A
Anonymous
Guest
Would love to hear people's thoughts on this part in Autobiography. I can re-read it a thousand
times but I have no idea what Moz is talking about:
"In places of food, my senses existentially turn to old high walls of red brick, and I lie awake at
night weighing the fascination. There will never be an end or a conclusion to this dazed attraction,
and even now, decades on, I cannot find any written acknowledgement of the trance such things
pull me into. Whatever detains the eye is understood by no one, least of all me."
times but I have no idea what Moz is talking about:
"In places of food, my senses existentially turn to old high walls of red brick, and I lie awake at
night weighing the fascination. There will never be an end or a conclusion to this dazed attraction,
and even now, decades on, I cannot find any written acknowledgement of the trance such things
pull me into. Whatever detains the eye is understood by no one, least of all me."