We spent a couple hours at the coffee shop.

I read a bit from Matthew Stadler’s Landscape: Memory.

Here are some delightful passages:

He was a muscular fur-ball, speckled gray and bristling from nose to tail. Damp nose, quivering tail. His eyes were black pools, bulging wet black pools, like licorice candies someone had licked. I pushed my face into the trousers and felt his whiskers brush across my cheek.

Today I finished Frankenstein. I fancy the monster’s a woman, as he seems to suffer all that women suffer. He’s not allowed to speak. He’s judged by his appearance only. He must stand by and wait for a rather infantile man to do the necessary work, allowed to help only through threats and cajoling. As it’s written by a woman I imagine she intended it as a parable, but Mother tells me my reading is incorrect. It’s about Prometheus, she says, and the horrible things that happen when man plays at being God. I don’t mind that I’m wrong really, but I like imagining the monster in a dress.

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