in no particular but starting it off: giancarlo’s glamour-soaked narcissus tale as lit journal advertisement… hans rickheit’s SQUIRREL MACHINE is a great gross-out dream… the beautiful ephemera of luca’s DAS DING #3… saying goodbye and anticipating saying goodbye to merce… the tumult of a chinese lifetime told in incredible locked down, long take that is wang bing’s FENGMING… the state of the disunion address of teju cole’s OPEN CITY… catching up with lewis warsh’s A FREE MAN (1991) and its inverse mirror A PLACE IN THE SUN (2010). they’re what social realism could admirably be — if those words meant something different… monica youn’s love song of j alfred IGNATZ (“and the fading//echo of the detox/mantras://helpless helpless/helpless helpless“)… speaking of which, 1st volume of beckett’s letters, which include the quip “T. Eliot is toilet spelt backwards” and untaken advice from his brother in the form of the question “Why can’t you write the way people want?” …and, a year late, but RIP barry hannah you lunatic god.
& last but definitely not least: hat’s off to the erstwhile and ever OWS People’s Library, which rallied the troops and served as symbol in a way yer kindle download will never.
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