To those who live in the narrow circle of human interests and human feelings, there ever exists, unheeded, almost unnoticed, before their very eyes, the most humbling proofs of their own comparative insignificance in the scale of creation, which, in the midst of their admitted mastery over the earth and all it contains, it would be well for them to consider, if they would obtain just views of what they are and what they were intended to be.
Let them exercise their sublime and boasted reason, I said to myself, in endeavoring to comprehend infinity in any thing, and we will note the result! If it be in space, we shall find them setting bounds to their illimitable void, until ashamed of the feebleness of their first effort, it is renewed, again and again, only to furnish new proofs of the insufficiency of all of earth, even to bring within the compass of their imaginations truths that all their experiments, inductions, evidence and revelations compel them to admit.
Autobiography of a Pocket-Handkerchief
The Delgados – “All You Need Is Hate”
Hate
Satire? Or is there more truth here than we’d like to believe? Either way, it’s a great song, the standout from an interesting but grossly overproduced album.
Betty: They are gone, sir, in great Anger.
Petulant: Enough, let ‘em trundle. Anger helps Complexion, saves Paint.
The Way Of The World
DJ Food – “The Riff”
Kaleidoscope
This fun album comes via Ninja Tune, a label I listened to almost exclusively for a few months. DJ Food is a talented sound collage artist, and while this track isn’t really the most representative, it is one of the more original-sounding. Very fun, very frenetic. (Ninja Tune)
The Tower Menagerie
“He is neither more nor less than a cat, of immense size and corresponding power it is true, but not on that account the less endowed with all the guileful and vindictive passions of that faithless tribe.”
Shall I say thou art a man, that hast all the symptoms of a beast? How shall i know thee to be a man? By thy shape? That affrights me more, when I see a beast in likeness of a man.
The Anatomy Of Melancholy
And yet with crimes to us unknown,
Our sons shall mark the coming age their own.
Horace