Two days ago a twitter account which may or not be Evan Dara, an Evan Dara proxy, or, once was speculated, Thomas Pynchon, tweeted out news of an out of the blue new Evan Dara novel published and available via evil empire, there's a reason every post but two a year tagged My Complicity, now in my hand
I bought it reflexively, I didn't stop to think that I like but don't love the previous Dara's or stop to think don't buy from Bezos, within the past year I've done it with the new Ishiguro (was OK but largely forgotten now) and the new Vollmann (sucked, sucked) and the new Krasznahorkai (yay!).
And I posted above photo reflexively (and leave up after acknowledging I took the photo to post reflexively) because once upon a time in my imagined Stringtown a new Dara novel would be a major event, but no, it's not and never was. Dara must know and plays obscurity as purposeful rather than inevitable, something I'm constitutionally incapable of convincingly pretending to justify my deserved obscurity
Meanwhile, cicada songs (they did start slow, are in full voice now), Upper Rock Creek Trail, as we crossed Muncaster Mill Road cars stopped at the crosswalk to let us pass but a big red GMC pick-up with - you'd never guess - a white guy driving, blew past the stopped cars and nearly killed Earthgirl, motherfucking white men gonna kill us all (thinks this motherfucking white man)
SELF-PORTRAIT IN A GOLD KIMONO