A painting by I Wayan Sudarsana Yansen. Which evokes Mad Moon Ridge.
A collection of photos of writers and their typewriters. Makes me sigh for my old Brother typewriter. Particularly poignant given recent news that no one is manufacturing typewriters anymore, anywhere.
If you have a choice between handwashing and paperfolding, please go with the latter.
In life, you find yourself in a dark room from which you cannot see any way out. You are groping blindly along the walls, which are featureless and smooth. Finally, after what seems an eternity, you find in the dark a doorknob. When you turn it, a door opens, and you pass into another chamber, only to find that it, too, is perfectly dark and featureless. When you finally find another door, it opens into another dark chamber. And so it repeats, a blind stumbling, until one day, after a lifetime of searching, you open a door into a new place, one that is not dark, but perfectly, radiantly light. That last door is death.