The writing emanates a fierce poetic aura. It's apocalyptic. It's Cormac McCarthy, but even more wired. Like he was made of Meccano. Or string.
So guess what we did.
... Correct.
(by Reading Museum's Twitter account)
A house of knowledge burned
Brick turned to dust, the glass to bits
A building lost where building once was learned
The classes spoken from the stone
The lectures folded into din
As land reclaimed the land its own
(The darkness couldn't put out every light)
And there they searched, for water, food and aid,
To stay the spirit's tired flight
They raised a farm, and built a sty
...for pigs.
(Ashes to ashes
Tweets to Keats).