Finally I found time to read Mary Shelley's Frankenstein. Brilliant. Hubris in its most beautiful romantic form.
The other book I'm reading is Atran and Medin's Folkbiology, which is sometimes much weirder, for instance when discussing New Guinean bird names.
I am listening to Jerry Garcia playing "Sitting on top of the world" and I miss the Bauernbergpark Man.
Two days ago I passed by his summer quarters (which are two adjacent bark benches near a long turn of the road) and all his belongings were scattered on the ground. He was gone.
I hope he has a warm place to stay before the winter comes to the park.
I wonder how the Man really feels and if he is sometimes as lonely as Shelley's monster. Who can tell?
What shall I read next?
Ah. Phillip Balls's "Unnatural" comes to my mind.
No comments:
Post a Comment