shylock, domestic bliss, i am a degenerate

-my rosemary tonks presentation is undone, A Certain Project is languishing on 23k, & all our tea-towels are starting to smell funny. but i don’t care because i’m reading ada or ardor & it’s so dense & sumptuous & weird & i cannot. put. it down.

-finished king john; onto the merchant of venice! this play is fucked UP. the part where he’s an anti-semitic stereotype aside, shylock’s dialogue is so interesting- there’s layers & layers of ambiguity there. he’s not a caricature. he’s complex. & bassanio is way more interesting than i expected him to be (i think i was anticipating another antipholus)- he’s an enormous fuckboy & terribly reckless with money & also the only character who actually seems to respect shylock & then there’s… the whole… thing… with… antonio…

-also i LOVE gratiano. there are just no boring characters in this one, guys. well, i haven’t met jessica yet.

-despite the fact that i have about sixteen films lined up to watch that i haven’t got round to yet (hello princess kaguya, hello lost highway) i’ve ordered the 2004 movie adaptation already. whoops. it looks good! jeremy irons is the absolute perfect choice for antonio, joseph fiennes’ hair is giving me stitches, & i may just be a huge sucker for the whole crumbling-venetian-glamour thing. okay, yeah, i am.

-i’m trying to restrain myself from buying call me buy your name on d.v.d. also an ophelia t-shirt. & the new fleurs du mal translation. the government probably shouldn’t give me money. i bought perfume instead of new trousers the other day. so, you know, on the one hand i smell like jasmine & sandalwood, but on the other hand i’m wearing holey purple cords. which is admittedly a look. lucy thinks i’m appallingly vain & she’s right. we were late to squad breakfast at ziggy’s the other day because i took an hour deciding which of my four black chokers to wear.

-i have a grand total of sixteen days left in norwich. & then it’s back to the dark & savage north, & lighting tallow candles to read by, & galumphing around in untreated sheepskins, & stewing young children in pots, & communicating in a complex system of grunts & gesticulations. (okay, full disclosure, my mother’s house is about sixteen times as clean as this flat & candles aren’t allowed upstairs anyway. & it’s like, five minutes away from the library, which is nice.)

-the main question is how on earth to say goodbye to everyone i’ve met here. of course i’ll be seeing jo, will, lucy & jamie again within three months- our lease on the Beverage Cult begins august, & we’re thinking about going to see as you like it at the globe in july, if we can scrape up the cash- but still. & it won’t be as easy with some of my other friends here.

-there is also the somewhat high probability that, Mallet Moron, banshee taps & minor floods notwithstanding, i will miss mcc. i mean, we have a balcony, for god’s sake. a balcony from which you can see the cathedral spire, & a lamp-post that illuminates the falling snow in winter. we have a topaz-eyed courtyard cat that i’ve only just got to like me. we have a river that the lights fall on like copper etchings. i have a bloody enormous desk that supports, atlas-like, my entire world, i.e my laptop, my complete works of shakespeare, my nabokovs, & quite a lot of tea. also currently my right leg.

-so, yes, going up north is going to be something of a shock to the system. but there are people that i love there too. & forests that drip with blackberries in august, & little bohemian theatre-cafes where i’ve read at open mic nights, & deep, dusty library archives. that’s one thing about being a wanderer, i suppose- to some extent, you carry your world with you.

-&, oh my god, hills. when was the last time i saw a hill? i don’t remember. it’s been so long.

-lucy has returned from hiding. we have fallen easily back into our delightful routine, by which i mean that every so often we emerge from our bedrooms so that she can deride my “rabbit food” & i can pillory her ridiculous love-affair with gravy granules (for god’s sake), & she mocks me for nerding out over the richard ii beach scene, & i throw overripe soft fruit at her & challenge her to arm-wrestles. ah, domesticity.



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