johnson-warton-ii

Hermit hoar, in solemn cell,
Wearing out life’s evening gray;
Smite thy bosom, sage, and tell,
Where is bliss, and which the way?

Thus I spake; and speaking sigh’d;
Scarce repress’d the starting tear;—
When the smiling sage reply’d—
Come, my lad, and drink some beer.

Thought:

“I think of myself as someone who thinks largely through writing. Thus I write more than most people, and I write in many different forms. I think of myself as the kind of person who writes, rather than as one kind of writer or another. That’s about the closest I come to categorizing myself as one or another kind of artist.”

Samuel R. Delany

INSTAGRAM

BANDCAMP

YOUTUBE