I would like to read your tarot. I would. I need practice. You need your fortune told. I don’t promise futures -can’t and that isn’t what its there for. But I can tease out threads and be as a mirror for things you were looking for.

It works best, like all curious things do, by candle light. Incidentally, candle light is also best for eating, bathing, and dreaming. I like the way it warps everything out of itself and into something glamorous. A visual trick, an ocular hallucination.

Today is supposed to be the most depressing day of the year.

No. Really. London furnished us with a sunrise and a sunset of incredible majesty, and although I fell over (I slipped on a biscuit, prosaically) it has been a wonderful day.

I have spent a lot of it preoccupied with the moral implications of biography.

I do not invite you to join that meandering thought, however. These ones are more fun:

And please, come and have your tarot read. I promise to light candles, wear a silk scarf, and get you drunk afterwards.

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