Listening To My Whine

I am sorry but I can't replicate my hipster references of yesterday, there will be no opinions of Messrs Yorke and Wallace, I am tired, essentially from waking at 4 a.m. I really hate that.

I have been thinking of the sleep I enjoyed as a child, the perforated division between waking and dreaming and how they spilled readily into one another. When I was 10 or 11 I knocked over our swing set on the riding lawn mower. It was an accident and my dad went ballistic. The pathos of that moment remind me of Infinite Jest.

I have decided that I will continue with Q by the Wu Ming, in this instance Luther Blisset. I can't quite manage another novel just yet, though I have placed both the new Orhan Pamuk novel as well as the latest from Richard Powers on hold at the library.