First…
A Happy Darwin Day to everyone!
As Google teaches us this Tuesday morning, it isn’t just about this humble scientist’s achievements in life
– though those of you who previously visited Darwin House on a spring afternoon get a sense of what he truly desired –
endless rows of insects and finches in glass cabinets, captured, pinned to an unnaturally cream-coloured background as if sleeping.
There’s little final about perfection, or the unattainable in itself. A brief check on Amazon revealed conceptual poetry has turned into Latin; ancient, dead and only written about, not written in.This makes today’s mission for a book title merely exciting, from experience, it is when you least expect it, and when there isn’t a scrap of paper around for miles – not bemoaning the loss of possibilities, preferably raising the lifeless back onto the page.