Gonna selectively quote some dopeness from Sinclair's 'Swimming To Heaven: The Lost Rivers Of London' published in gorgeous plain brown paper by the heads at the Swedenborg Empire.
'... (Charles) Olson, as a young boy, staying at a summer cottage, walks down to the place where two old men sit smoking and talking... You can't help feeling the immensity, the reach of the land behind, with the overriding impulse to counter it, by watching the shifts and shimmies of the sea... Olson felt that the World had become divided from the Universe. And that's what, tramping around London, or out at the rough edges, I have come to feel too. Swimming - immersion, drift - might be one method of healing this estrangement. Walking over or alongside the buried rivers of London stitches a form of collective memory into our sides...'
Images from Lem Pictures.
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