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Being an Archive of the Obscure Neural Firings Burning Down the Jelly-Pink Cobwebbed Library of Doom that is The Mind of Quentin S. Crisp
Monday, September 10, 2007
Some futurescape of strangeness
In the summer I was wandering in Kew Botanical Gardens with a friend, when we came across a rather intriguing piece of stone. Upon closer examination, we found it to be a wounded angel. Strangely moved, as at a fragment of timelessness that had fallen from the vault of a crumbling heaven, I took out my camera and recorded the image.
Later, flicking through the pages of New Scientist, I discovered something that I recognised, though I had not seen it before. The name on the page in the magazine was Emily Young. I seemed to remember it. And then the memory of the wounded angel in the botanical gardens came back to me.
In the summer I was wandering in Kew Botanical Gardens with a friend, when we came across a rather intriguing piece of stone. Upon closer examination, we found it to be a wounded angel. Strangely moved, as at a fragment of timelessness that had fallen from the vault of a crumbling heaven, I took out my camera and recorded the image.
Later, flicking through the pages of New Scientist, I discovered something that I recognised, though I had not seen it before. The name on the page in the magazine was Emily Young. I seemed to remember it. And then the memory of the wounded angel in the botanical gardens came back to me.
Labels: Emily Young
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