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The Goodly Mist
A Workingblog for Rob Sherman
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⚞ essay?

That Lashed Moon

My father has had a telescope for many years. It’s an intimidating limb of utter precision, and I think he is terrified by it. Within it are more complex sciences than he, a former organic chemist doctor, has ever performed in his life. A zen machine, it is powered by light, and remains useless without […]

Period Pieces

I have been thinking a lot recently about technology, and our acquisition of it. Technology is, quite rightly, an expensive purchase; just to come close to constructing a calculator requires hundreds of transmuted meteorite shards that are scraped off the inside window of the Earth. They require factories of technology to produce, to pulverize and […]

Black Films

The road is a process. It remains entirely unsame throughout its life, after which it is shaved off and used to keep the dishes quiet. Even a single second after the bitumen lorries have left, it is different.  The chemical-smoke that worms off of it contains neat shelves of atoms, and in being different, it […]

PlaGMaDA

The name PlaGMaDA reminds me of Peskajumba, Biarmaland, or other conjunctive inventions that mankind fall into. But it’s not. It’s our wheezing, rickets-laden friend the anagram. The Play Generated Map and Document Archive. A worthy ephemera, yet again, a shelf found in a crowded library. The Internet brings us things that matter entirely in their […]

White Films

BIIIIIIIGGGG JAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRR Sandor Katz and Doc Fermento managed to convince me that gently rotting my own vegetables would not end up with a face the colour of greening tin and cured sausage for legs, blood for effluent and a corkscrew wedged in the duodendum. This fermented cabbage sat in my cupboard, in a dark warmth, […]

Friends Of Friends

I’m fairly certain that this will not become a D&D blog. It is not what I intend, and I think I’m just missing losing my voice and having my hair stand up on end in its own effluent. Such are the weekends.

The Unguent Cupboard

There are always locks when we are young. They may be machined locks, impenetrable to adults and almost boring to us. They may be combinations, seemingly a teaching aid, containing as they do the numbers one to nine, the first we learn, and the only ones we need. I think that we wonder where the […]

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