My books, oddly enough, make up the biggest fraction of the pie chart that is my stuff, as I found out with the move. Those boxes were filled first and made a small fort in my studio back in Davis, and they were the first ones I unpacked, as my bookshelves were the first pieces of furniture to be put in their proper places in Brooklyn. I’ve read most of them, but there’s a huge stack of books I’ve been meaning to tackle and it’s a good list, if I may say so m’self. If I stay put for the month or if I drive to California or if I go to London, devouring a few of these over the course of September is a given.
+ On Photography (Susan Sontag)
+ The Foreign Legion (Clarice LeSpectre)
+ The Broom of the System (David Foster Wallace)
+ A Hologram for the King (Dave Eggers)
+ 2666 (Roberto Bolaño) (finally finish the damn thing hilary)
+ Even Cowgirls Get The Blues (Tom Robbins)
+ The Art of Fielding (Chad Harbach — don’t have my hands on this one yet but including it all the same)
+ Walden (Henry David Thoreau)
+ Fear and Loathing at Rolling Stone (Hunter S. Thomspon)
+ Ulysses (James Joyce)
+ The Yiddish Policemen’s Union (Michael Chabon)
Don’t know why I’m posting it; more or less a reminder to myself. Leaving my notebook on my bed at home last week was duuumb.
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