Yes, I was smiling as I walked by, because I was looking at all those bumper stickers on your truck, and, for a second, I felt like I knew you–or at least who you wanted to be known as, though honestly even that manicured intention seemed stretched here, glossed over …
You are awake. It is still dark. You’re in bed. In…Golden Meadow…no…Poplar Bluff? Um…Mexico City? Alkmaar? Hah, no, it’s New Orleans and then you notice that your head is pounding and that a sleeping cat has completely cut off the circulation in your outstretched left arm. Good morning.
Finished Thomas Pynchon’s “Mason & Dixon”
Started Laszlo Krasznahorkai’s “The World Goes On”
Working on and off on Gaston Bachelard’s “The Poetics of Space”
On deck is “Percival Everett by Virgil Russell” by Percival Everett (oh that’s nifty to write)
To rule forever, it is necessary only to create, among the people one would rule, what we call…Bad History. Nothing will produce Bad History more directly nor brutally, than drawing a Line…through the midst of a People,— to create thus a Distinction betwixt ’em,— ’tis the first stroke.— All else will follow as if predestined, unto War and Devastation.
– Thomas Pynchon, Mason & Dixon
Q: What things bore you?
Roberto Bolaño: The empty discourse of the Left. I take for granted the empty discourse of the Right.
– From an interview with Monica Maristain for Playboy Magazine, republished in Between Parenthesis as “The End: Distant Star.”
I am really digging this article, which observes that ideology is the way that humans augmented reality long before smartphones. After all, ideology – what we believe about the world – is the primary filter through which we inform our view of, and interaction with, our surroundings every day.
In the distance is the gloom of the end of days, when the sun calls home its wandering rays, when all of the iron has gone to rust, and every living thing has turned to dust. There won’t be anyone left to float your boat, they all went to high ground while their vessels still float, they scream God’s will but you know it’s a lie, by your own book it says by fire next time; the golden eggs cracked open, and there was nothing inside. Cast all dispersions build a levee of lies. I can see it comin’: bite down on the leather, and close your eyes, there’s nothin’ to be done that can turn the tide. The money in your eyes has left you blind. You’ll be the one drownin’ when it’s swimmin’ time
– Shovels and Rope, “Swimmin’ Time”