"these fancies yielded to that one portentous something in the picture’s midst. That once found out, and all the rest were plain" —@mobydickatsea.bsky.social
"Listening to ‘salon music’ has never done anyone any harm!"
"The Heart
Dark anxiety of death, as when the gold
Died in the grey cloud.
An evening in November.
A crowd of needy women stood at the bare gate
Of the slaughterhouse;
Rotten meat and guts fell
Into every basket;
Horrible food.
The blue dove of the evening
Brought no forgiveness.
The dark cry of trumpets
Travelled in the golden branches
Of the soaked elms,
A frayed flag
Smoking with blood,
To which a man listens
In wild despair..
All your days of nobility, buried
In that red evening."
—Georg Trakl via (tr O Sheppard)


















































