Human meat…

Reading Iain Sinclair’s Edge of the Orison on the train this morning. His description of the London commute threatened to pale an otherwise beautiful autumn morning:

“London snorts human meat through metalled tubes. And later exhales the de-energised husks, its wage slaves.”

He’s right for the most part, but it’s not good to be reminded of it mid-journey.

I’m luckier than some. Work in the arts. Write all day. But I know how it feels to face this unavoidable daily tawdriness. Did it for years and nearly went mad.

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