DAILY PHOTO: View from the Elephant Terrace
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I scoured vast seas in search of wisdom lost. It happened when they made me walk the plank, like scuttled wreckage, sunk sans thought of cost, as I began to rise, my treasure sank. I bobbed in seas that each way looked the same. How could I find my way back to that spot carried by currents dastardly untamed, and found days later by a ragged yacht. And so I drift upon the choppy seas, and hope for winds to steer me on my course, but mostly there's not even a slight breeze, and I'm stuck in ghost screams of a dumped horse. I hope one day to regain my attitude, but not stuck down in these damned horse latitudes.
The Good Man Jesus and the Scoundrel Christ by Philip Pullman
Kafka: A Very Short Introduction by Ritchie Robertson
Hippias Major by Plato
Struggling to wiggle its wings, the butterfly warms in the morning sun. Is it like sleep paralysis - that hypnopompic impulse to flee that's stymied by stuck muscles? What's a wind gust or rapidly advancing shadow like for the butterfly? Normally, such occurrences would provoke an erratic fluttering away. But now the screaming instinct to wing away can't be answered. Does the butterfly know dread, or does it just quietly await the moment it's unfrozen? cool morning - a butterfly twitches, but can't yet fly
Lesser Hippias by Plato