"The street becomes a dwelling for the flneur; he is as much at home among the facades of houses as a citizen is in his four walls. To him the shiny, enamelled signs of businesses are at least as good a wall ornament as an oil painting is to the bourgeois in his salon. The walls are the desk against which he presses his notebooks; news-stands are his libraries and the terraces of cafs are the balconies from which he looks down on his household after his work is done."
- Baudelaire, 1938
After a solid week of wandering around London and exploring my new surroundings, I decided it was time for a name change. (Besides, one must keep one's internet secret identities, you know, secret.)
So: blackspy --> flaneur.
I've moved into a wonderful house steps away from Battersea Park. I've also succumbed to the irresistible siren song of the "My Pics" thing. All the cool kids are doing it...
- Baudelaire, 1938
After a solid week of wandering around London and exploring my new surroundings, I decided it was time for a name change. (Besides, one must keep one's internet secret identities, you know, secret.)
So: blackspy --> flaneur.
I've moved into a wonderful house steps away from Battersea Park. I've also succumbed to the irresistible siren song of the "My Pics" thing. All the cool kids are doing it...
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How about this, every journal entry you make, ever, I will post this as a comment?