A Gogol Daydream
Life ebbs and flows, lost songs from Waylon echo and my thoughts teeter in the doldrums of bureaucracy, the newspeak of the human services would be funny if wasn't so damn sickening. I was thinking that Thomas Bernhard was the bastard child of Proust and Faulkner, conceived while listening to Richard Strauss in an opium daze punctuated with a furtive shit staining, implacably, the daybed. Cretinism, epilepsy, incest and the primacy of the noose. Dividends remain on the table along with our Bible thump, gold teeth, green cards and a snort of Martel.
posted by jon faith at
4:31 PM
1 Comments:
And the world beats along. Phone another time and I'll shoot some hoops with you.
Thanks for the Pamuk reads, I'll take care of them. Almost finished with final volume of Gulag. Lord'e what a quest this has been, but honestly it has been so good and I'm glad we ventured it.
I pick the next monster triology of text?
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