a grouse with completely feathered feet


Quail just handed me a slip of paper. Came across a "web log" that compelled with strange axioms. Its premise was indeed startling--write in the voice of a 17th century London-dwelling man, with full "old school" diction to boot. I don't know who is writing this web log, but he (she?) has a grasp of reverse historiography that is astounding!:

Monday 16 January 1659/60

In the morning I went up to Mr. Crew’s, and at his bedside he gave me direction to go to-morrow with Mr. Edward to Twickenham, and likewise did talk to me concerning things of state; and expressed his mind how just it was that the secluded members should come to sit again. I went from thence, and in my way went into an alehouse and drank my morning draft with Matthew Andrews and two or three more of his friends, coachmen. And of one of them I did hire a coach to carry us to-morrow to Twickenham.

Whoever this "Pepys" fellow is is pretty saavy in knowledge of alehouses, Twickenham, etc. I'm sure Pepys has a studio apt. on the upper east side (small, but you know) and relieves the temping in a Citibank office by creating, vicariously, a 17th century chap. And his mundane adventures. Inconceivable that writing would be this old! (Everything before the Mary Oliver Age of Poetics, pre-1970, is a little hazy, is it not? All those primal deer writing deer poems block the sightlines. And even THAT is a revenant compared to the Mark Doty Age, 1993-present.)

Still--why doesn't "Pepys" have an email address? A commenting system (Klink it up)? Links to Pepys's peeps? As an American, you must at least attempt to provide customer service for your mineral! This is the only negative. MINUS A STAR. But still good work, if you are reading this after Googling your name, maybe we can trade linkages.

Everybody wins?


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