Welcome back readers.
This season, I’ve been mostly listening to Dylan. Not that that piece of information will enahnce your lives particularly but there it is. My Dylan collection over the past few months has grown dramatically and, regardless as to what ‘standard’ his voice is, I can definitely say that I have yet to find an album on which I haven’t enjoyed nearly every single song on.
Of course, some are better than others, that is life, and some have a more easy to comprehend meaning, but either way, its poetry. The guy fucking rocks. I was planning on writing more than that but I think the occassion has passed.
Felt like shit today, ill more than anything else. Don’t know why.
I finished /Lolita/ the other day and am presently coming to the end of /A Hostile Place/ by John Fullerton.
Let me start by saying /Lolita/ was fantastic – immensely interesting, even if it is fucked up.
As for /A Hostile Place/, well, it’s good, don’t get me wrong there, and it’s a fairly easy read, but it’s not quite a novel, if that makes sense. The author clearly knows his stuff and the area, but sometimes the actual descriptions are just lacking in that emotiveness of language that involves the reader (in this case in the area of describing the action). Maybe I’ve just been used to more detail, who knows. Still, I’d give it a try if this sort of thing interests you.
I’m tired and ill, so I’m going to sleep.
Take it easy folks.