1. Massive Attack, ‘Dissolved Girl’


O, that this too too solid flesh would melt,

Thaw and resolve itself into a dew!

Or that the Everlasting had not fix’d

His canon ‘gainst self-slaughter! O God! God!

How weary, stale, flat and unprofitable,

Seem to me all the uses of this world!

Fie on’t! ah fie! ’tis an unweeded garden,

That grows to seed; things rank and gross in nature

Possess it merely.



What he learnt of her was by chance: that she was an accomplished skier, had dyed her hair jet black when Glenn Gould died (she looked “like a startled vampire”), and was, contrary to appearances, very poor. She had made a haphazard, peregrine life subsisting on university grants and patronage, leaving monographs in her wake. She was occasionally consulted on Icelandic folklore or polar bears or Schubertia. Having almost no income, almost all her possessions were inherited, or gifts.

Her silences, her oblique refusals, spoke of her impenetrable self as did her daunting self-control. Both silence and discipline a counter against some unknown in herself; they had the quality of a containment field. She spent hours learning and re-learning languages, playing the piano, violin, flute, harp, with a mixture of pleasure and self-immolation. Her mastery of these languages, of music, like spells cast about something in herself, some caged thing.

(Walter Aske, The Better Maker, this section written about 18 months ago)

4. Magenta: