![]() ![]() The gods we create, who watch senseless slaughter and horrors beyond imagining every day, but who still become squeamish at the sight of a shoulder, a thigh. I coped with this better than at the basilica in Rome, when they made me cover my shoulders. They wouldn’t let me into the synagogue because my shorts were too short. ‘I just don’t understand my country’, the woman said. The people next to us at the show the day after the Brexit vote, asking, ‘Are you commiserating or celebrating?’ We said the former, tentatively, and they relaxed. ‘When Kenneth Rynan asked Roman Polanski if he thought the film contained too much blood, Polanski replied, ‘You didn’t see my house last summer. I woke up next to Cass, having slipped down in the bed, holding her arm protectively, like a Renaissance painting. Whether you dream about the woods of your childhood or the neighbor in the lycra jogging outfit, the essence of your dream is this: you crave ESCAPE.’ – from the intro to ‘Broken Manual’, Lester B. You feel like you’re living two lives, right? In one life you haul yourself out of bed each day to fulfil another set of dreary obligations. ‘Since you’re reading this, I’m guessing you’re a broken man. Arms up, face up.īillboard on the Tube: ‘Every day you make 35,000 choices.’ Standing naked on the roof as the rain fell, the sky purple, lights here and there. ‘I’ve been taking chances like they’re vitamins.’ The shudder of the floor as the audience stamped, demanded an encore. ![]() Playing with his guitarist, eyes locked, deeply connected, erotic, as he stalked the stage, swinging the guitar neck like a gun. Approaching the mic stand like it was dangerous, like the audience was another creature to tame and seduce. The Tallest Man on Earth at Royal Albert Hall – wrangling the guitar like a bucking horse, like a wild, living thing. Together, we crash, the way waves dash on coral, light shattering and wobbling on the water. Your fingers in mine, my hair through your lashes, your tongue on my tongue on my lips on my throat. Tides pull us into the bedhead, our locked eyes roll back, breamwards, the sheets coil and slacken and our breath folds round the rocks of our teeth. Ripples cross your face, fleet as night fish, love slips to fear slips to joy slips to a firm, stern desire almost like anger. I am the ocean and you hover above me, reading my currents in the flickering light. – Pablo Neruda, ‘I Explain a Few Things.’Įvery time the recorded announcement lady on this tram proudly states that we’re heading towards ‘Cockfosters’, I start uncontrollably giggling. The resulting Marmite shortage was known as ‘Marmageddon.’ Incredible.Īnd through the streets the blood of the children – Ocean Vuong, ‘My Father Writes from Prison.’ĭesire and terror are a hair’s breadth apart.Īfter the Christchurch earthquake, the Marmite factory was damaged. ‘Some nights you are the lighthouse / some nights the sea / what this means is that I don’t know / desire other than the need / to be shattered and rebuilt’ The confusion of finding the whole self in another place – ‘Wherever you go, there you are.’ The present self on holiday feels fraudulent – the projected self of the future and the nostalgic self of the past seem the more correct inhabitants of the travelled world. The strange quality as a trip approaches, a sense that the self will fly away without you, like sleep. ![]() Steinbeck talking about people who want to travel mostly wanting to travel away from themselves. Because those prompt cards are written to maximize misunderstanding, you can guess which of the two happens more.Sehnsucht, sehnen nach. Heart like a peach. Points are awarded to the funniest or most accurate post. Who then reveals the entire, weird-ass journey their phrase took. The process continues until the whiteboard finds its way back to the original artist. Once that's done, the next person along has to draw whatever they've been given - and so on. You then pass your work of 'art' to a neighboring player who will write what they think you've drawn on a new sheet (this covers up the whiteboard, hiding the original doodle). Once you've picked up a card, you've got to draw whatever it describes on a whiteboard. If that's not your bag, you and Scrawl aren't likely to get on.Īnyway. Although there are tamer options (it seems to be color-coded in terms of severity), this is exactly the kind of humor the game thrives on. For example, one card reads "photocopying your balls". Because this is definitely a board game for adults (opens in new tab), these are varying degrees of filthy. Designed for four to eight players, everyone starts with a secret prompt card that tells them what to draw. Here's the elevator pitch for the Scrawl board game - it's Telephone crossed with Pictionary. price: $30 (opens in new tab) / £25 (opens in new tab) Disastrous doodles
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