The Journal of Ephemeral Inspiration promises a neverending spew of pointless minutae, brilliant yet useless ideas, troublingly cruel commentary and emphatic musings on whatever shiny object happens to catch our collective eye. Always remember, hate the game, not the playa.
Illiterature: That Island Over There With The Trees
More gentle reading, gentle reader, this time from J.M. Synge’s (1871-1909) second novel, “That Island Over There With The Trees.”
"...On some days I feel this island as a perfect home and resting place; on other days I feel that I am a waif among the people. Yesterday, I talked with a local fisherman at length about his cleft palate, though much of our conversation was lost on me due to that very subject. Still, we parted as though old comrades of the sea, exchanging the customary rubbing of body parts before going our separate ways..."
Also in this series...
posted by Editor, The J.E.I. | 1:40 PM
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