Rummaging through the files as I'm not going anywhere today, this is a lovely shot. Printed up nicely, the detail of the grasses and the differential in texture from the foliage to the architecture, the linear aspect perpendicular. Spent an afternoon a couple years ago at Frank Lloyd Wright's Taliesin West. Now he was an artist; does my taking a picture, however common-sensibly composed make me one too? I don't think so.
Wish I had some idea of what to do with myself. I've gotten a little aggravated with the Kindle content. The choice of literary histories, and I do mean histories written by a literate person, has gotten sparse. They've removed all the public domain books and replaced them with magazine type pieces written for semi-literates in the free zone while putting a charge on the old classics. Read one about Ivan the Terrible the other day. I swear, the writer described an exchange of diplomatic notes Ivan had with a Persian potentate as sort of like a Twitter tangle. Ugh.
I'm going to start making use of Project Gutenberg in this regard. I like reading older histories and travel books. I've very little interest in fiction. Read a biography of J.R.R. Tolkien the other day. In one sitting. Read The Hobbit in high school; the Ring Trilogy not until my thirties! Didn't care for them at all and don't understand the fascination with it. I could say the same thing about the Star Wars and Trekkie fabulists. No, I don't need the unreal to illustrate anything I can't know from realistic accounts.
Just did download a few books thusly. Thisly is my life.
I think reading so much has got me motivated to write;
sort of letting off the psychic pressure of so many words.
If I run into any human beings, I'll let you know.
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