Inexplicable Fatigue

How odd, how offsetting, whyen a sublime day is undercut by waves of yawning and a haze of muddled half-thoughts squirming just below formation. Given the inertia of the Burton and the Dickens, i elected to read something slim on the sabbath. The Foillowing Story by Cees Nooteboom was a delightful meditation, his work often appears to assume the fluidity of philosophical prose poems, both enchanting and ethereal.

I have bugged my friend Roger about reading another of Nooteboom's texts and I shall return full-force to the Pickwick Papers. The 1001 Books text has left a bruise upon my pride and I will be reading both Gaddis and Doktor Faustus by Thomas Mann this summer. Huxley and Henry Green will also be explored.

I was browsing about last night on the Words Without Borders blog and I saw a name I thought familiar. It is some Bosnian writer and my biomom sent me a collection of his stories Sarajevo Marlboro six years ago. That fostered the thought of listing the books she has sent me. We aren't speaking these days, as I am difficult, and I prefer peace and quiet. As my wife noted, I am VERY difficult to buy books (or cds or clothes etc) for and i replied that she did her homework.