Marco enters a city; he sees someone in a square living a life or an instant that could be his; he could now be in that man’s place, if he had stopped in time, long ago; or if, long ago, at a crossroads, instead of taking one road, he has taken the opposite one, and after long wandering he had come to be in the place of that man in that square. By now, from that real or hypothetical past of his, he is excluded; he cannot stop; he must go on to another city, where another of his pasts awaits him, or something perhaps that had been a possible future of his and is now someone else’s present. Futures not achieved are only branches of the past: dead branches.

Italo Calvino, Invisible Cities, p24.

The Guardian’s Peter Bradshaw thinks it’s done with time-lapse, but how come the stars don’t move? Hmm?

I’ve never anticipated a book’s launch like I did Infinite Jest’s. I still have the courderoy jacket with one shoulder worn down to the cotton from lugging its hard-backed thousand plus pages to work everyday.

The first time I saw the internet in action was while visiting my friend Tom’s flat - the first search we did was for ‘David Foster Wallace’.

Read this by Robert Potts in the Guardian

I’ve just been listening to a friend’s last.fm playlist wirelessy through the iTouch plugged into the stereo while doing the washing up. It small pleasures like this that can make a weekend. And another reason why blip.fm feels like a toy (albeit a good one), while last.fm is a mission critical musical life-tool.