Tea: Renaissance, with honey
Music: My Cocteau Twins station on Pandora
Time: Afternoon
The tea smells like peach crisp with oatmeal -- a homey, comforting smell. And, of course, nothing says "home" and "comfort" like icy, ethereal dream pop and a really good creepy story.
Yeah, I'm weird. Don't act shocked. You know better.
It's October, and the trees are stripped bare of all they wear, what do I care? (OK, Bono, out of my head, please.)
So in honor of the thinning of the walls between worlds, each day I'll post a link to a tale of the uncanny, the unearthly, the uncopyrighted.
I slacked yesterday, for which I apologize. As atonement, I'll post two links today.
Short story:
Charlotte Perkins Gilman, "The Yellow Wallpaper"
Long story:
Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley, Frankenstein
Enjoy. And pay no attention to that shadow.
It's nothing, really ...
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1 comment:
The tea sounds sipperful. Ethereal dream pop? Sounds like chai, actually. Tastes like halfcream overwhipped not ripe strawberries.
Bono!!!!(Sorry, fangirl squee was needed)
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