A word of warning: this entry was first handwritten in an Amsteram coffee shop.
On the last legs of my much yearned-for return to Europe (Cometh Andronicus, bound with laurel boughs, /To re-salute his country with his tears, /Tears of true joy for his return to Rome), I find myself with some free time. At first occupying myself with the mopishness that would come from enduring a five day trip to Amsterdam, I realized that this would be my last time truly alone, with nothing else to do but read a book, for one month’s time. After this month, of course, it will be my life’s duty.
I felt like a bridge preparing for forever, a novice preparing to take orders. So today, in preparation for one month’s hectic organization, I sit and enjoy Kenneth Tynan‘s Leftist diaries – such a beautiful taste of that deliciously English mid-century highbrow. This book is full of shameless name dropping; cynical remarks both snide and well-meaning; kinky hints of his BDSM inclination, the restricted bowel movement that thinkers such as himself were trying to revlieve; and words of wisdom that shall prove indispensable for the actor, director, citizen, and critic, alike. It is these elements that made me incapable of reading this omnibus without a nice, heavy pen in hand.