ypres
Marlowe, whose prognostication for American military action in the coming year sure does unsettle me, writes in email:
Where God promised not to destroy with water, he damn near promised to do it the next time with fire. See Jeremiah & Revelation. Seems pretty fucking plausible, doesn't it?
I wish we could blame this one on God.
Paul Nash
We Are Making a New World, 1918
Oil on canvas, 91 cm x 71 cm
Imperial War Museum, London
But at the very least I discovered vanilla ice cream with honey last night. I don't know why that particular combination had never occurred to me before. It will lead to hell, but what won't? Also delectable: my Sweet Tooth CD from Lauren/Proleptic is here.
Nik sends articles: Ireland's seminaries are dropping like flies and the Greek government has outlawed all computer games.
This afternoon, in the name of research, Megan is kindly going to take me around the Arizona Cancer Center. The idea is to correct everything I misremember from working there seven years ago, and also to see whether my idea for the fictional laboratory project makes any sense. Inhibitors of kinase proteins, yield to me.
