Editorial
Is it wrong to have doubts when suns are beginning to shine again?
Through luck and merit and support, one can plough their way through the mud. It is not an easy task, but one certainly achievable. It has been done before, and there are steps that have been taken already. Truly, in fact, the path has never been all that muddy.
Why, then, does every step feel like failure? Is it simply melodrama? A trick of the brain? A misfiring of misfortunes, aimed at the susceptible parts? Why, then, would one forget all that had been done and throw it all away?
It would be foolish to end here. It would be a heresy, truly. A dishonour to the legacy of those who came and went, an atrocity in the eyes of those who believe. A crime, perhaps, against nature herself.
No, this is not where things end. I know that much – that cowardice is a part of the package, to the strange benefit of the recipient.
Why, then, do I still desire an end?
Art of London
Portrait of a Lady
by Arthur Cole
News of Art, Art of News
Incoming Storm Might Present Unexpected Setbacks
In latest weather reports, the Seventh Astronomer warns of a great Storm coming towards London. It is unclear when, how, or if at all this Storm will arrive; it is still said to be a big one.
The Seventh Astronomer, an oddity even amongst the blind astronomers, speaking only in fire and screams, has been conducting heavy research into the weather patterns of the Neath. This research is indeed publicly available, scrawled with a sharp piece of glim on the backside of a cave near the London Observatory.
The Astronomer warns that, to quote: “The eyes have been angered, the deed cannot be pardoned,” and “What was said cannot be unsaid,” and “White, three sugars, yolk.” We are still unsure whether or not the last citation pertains to the weather.
Further insights specify heavy rains, thunder and/or lightning, an array of frightening displays, and perhaps an incursion from Hell. As mentioned, time has not been specified, and the Storm may come anywhere between next Tuesday and the end of the Seventh.
Don’t forget your umbrellas, London!
Ask Mother Goose
Dear Mother Goose,
Am I destined to do nothing but stupid mistakes?
Wondering
Dear Wondering,
I am afraid that all evidence suggests such a trajectory.
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