ruskins

I keep on meaning to read John Ruskin's The Stones of Venice, but every time I pick up the book my brain starts going "ruskinruskinruskinruskin" and I want to dance around like a gorilla. Or in the manner that I imagine a gorilla dancing. You know, hopping to one side and another from one foot to the other with your arms held out on either side. All the gorillas of the jungle danced that way when the explorers introduced 19th century aesthetics to them, right?



Ruskinruskinruskinruskin.