Don't you ever stop and give me time to breathe in?
I am spending much less time outside than I would like, but I am spending much less time sleeping than I would like, and much more time working than either. I did get a walk with ![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
spatch while there was still decent flower-showcasing sunlight.
I loved the textures as well as the colors of the iris up close.
Up the side of the Knights of Malta Hall. It was built in 1895; I was informed this afternoon that it's threatened by the development of the Green Line Extension. Especially after the loss of the Reid & Murdock Warehouse, I would prefer nothing happen to it. It's full of green bronze and businesses like East Cambridge Piano and the Boston Billiard Emporium.
The poppies are blooming again, which always makes me feel that the gates of the underworld are open.
Azaleas!
Rob took this picture of me at the end of our walk. Tired or not, I liked it.
Have some links.
1. Courtesy ofselkie: "The Queer Art of Sitting." Once I got past the mortifying ordeal of being known, I was reminded of how I wrote about Jeff Hartnett in Johnny Eager (1942), "the kind of loose-limbed, spatially careless character whose movements are best described by terms like 'sprawl,' 'slouch,' and 'drift.'" And, of course, Jeremy Brett.
2. Courtesy of same and ranking among the best eulogies I have read recently: "With Charles Grodin's Death, Hollywood's Greatest Romance Comes to an End."
3. Courtesy ofhandful_ofdust: any photo of Peter Cushing and his hobbies is a good photo.
4. I wish there were any information at all on this candid of Leslie Howard at a party, but it's reasonably terrible and I love it.
5. I heard from my mother that a ceasefire was agreed in Gaza. I am glad of it. I hope the U.S. sends humanitarian aid; it is somewhere around literally the least this country can do, especially after its foot-dragging weekend. I still found this thread courtesy ofreconditarmonia depressingly worth reading. "Governments do not have heartstrings, they have interests."
I am really not over having furnished a stranger with a phrase meaningful enough to make a tag. It makes me feel unironically like Le Guin.
spatch while there was still decent flower-showcasing sunlight.
I loved the textures as well as the colors of the iris up close.
Up the side of the Knights of Malta Hall. It was built in 1895; I was informed this afternoon that it's threatened by the development of the Green Line Extension. Especially after the loss of the Reid & Murdock Warehouse, I would prefer nothing happen to it. It's full of green bronze and businesses like East Cambridge Piano and the Boston Billiard Emporium.
The poppies are blooming again, which always makes me feel that the gates of the underworld are open.
Azaleas!
Rob took this picture of me at the end of our walk. Tired or not, I liked it.
Have some links.
1. Courtesy of
selkie: "The Queer Art of Sitting." Once I got past the mortifying ordeal of being known, I was reminded of how I wrote about Jeff Hartnett in Johnny Eager (1942), "the kind of loose-limbed, spatially careless character whose movements are best described by terms like 'sprawl,' 'slouch,' and 'drift.'" And, of course, Jeremy Brett.2. Courtesy of same and ranking among the best eulogies I have read recently: "With Charles Grodin's Death, Hollywood's Greatest Romance Comes to an End."
3. Courtesy of
handful_ofdust: any photo of Peter Cushing and his hobbies is a good photo.4. I wish there were any information at all on this candid of Leslie Howard at a party, but it's reasonably terrible and I love it.
5. I heard from my mother that a ceasefire was agreed in Gaza. I am glad of it. I hope the U.S. sends humanitarian aid; it is somewhere around literally the least this country can do, especially after its foot-dragging weekend. I still found this thread courtesy of
reconditarmonia depressingly worth reading. "Governments do not have heartstrings, they have interests."I am really not over having furnished a stranger with a phrase meaningful enough to make a tag. It makes me feel unironically like Le Guin.