Philosophy, politics, entertainment. Art, music, poetry, science. Macrocosm, microcosm.
even more than The Tempest, is Twelfth Night. Why one cannot exactly say, or tell. Whatever the magic is, it doesn't work when girls play the boys' parts. And it does work when boys play the girls' parts.
posted by anatole at
2:01 AM
I burn hot. I tend to exhaust people in conversation, like Margaret Fuller did Carlyle. Which leaves me (but apparently not Margaret) always wishing I'd shut up sooner. I have quite a few friends and not many enemies, but I'm very proud of the few I do have. There is consensus among my friends about me, which is how I know to write about myself. What my enemies think of me I have no idea. That, of course, could be dangerous. The list of interests and favorites is absurdly partial and half-assed, particularly as to music and books. It's the stupid format of the blog itself, as given, that, of course, I color outside the lines and burst the seams of.
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