This very enjoyable video that Jordan Castro just now posted on Facebook reminded me, if I needed reminding, which I didn’t, that summer is more or less over–whatever summer means in our iPhone-addled times. (This last phrase I have lifted directly from Ryan Mazer’s really hilarious piece in Monkeybicycle.) To me, summer, this summer–what the hell was it? It was Baltimore, a house of twelve anarchists, sweating while sleeping (what do you do when your fan generates hot air?), reading Faulkner. In the end it seems like all that I read this summer was Witz and Faulkner, with exceptions here or there. It feels like I was lazy, and maybe I was. After I finished “The Bear,” I walked around the house doing stuff, and every couple of minutes I would think about “The Bear” and, without mediation, whisper to myself, “What the fuck?” The gumption it must have taken to write that novella!–which is at first a linear bildungsroman or whatever (even though it’s never simply that), and then once that plot ends abruptly with the bear’s death, the narrative halts and interrupts itself to become this entirely fucked history of the bind between race and religion in the south, which is at the same time a history of… the post-Fall earth, or something? Jesus. How did someone begin to think like that? Fucking Faulkner. What did everyone read this summer? What did everyone do? I want to hear about it.