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In fairy tales, when you were offered a choice of doors, there was generally a tiger behind one of them. That was why it was best to kick them down.
He hadn’t felt that much innocent pleasure since choosing Clash tracks for all eight of his Desert Island Discs.
what you’d get if you spliced the DNA of an only child, a Daily Mail reader and a viciously toxic bacillus: an organism that was self-obsessed, full of pent-up rage, and sprayed poisonous shit everywhere. Symptoms included a tendency to lapse into capitals, the dismissal of all dissent as Establishment toadying, and a blinding ignorance of Occam’s razor.
“In 1952 there was a serious flood in Lynmouth, in Devon. Thirty-five people died. There are those, BigSeanD among them, who think this was the work of Project Cumulus. What was meant to be a demonstration of rainmaking potential got out of hand.”
There’s an American outfit, military funded, called HAARP—something about high frequency transmissions—which is reckoned to be developing a weather-control system. Floods, hurricanes, tsunamis—a lot of big stuff has been laid at their door.
Mutant, Flume
nobody really gets away with anything.
“Jesus wept.”
the best way to fluster a subordinate was to assure them there was no need to hurry.
it suited her to be underestimated in matters of no consequence.
sometimes you had to tie a black ribbon round events without asking awkward questions.
saved it in the folder When I’m King
Arcade Fire bootleg from last year’s Hyde Park show:
Sunny Jim’s
as if the information they contained was savage, and needed to be kept behind bars.
the violet hour
beneath the sound of clouds crashing together (which, as every child knows, is the true cause of thunder)
Unless it moves like a ghost, soundlessly flitting up one last staircase to the uppermost floor, where the rooms are smaller, and closer to heaven . . .
Aldersgate Street, like the rest of London, has long been waiting for this moment. If city streets could sigh, that’s what this one would be doing.
And of course they can, and they do, and it is. This is the noise rain always masks; the grateful sighing of the pavements.
