The Storrow Drive Venus

If Charles Williams were blogging in the 21st century, he might sound something like Stephen Baldwin:

. . . as the discarded soda and beer cans bobbed along in the water's edge like rusting buoys in a brown foam so disgusting that it seemed even the seagulls disdained to get their feet wet, I thought to myself: what kind of Venus would be born from the waves of an ocean into which such a river flowed?

And then suddenly - as if belched out from the guts of some mutant, bottom-feeding mollusc - there she was, standing before me in all her grotesque, obese, acne-scarred, frizzy-haired, gum-snapping, incoherent shouting glory.

I've been wanting to refer my readers to this blog for a while, but haven't found a passage to capture his quirky, ethereal prose. This one does it.

Sometimes it seems like he's obliquely referring to the world the rest of us know; sometimes not. But always worth a read, in my experience.