The Shelter Stone

It just arrived this afternoon.

I came across this album a while back and it’s usually on steady repeat whether I’m working, writing, walking, or running.

Recently I wrote a short piece about one of my Sunday long runs which was undertaken in less than perfect weather conditions.

The second collection of translated Izumi Suzuki short stories.

A woman sat outside her house beside a small brightly painted aluminium folding table.

AI WRITING PROVES THE AUTHOR IS VERY MUCH ALIVE Kurt has finally made public the essay in Blood Knife by Connor Southard, “AI Writing Proves The Author Is Very Much Alive.”

After showing J the Dorothy Johnson paintings at the art gallery, we visit Waterstones to look for Hidden City.

Found material is a private experience.

Field Notes from a Hidden City: An Urban Nature Diary by Esther Woolfson.

A video essay by Yang.

This video is almost as if someone a genetically engineered a viral object designed to capture my interest.

Until last month I’d never considered how three-dimensional trilobites were.

I had a plan.

Yesterday on Aberdeen Esplanade.

Spring has arrived in Aberdeen with blue sky and seas.

I’ve spent the last two weeks adjusting to working in a new team in the day job.

Almost at the top.

Arrived in Oslo today.

I almost fell into Twitter’s trap.

12/02/23 – Sunday – Bus Journal 11:19.

On Sunday I ran up Scolty Hill for the first time.

Last week I listened to the recent Podside Picnic’s episode about Leigh Brackett’s short story Enchantress of Venus.

In the north of Scotland, over the last month, a not COVID-19 virus spread leaving shelves empty of cold and flu medicines.

Last night J expressed a desire to buy a synthesiser of her own, so she could understand them better and make “video game” noises.

Just before the weekend I read a post by Paul Graham Raven where he filled out a proper old-fashioned questionnaire type meme about books.

The Mick Fowler bought last night at the Cairngorm a club dinner because it’d have been rude not to.

Jim Worrad’s Pennyblade.

Some retail therapy from a trip to Blackwells at lunch in an attempt to liven up this weeks sour mood.

J. & I both woke up later than intended to the sound of university cadet corps drummers practicing for Sunday’s Remembrance Day parade.

Both bought from Blackwells.

Both books bought on a whim because I happened to be in Blackwells or Waterstones.

My new favourite subsection on Wikipedia.

1.

It took me the best part of six months to read Michael Cisco’s 2010 novel The Narrator.

Winter is coming.

Aberdeen.

The bottom three volumes of the stack proved difficult to get delivered.

Some Portuguese fellow told me to buy them.

A coincidence occurred 1.

Some of the notable books acquired over the last month.

Rain due.

The alarm went off at 5:15.

If forced by some infernal demon or by the politeness required by a conversation to answer the question of what I want my writing to evoke, I’d say the reading equivalent of watching a Jim Jarmusch film.

Inspired by Aaron Reed’s currently on going Kickstarter for a book covering fifty years of text games in fifty games, and a reminder that I owned a copy of this, I am back, once again, to thinking about IF again.

Aberdeen. 14:40.

So far it’s worked well as both Aeropress and V60.

I watch too much YouTube.

After observing a number of readers & writers take part in juried awards, it seems to be a deal with the devil where one gets the opportunity to survey broad countries of literature searching for the finest examples within the award’s category, but in ret…