A salty dog (R.I.P. Gary Brooker)

We sailed for parts unknown to man

Where ships come home to die

No lofty peak, nor fortress bold

Could match our captain's eye

Upon the seventh seasick day

We made our port of call

A sand so white, and sea so blue

No mortal place at all

(Gary Brooker/ Keith Reid)

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He's the only Frank Zappa I knew (Captain Beefheart)

R.I.P. Peter Joyce

What connection can there have been between many people in the innumerable histories of this world, who, from opposite sides of great gulfs, have, nevertheless, been very curiously brought together! Charles Dickens (in Bleak House )

That's about right: a little, no more (Michel Houellebecq)

Photo by Rupert Britton on Unsplash When all's said and done, the idea of the uniqueness of the individual is nothing more than pompous absurdity. We remember our lives, Schopenhauer wrote somewhere, a little better than a novel we once read. Michel Houellebecq (in Platform )

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