7 is holy like melt butter medium heat
1. Are you short? Well, bless your soul. Here’s a Short Review for you. All October like Alexandre Aja.
14. The Velvet Underground and Nico. Something. Sneeze. I never understand music.
9. 1926 Tao Lin silver dollar!
94. As I have said before, this flash contest will pay you in beer. Beer. Beer. This is why I keep saying it. Beer.
1117: I didn’t even know there was a wordstock festival. Should I have?
2. Duras:
Men like women who write. Even though they don’t say so. A writer is a foreign country.
17. Zines for sale on Etsy. Made by palm, finger, nail.
5 unlike brain surgeries
14. Huxley on Huxley documentary. Too bad I live in Indiana and have a better chance of seeing a puma running a lemonade stand than seeing this film.
33. When you’re writing a kind of instinct comes into play. What you’re going to write is already out there in the darkness. It’s as if writing were something outside you, in a tangle of tenses: between writing and having written, having written and having to go on writing; between knowing and not knowing what it’s all about; starting from complete meaning, being submerged by it, and ending up meaninglessness. The image of a black block in the middle of the world isn’t far out.
7. Half the people I know I say “Indie” and they say “You mean vampire books?”
112. Anyway, Sabotage talks kill author #8.
It is Friday: Go Right Ahead.
I spent whole summers at Neauphle alone except for drink.
I don’t know the medical term for it.
Alcohol was invented to help us bear the void in the universe–the motion of the planets, the imperturbable wheeling through space, their silent indifference to the place of our pain.
I used to work out systems for doing the same as everyone else.
Alcohol’s job is to replace creation.
But alcohol can’t produce anything that lasts. It’s just wind.
We live in a world paralyzed with principles.
I’d forgotten how to walk.
Nor is there any consolation for stopping drinking.