last of the dwarf grapes
Saturday a.m. in what looks like a slate mine. One of those mornings you wake up and a bunch of your tweets has gone missing in the night. You feel weird for two hours because you know you saw them before. Breakfast is the last of the dwarf grapes; after that, it’s ‘“Not leaving the EU could aid me and my sketchy associates in our efforts to end centuries of moderate politics in the UK,” says transport secretary.’ Or that might have been ‘transparent secretary’, not sure. Anyway, the Independent is selling the new colonialism by describing some rock in orbit round Barnard’s Star as “a better home for life”. Hard to know what to experience anxiety about next. I already miss not having an unfinished project to worry about. Still, soon I can start worrying what’s happened to the finished one. In the end you have to conclude that life is emergent one moment but that it goes back in the next.