How did I not know about this place, basically the most beautiful bookshop in London? Hidden away a ten minutes walk from King’s Cross, on Regent’s canal, this boat is full packed of books (and if you have good books, bring them in, they’re always collecting) and music. Even before getting close to the boat you can hear a sound wave of relaxing jazz and blues.
And then you step inside and find two cats, a hot stove, some cosy chairs and pillows to sit on and, of course, loads of books.
I know now where I’m going to make my open mic debut and even if they don’t do such events, I’ll make sure they will. This is the place. It’s called Word on the Water and it’s open every day 12 – 7pm.
oh how I love a good bookshop! you know you’re in the right place (and the right moment) when you accidentally stumble upon one of the two novels that J.K Toole has written in a past lifetime.
John Kennedy Toole was 31 when he died.
I feel like there’s no better time to re-read A Confederacy of Dunces – that reached publication in the 80’s, eleven years after his death – and dive into The neon Bible, something that he’s written at age 16 for a literary contest.
I’ve only read The Confederacy in French, and at that time (like 7 years ago) it was part of a course on l’idiotie. I almost remember, having to read Dostoievski in French was not fun at all. But I was overwhelmed with joy to meet J.K. Toole’s genius and it changed me for-eveeer. I wish he’d written loads more.
i remember that morning like it was yesterday you slept for two hours maybe then i came into your room I was looking for that hug again longing for it craving for it knowing its all wrong but knowing its the only thing i need
maybe you touched my left arm then you left for work and i knew i had to leave too
i remember that morning like it was yesterday
the park was all green and fresh mixing up our alcohol breaths in the air going back to our homes with a strange question mark above our heads
will i ever see that room again
two weeks later i was back i remember that day
“you need to find a career didi that’s what you need” I can’t I belong to so many places so many things and so many times in history
I belong to Bach’s rhythms forms and textures
I belong to the hippie jeans of the 70s I belong to Warsaw after the war
for being small particles of dust spread all over the universe and the only thing that makes me feel like que ça colle it’s writing