Found that in files, shot three, four years ago, had forgotten about it. So, Never Let Me Go isn't working. It is my least favorite Ishiguro, so it was desperate stab. Ed's sheer delight in reading Pynchon's Against the Day makes me happy and envious, so after an anniversary dinner at our (until 6:30 last night) favorite Indian restaurant we walked the block to a Barnes and Noble to spend Earthgirl's gift cards. I sent my copy of Against the Day to someone (I don't remember who) after I finished my second reading early in 2012, I thought, it's my favorite Pynchon (yes, more than Gravity's Rainbow), it's three years ahead of scheduled rereading but why not pick it up and see what happens. Not on shelf. What was on shelf was the novel photoed below, I remember the buzz when it came out, it was mentioned in The Millions favorably in the past week, so what the fuck, 40 pages in all good, but this is me I'm talking about so I'm betting against me until I lose a bet.
- I did find a copy of Pynchon's Mason & Dixon in a used bookstore this past weekend. Anyone want it?
- OK, back to the arrgh-mines. Yes, I know, the arrgh-mines are a primary reason I bet against myself enjoying a novel - finish a novel? I can still do that, joyously enjoy a novel I can't.
- The problem with Privacy Moderates.
- On the above.
- Walter Pincus writes error-strewn anti-Snowden column.
- Greenwald guts him.
- America against Democracy.
- What force feeding at GITMO looks like.
- Speaking of Villager fucksticks.
- Austerity and the politics of neoliberalism.
- His generation's greatest academic fraud (I say that mostly admiringly) on global protests.
- They are an abomination.
- Production values.
- Poverty in MOCO.
- The neighborhood I grew up in. One block from my parent's house.
- Mathematical proof United sucks.
- Dead reckoning.
- Rancière, for those of you who do.
- Of Pilgrims and Anarchists: on a new book of criticism on Pynchon's Against the Day.
- Inventing literature.
- A 90s' playlist.
- Peter Greenaway on Four American Composers. I dated a woman once who raved about Greenaway's movies, took me to a few, I don't remember a thing about them, whereas I rave about Cage and Glass and especially Monk.
- Earthgirl's favorite novelist in trouble over sequel to Earthgirl's favorite novel.
- Recalling The Raincoats.
- Great dose of monotonous techno.
- Another primary reason I'm failing novels is I'm not failing poetry. I found the collected Jack Spicer when working on bookshelves, have more Spicer today, it is easily the book I've read most since it was published in 2010. More stunning each time. You know the drill.
- I couldn't make The Evens this past Monday. Fuck me. Have some Ian MacKaye product.
A BOOK OF MUSIC
Coming at an end, the lovers
Are exhausted like two swimmers.
Where Did it end? There is no telling. No love is
Like an ocean with the dizzy procession of the waves' boundaries
From which two can emerge exhausted, nor long goodbye
Like death. Coming at an end. Rather, I would say, like a length
Of coiled rope
Which does not disguise in the final twists of its lengths
But, you will say, we loved
And some parts of us loved
And the rest of us will remain
Two persons. Yes,
Poetry ends like a rope.