Fellow connoisseur over here. 🧐

$2.99 is a bargain to be honest.

Amoeba record store on Haight Street.

Pilgrimage.

A record made possibly out of paper on a suitcase turntable from the 1950s. The record seems to indicate that it contains nothing more than two dudes talking about baseball.

This is how I’m doing podcasts from now on.

A damn fine cup of coffee.

This is—excuse me—a *damn* fine up of coffee.

And *hot*.

A handwritten sign on an old pinball machine: “Push coin and hold until all balls drop.”

No need to insult me, old timey pinball machine.

Also I’m starting proper lessons in a month or so.

Thank you! There was a lot of apples at first but I’m well into the wonderful experience of juggling tense, plurals and gender simultaneously. I’ve seen some of the other Duolingo courses and the Spanish seems better than most. But the idioms I only pick up on socials.

No lo sabía! De verdad? Jajaja! She’s a master of that look.

Harper the greyhound on the couch looking guilty. A broken plate is on the floor.

This is fine. These things happen.

Puedo confirmarlo.

Goes without saying, clearly.

Works for me.

My podcast app showing the first Behind the Bastards episode on Phil Spector.

Is there a word in German for anticipating enthusiastically something you know is going to tell you things that are absolutely awful?

I had a flu shot twelve hours ago and now estoy demasiado cansado para leer en español esta noche.

From the lyric sheet of Mt Wellington Reverie by Augie March. The subtitle (not in the song) reads: “Three convicts Hobart guest house, Marcus Clarke hails his last taxi.” Nice.

Well what do you know? After 20 years I’ve realised one of my favourite albums has its own Marcus Clarke reference, made ten years before I took my own liberties with his work.

I mean come on. When it’s *this* pretty it’s a completely reasonable investment.

A vinyl copy of Moo You Bloody Choir by Augie March. A sublime album on gorgeous alabaster coloured vinyl and reversed gold and maroon cover art.

Did I buy a copy of a record I already have because it’s in a new pretty package?

The cover is based on an insane book by Richard Dagley from 1827 called ‘Death’s Doings’. It features ‘the poet’ stalked by Death as he composes his ‘ode to immortality’.

A page spread from the book where the text begins to distort on the page as it depicts Clarke’s fictional Bullocktown getting more and more drunk.

A spread of ads for contemporary products like Botox, car restoration, and a hipster bar all done in a 19th century style.

The final story is a rewrite of Clarke’s ‘Hunted Down’ set in 2016 with me replacing Clarke as protagonist. It’s called ‘Hi, I’d Like to Add You to My Professional Network on LinkedIn’. I think it’s pretty funny.

Here’s a book I made back in 2016. It’s a remix of stories by 19th century Australian author Marcus Clarke. With designer George Saad, I started with the basic format of cheap story collections of the 1870s (complete with ads) and took increasing liberties as the text progressed.

marginaliaWorking title, working writerSomething else entirelyThe art of narrativeLooking forward, looking backwardEphemeral City: The PlaylistCiudad EfímeraAll fair in love and plagiarismHere we go again, I guessHumanise the machine, mechanise the humanThe Guardian joins the mobCultural flatteningWill this do?At long last, a launchLove letterTools of the tradeOnly you can seeLocked outDistract or Deceive, Part TwoDistract or Deceive, Part OneThis City is Ephemeral I printed out the grid and started scribbling over it. It felt satisfying. It felt right. And I wanted to keep going.

There’s also an RSS feed if you want to go old school.
simongroth.com/marginalia?f...

For reasons I no longer remember, I decided not only to write and create some weird arty book thing, but also to write about the process of making said weird arty book thing. Sign up and you can follow along. www.simongroth.com/newsletter

Looking up at the roof of the verandah on a fine morning. A kookaburra is on the gutter looking out over his doman.

Morning.

Post a non-religious picture you think of as holy

A closeup of my typewriter, an Olivetti Lettera 32. I have written "I wouldn't, would I?". The typo (a d slapped over an e) suggests that no, I wouldn't because typewriters are a pain in the arse.

"Soon I'll drag myself back, make a damn decision about which tool will do the job well enough and keep going with this manuscript. Maybe I might try something new. After all, just behind me at the desk tucked away between my armchair and bookcase is my trusty Lettera 32. I even have spare ribbon."

Todo bien. No hay prisa.

Claro! Mis correos a menudo desaparecen en un agujero de gmail. 🙄 Enviando ahora. 🤞

Si! No hay problema. Avisame si no lo encuentras. : )

Hola Sara. No estoy seguro de si recibiste el mensaje sobre mi proyecto de libro...

“I started jotting down the structure for the first chapter. I divided the page into three and expanded on the notes to self from the grid. Page after page, the physical handwriting got tighter and smaller. It began to look like the notebooks of John Doe from the movie Se7en.”

Them: What are you doing?
Me: Writing a book.
Them:
Me:
Them:
Me: Damnit I’m going to need a chainsaw.