I have quit writing the last three blog posts. Every time I start writing one, I get about halfway (I'm estimating here) and I don't care anymore.
I thought of something today that felt like it was an honest feeling, but I've forgotten it.
Got some books in the mail lately:
Waste by Eugene Marten, which I'm reading right now and really liking. I usually like to read the first page of a book when I get it, and I just didn't stop reading this one.
Soft Targets v.2.1: is a good looking journal with lots of names that get my buzzword chemicals pumping: opens with a quote by Jean Genet, Jean-Jacques Schuhl, Ariana Reines, Alexander Kluge, Lara Glenum, Nathalie Djurberg, Alain Badiou, James Tate, Johannes Goransson, Pierre Bourdieu, Alberto Toscano, Henri Michaux, Gary Lutz, Ben Lerner, etc, etc, etc, ad etc. Can't wait to dig into this. I don't feel that a breezy peruse here and there is going to do.
Also arrived: Rabelais and His World by Mikhail Bakhtin. Johannes Goransson mentioned it on his blog when talking about the literary grotesque.
The Cow by Ariana Reines & The Hounds of No by Lara Glenum: my brain is begging to eat the contents of these books of poetry.
Dear Ra by Johannes Goransson: read Blake Butler's post about this.
Marsupial by Derek White: ditto.
Chronoschisms by Ursula K. Heise: is also causing my brain to eat its way to freedom in order to read these pages.
There is another handful of books that I really want, but the mofo's are from $90 to $200. What is that? These books are already disadvantaged by their extremely narrow focus. That is totally bass ackwards of good old supply and demand. Really surprising that they go out of print so quickly.
Sweet lemons: I don't really need more books anyway.
This, is sick. Read it.