Wednesday, November 15, 2006

Sampled Accord

The climb into the Pynchon continues gradually. It is an instance of both savoring the page coupled with unusual fatigue -- that in itself being a hybrid of returning from abroad and this meteorlogical pessimism. The narrative is as playful as ever while pausing to circumscribe the gravity of all matters human.

I had thought of transcribing a few selections, vainly gathering handfuls of this gilded fleece, yet all I can muster is a line of Dylan Thomas that I encountered the other day: somebody bores me, I think its me.


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