freckles_and_doubt: (Default)
[personal profile] freckles_and_doubt
Honestly. Eat your heart out, Rimbaud. Spam is so the new surrealist poetry. The stock tip in my inbox this morning announced itself by suggesting, under the mystifying subject line reproduced above, "glass cubicle a purifying sleight of you." Like all really high class gibberish, it suggests, maddeningly, that somewhere on the edge of consciousness is something not entirely unrelated to meaning.

Pleasant lunch with [livejournal.com profile] tsukikoneko today, although meeting in the bookshop was, in retrospect, possibly a tactical error. Piqued, if not vexed, by the unpleasant concatenation of PMT, nausea reactions to the antibiotics, and the tail-end of this cold'flu thing, I went forth and acquired the new Terry Pratchett in profligate hardback. Wintersmith: the third Tiffany Aching one. Not his best, IMNSHO: a slightly scattered, uncohesive narrative, although lots of lovely witchy detail and proper miffic overtones, with extra miff. If for no other reason, the book is utterly worth it for Horace the Cheese.

Also scored a R50-copy of The Iron Council, which means I might, eventually, get around to finishing the damned thing.
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