From a dinner party I had a little while ago that I got forgot to post about because I've been so caught up with life.
As a primi - steamed violet artichokes dressed with anchovy, garlic butter & lemon and served with a bowl of that richly umami melted butter. A totally involved eating experience of pulling apart the artichoke petal by petal, dipping in the butter and scraping the flesh out with our teeth. Fun and sensual.
'The Horror In The Museum' by H.P. Lovecraft, 1971 (Victor Valla)
Staudel Xenotype G (1952)
Based on lettering from the late 1800s, but I don't know which.
I will never forgive from software for shit like royal rat authority like what the fuck was that
the giant rat that makes all of the rules
Hes literally the boss
Finished reading Heretics of Dune tonight. Much to think about. I’d really like to fund the time and sit down and put into words how I’ve felt about (picking up and starting again and finally) reading Children of Dune, then God Emperor & Heretics back to back to back over the last month.
In short, Children of Dune was a downwards spiraling mess wasting every and all possible moments between characters you’ve been allowed to feel something for in the previous two books. A naval gazing non-narrative that buckles under it’s attempts to make it’s characters Prescience appear meaningful, and instead makes almost all choices that its characters make nonsensical and impossible to understand.
By comparison, God and Heretics - the books which people will tell you are where things get super fucking weird and crazy - are so much more finely written and propulsive narratives that successfully introduce new ideas and characters - many of which are mental - whilst also keeping things rooted in the interpersonal intrigue as an expression of the weighty atmosphere of interplanetary politics. That paranoiac feeling of a dangerous, incomprehensibly complex universe of danger waiting out there to be played around and into that makes the first book in the series so gripping.
even when i called myself a realist in my secret heart i always believed period
It’s thundering outside and I’m going to see a double bill showing of Alien and Aliens this afternoon
Andrew Wyeth - Otherworld (2002)
Andrew Wyeth (American, 1917-2009), Otherworld, 2002. Tempera on panel, 30.5 in × 47.8 in.
