Wednesday, April 22, 2009










Lowboy by JOhn Wray. It turns out this fucker went to Oberlin. I heard about the book and was disinterested until i read the AP article on him. Something about AP and CNN interviews with artists, writers, etc, turn me on -- perhaps because they're so much more simply written than a Vanity fuck myself fair profile for example, and nowhere near the dry-heave chest-split-open gore of Entertainment Weekly.


Anyways Wray sounded cool. writing the book on the subway. Becoming obsessed with it. It sounded cool so I bought it from Bookcourt (nicest bookstore in Brooklyn? I also like that place in williamsburg in the interior-mini-mall.) from a girl with glasses (horny) (lesbian) who told me when I asked her opinion that she just wasn't interested and that the popularity of the book was just some thing. "You know, contemporary writers..." her words. I say, "What? What? What? (over approx 50 seconds, then:) They're all bad?" Strange laughter and then: "Yeah". Young woman, I can't agree. Not only is lowboy probably the best book to read on the subway ever, its fucking fun, and funny. His writing is great, although there are a few mistakes [what I am thinking of specifically is moments where the characters think of a metaphor, then think to themselves, 'that's a stupid metaphor' -- this line repeats itself approx. 500x so far. similarly, sometimes when he writes the characters' thoughts in the middle of a paragraph, he needlessly and aggravatingly adds, 'so and so thought to themsleves.' wack -- its 2009. not 1909.]. Overall he keeps the story moving. Reminds me of brightness falls: the first 20-50 pages show you the characters and the story, and you're like, well, fuck this. I know exactly what's happening and going to happen and I don't give a fuck. Of course, once you keep reading, the story, which let's say began in a central point, spirals outward to deepen each and every character and explain exactly why they are the way they are, in surprsing and beautiful ways you'd never expect. I don't want to give too much away, but the muslim detective searching for lowboy is beginning to be affected by L.'s schizophrenia/genius at the chapter I'm currently reading. Lowboy also tried to fuck a homeless crack addicted woman in her little place in the tunnels several chapters ago. I was very happy to read that scene. There are dozens of little phrases that are very, very charming. I don't think I could find them all right now. The descriptions of mental states, mental interiority, and the minds of the different charactes are very, very captivating. Wray said what "obsessed" him was the difference between sanity and insanity. Its something we all enjoy, of course. I'm going to stop here, but do think about reading it.


Great beginning of chapter 2. "Detective Ali Lateef -- born Rufus Lamarck White -- enjoyed anagrams, acrostic poems, palindromic brainteasers, and any cipher that could be broken with basic algebra." Oh Wray! it should be a rule that every book's second chapter begins with the same first line or a variation of Joyce's Bloom intro. "which left in his palate a finely scented tang of urine."


Visited college. Prof. advised me to try to find work writing book reviews -- i've never written a book review and i fucking hate the concept -- but perhaps it could increase the street cred of Fucker's Wake -- and Pussywick Central.
If you ever hit a lull just trek back to the motherland to touch the source.
Crazy people love softball:


First game of the season against hipster team ended in a drunken stoned erotic hipster mud fight.

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