I noticed a new novel by Th. Bernhard in a bookstore in the Square on Friday, Frost, and read the first page, the typical grisly humor as a medical intern is sawing the feet off cadavers and tossing them over his shoulder into an enamelled pail; and noticed a cardboard box of paperbacks on the sidewalk coming home from the grocery store yesterday and squatting down saw that many of them were by Dean Coontz or Koontz, a name I've seen in advertisements, so I picked up one titled Intensity that the cover said was a New York Times No. 1 bestseller and brought it home for the hell of it and the little I read was shocking, reptilian, scaly, horrifying, sordid, a excellent example of what Sorrentino calls "cash trash"; and I thought I'd mention that I bought a copy of Ted Hughes Collected Poems some months ago and it's been a total disappointment.
IMPORTANT UPDATE: For dinner Chinese takeout with an assortment of chips and dips beforehand, particularly liked the garlic-flavored hummus on wheat thins, though the salsa was good as well, dipping with Red Hot Blues and Kettle vinegar and sea salt chips.
Post a Comment