Geeks bearing gifts ...

I got a B on my Muses exam. That's just about acceptable, I'd say.

I don't have many words, but I have things to look at.

Carl Spitzweg, The poor poet

(The resemblance to the way I've nested myself into my bed with my scripts and books in order to study for the exam on Monday is uncanny. I wish I had a green stove and I am tempted to hang an umbrella under my ceiling!)

Carl Spitzweg, The hypochondriac

Carl Spitzweg, The bookworm

Carl Spitzweg, The butterfly hunter

Just to bring a little cheery, cheeky atmosphere into these grey metropolitan days, and relativise our own biedermeier graveness/quaintness with satirical images of it!
It's a fact that nothing ever really changes. It's just hard to make up one's mind if that's a good or a bad thing.
It's so puzzling where music comes from. The emergence of amazing music from nigh unexpected sources has revolutionary potential.
How can I let the scales grow again?