is a little hysteric, but i get the point.

from the visit.

i and p have photographs from the 14th.

Milo Tindle: There it is! The original blunt instrument, the poker. Right!
Andrew Wyke: Now, steady...
Milo Tindle: Where do you want it?
Andrew Wyke: Don't get carried away. It's not a murder weapon you're talking about, you know!
Milo Tindle: No?
Andrew Wyke: No. We're discussing an object from which I receive, in the classic formula, a glancing blow which will raise a lump, without actually cracking the cranium.
Milo Tindle: Why don't I just keep tapping you lightly on the head with the poker until a lump comes up?

a film with a two-man cast, and the screenplay is shaffer's own.

i'm sure this is all old hat to those who have been with mankiewicz since their tender years, but i have only just watched the 1972 sleuth, and enjoyed it. (the wiki article is all spoilers, by the way, and allow me to recommend watching the thing first).

and in the 2007 film, now, michael caine plays wyke. and harold pinter is doing the screenplay for kenneth branagh. i look forward to watching it, not least because pinter can do marvellous things, and because branagh is a man of very considerable imagination.

i should mention that i have now watched his harry and his benedick, and i do enjoy his shakespeare.
there was also mozart, incidentally, with clean animation-like colours, and stephen fry with words to the english libretto and dialogue.

grief.

the book is very good, of course, not least because krakauer has a great deal of respect, even attachment.
and sean penn has done not a very bad job on the film. although i do believe reasons aren't always attributable, and almost never attributable with such definition.

i think the self-portrait in front of the bus is remarkable.

'So one afternoon I took myself to the Aldwych Theatre and saw a production of King Lear in which he was playing the Fool and I stood for the first time in my life in the presence of truly great acting. It was effortless reality and compassion and humanity and wit and pathos and it was all at the service of the play and of his fellow performers and it was a spine-tingling connection to great art, it was simple and it was profound. And years later I got to know him, and his wife, and I found a remark that he made to her to be very true. He said that you can never be more on stage, than you are in life and by this time I knew in his case it was true. I knew about his enormous heart, his warmth and his intelligence and I knew for sure that what I'd seen all those years ago had been no accident and I was always too shy to tell him because he's like me, he's easily embarrassed, but I want to tell him tonight, because he's here, that I left that performance of his feeling that if any part of my professional career could approach what he did in that role, that I would die a happy man.'
etc.

also enjoyed this, from much younger times.

all because of hamlet.

as for the four-hundred-and-something-year-old, well, no one produces a greater hangover.

other things apart, kindness is in walking a city. this keeps coming back to me whenever i speak to him. no one i know has the city in the very reflexes of their steps and their feet as he does.