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I am still thinking about the little series of nine books, I need to go to the lit and phil and get some books, I want to play with the type and the lovely slipcase that arrived this morning, I want to print some Bewick dogs but accompanied with lyrics from Judas Priest, I can go to the allotment and destroy the grass path some more and deal with the massive amount of wood I have been hoarding, I can visit the market and get tons of fruit and veg, I can go to the second hand bookshop and stroke the massive book on the complete works of Marcel Duchamp which is a bit expensive and I can’t justify it and I think I shall buy a lovely journal to read this evening as I swig some half decent gin.
There will be bookbinding.
I am missing the desk top machine and I can’t get type out and that’s a shame as I so want to create two book titles “pretentious wank” and “self pitying drivel” and I want them in Clarendon and I want the type big.
I might as well be hung as a sheep than as a lamb.
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