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10th of November 1897


Moment For Me
by R. J. Frogvarian

I stole a moment.
Spirited away, hidden,
deep in my pocket.

It is a moment for the world,
moment to be shared,
from pauper to lord,
please no one be scared.

While I’d love to share
It is not the time just yet
Wait just a small while.

Just this little notch
that I had made with glee.
Just this little moment,
this one is for me.

Art of London

Fallen London – The Crossword Puzzle
by Senforza

Fill it out on the centre-spread page.

News of Art, Art of News

Standing Ovation – A Way To Combat Discomfort?

Think on this, London. Has your bottom ever hurt after a hours of sitting on a theatre seat? Has the wood made you shift your weight in desperation, attempting to find a single position where your ample buttocks do not constantly ache?

A new theory within the theatre-going world claims that, as opposed to a celebration of performance, the phenomenon of a standing ovation is simply there to relieve such pain. A standing ovation grants the audience an early release, as their legs can stretch, bottoms rest, and now their hands do the talking – though, of course, in a socially acceptable, even pleasant, way.

Such polemics, though intriguing, hold little value for art itself. Conspiracists claim this is a ruse by shabby theatres to get unwarranted feeling of praise, while purists deny they would ever stoop so low as to give into their primal instincts when it comes to giving a proper, performance-worthy ovation.

We at the Gazette, of course, remain neutral. We will, however, say that, be the truth wherever, the Antimacassar Theatre’s number of standing ovations has (allegedly) increased by quite a few numbers ever since the installation of their new seats. Not to point any fingers, yet this in this reporter’s humble opinion, the seats are rather ache-inducing. On the opposition, Mahogany Hall’s recent renovation has left all buttocks unhurt – with no decrease in standing ovations, of course.

Nevertheless, you can always draw your own conclusions – and keep your rears from hurting!


I’ve dirtied my hands more than I have intended. For the sake of the Game, for the sake of pleasing the Masters, for sake of being closer to insanity. I never should have listened to that man’s words, and yet I now find myself tempted to throw everything away. Throwing everything away for what? The Seven which is not Seven now plagues my curiosity, and my thoughts, and my hunger.

As the mist has set, so the revels have ended. Time of confessions is behind us. Oh, woe are we, still bound to carry the weight of our sins. Such is the time after Hallowmas.

Ask Mother Goose

Dear Mother Goose,
Oh, the anticipation! Will it ever cease?

Dear Eve,
Simply focus on the good things.


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