Fernando Pessoa is one of my favourite writers for this year. He was probably the father blogging way before terse personal writing on different topics became fashionable and long before electronic computers were invented (let along the Internet).
In one of his “posts” he writes wonderfully about an experience that is common in my life. There has hardly been a day when I would be seated at a lunch table, watch someone poke at their food with a fork and wonder “how beautifully those steely legs glide through …” before someone calls me to check about something mundane. But I can speak later. This post has Pessoa as the cynosure. This is an excerpt from his delightful book called Book of Disquiet. Read on.
If you liked this, then you might also like this: http://inagardencalledlife.blogspot.com/2007/04/idle-writers-apology.html