Mr Honeyfoot meanwhile, his hands in the air like a Methodist praising God, was walking rapidly from bookcase to bookcase; he could scarcely stop long enough to read the title of one book before his eye was caught by another on the other side of the room. “Oh, Mr Norrell!” he cried. “Such a quantity of books! Surely we shall find the answers to all our questions here!”

“I doubt it, sir,” was Mr Norrell’s dry reply.

— Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell

I attempted to make a (soft) connection between commonplace books, Baudelaire, and Pasolini’s The Gospel According to St. Matthew, which has one of the most remarkable soundtracks I’ve ever heard.

I wrote a Lenten meditation on Luke 13:31-35, the gist of which is, Let Us Now Praise Famous Hens.

Katie Crutchfield on Cameron Winter’s Heavy Metal. 🎶

It has quickly consumed my mind and emotions and all of the empty time and space in all this travel I’ve been doing. I don’t even really think I know how to talk about it. It feels hyperbolic to call it brilliant. It’s something else. There’s a casualness and stupidity to its complete and total airtight perfection. Brad said it sounds like freedom. I couldn’t agree more.

I wrote about Colson Whitehead, the apocalypse, and my son.