Jot

I. Scotch
- Lagavulin 12 (75)
- Caol Ila 10 (60)
- Royal Lochnagar Select Reserve (210)
- Port Ellen 30 (370)

- www.malts.com

Rivet

Holme

“Drifting in a sultry day on the sluggish waters of the pond, I almost cease to live and begin to be. A boatman stretched on the deck of his craft and dallying with the noon would be as apt an emblem of eternity for me as the serpent with his tail in his mouth. I am never as prone to lose my identity. I am lost in the haze.”

- H.D.T.

Chippy

“Mr. Wilhelm, how did your catharsis go?”

“You see, Bennington, that’s your problem, not mine.”

“Oh? You fancy to believe that such inner-tweakings fault upon my behalf?”

“My dear chap, you’re an idiot to me. That’s all it is.”

“An idiot? You care to flatter me with such a statement on this fine day?”

“Actually, I do, Bennington.”

“You’re a bloody beast, Wilhelm, a bloody beast.”

“I feel you’ve got your accusations incorrect my dear dupe. Hush hush.”

“Hush hush?”

“You really remind of a dog, Benzy, really.”

“Where do you manage this absurd audacity, I really must ask?”

“Why ask when you can just do? Do something Benzy, come along now.”

Porfa

1. Thé à la menthe
2. Couscous de poulet
3. Tagine d’agneau
4. Vin du Maroc
5. Beignets

*Tout à fait joli.

أين؟

Clarté: Est-ce clair?

Alight

Den Haag

“She sat a little higher than I, and whenever in her solitary ecstasy she was led to kiss me, her head would bend with a sleepy, soft, drooping movement that was almost woeful, and her bare knees caught and compressed my wrist, and slackened again; and her quivering mouth, distorted by the acridity of some mysterious potion, with a sibilant intake of breath came near to my face. She would try to relieve the pain of love by first roughly rubbing her dry lips against mine; then my darling would draw away with a nervous toss of her hair, and then again come darkly near and let me feed on her open mouth, while with a generosity that was ready to offer her everything, my heart, my throat, my entrails, I gave her to hold in her to hold in her awkward fist the scepter of my passion.“

- Nabokov

C.c.

Constant humming rings from the west
Brimming a constant melody
Night falls and stars dot, telling us
Tall grasses and fields of wide lengths
Open, it is nature we seek

When lit, we stumble as truth peeks
A mark or period of date
Where in the deck lies the right match
The humdrum is constant, the ring
Absence of mind and purity

Still and simple, not a gesture
Sleep for now and rest up for it
It is it, it is what it is
It always is constant, you see