Welcome to an unending ticker-tape of crap too small for my blog Asleep on the Compost Heap or too big for Twitter. While computer games, music, photos, art, and supermarkets all get a look in, this site will focus mostly on food. I hope.
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Dreamydeary - I guess this could be a camel in a dream, and (not ‘or’) a sweetheart in a dream. The word is near the start of finnegans wake. Every association and meaning in finnegans wake is valid, of course. Its web is vast, and a bit frightening.
I’m reading Proust’s In Search of Lost Time (translated) for the second time, out loud, this time, to my girlfriend. We’re onto ‘Within a Budding Grove.’ I came across this neat, and very beautiful, little passage where flowers seem to have souls, as they (and other objects) might do in post impressionist and cubist painting. It would be typical of how Proust presents flowers and other objects throughout the work. He just lurves things.
"I encountered no one at first but a footman who, after leading me through several large drawing-rooms, showed me into one that was quite small, empty, its windows beginning to dream already in the blue light of afternoon. I was left alone there in the company of orchids, roses and violets, which, like people waiting beside you who do not know you, preserved a silence which their individuality as living things made all the more striking, and warmed themselves in the heat of a glowing coal fire, preciously ensconced behind a crystal screen, in a basin of white marble over which it spilled from time to time its dangerous rubies."