No. 128. Peas and Thank You. He was so fucking tired, and there was a lot worse in his heart than the "damp drizzly November" that had entered the soul of Melville's Ishmael, his favourite character in literature. He wanted to paint--sort of--but despised everything he deemed worthy of the act. Then he noticed the fresh peas in the kitchen, They gleamed and beckoned like jade. Afterwards--inevitably--he felt betrayed by his own guilelessness..

No comments:

Post a Comment