shopping for records. placing lps on my bed. making curries. sundried tomato dip. high end shaving products which clog the sink in my bathroom and cut up my face. getting threatened with eviction by my landlord. oh. and ices. and playland. and scotch. and incunabula. and spicy food. and being overly emotional in public places. single malt scotchs from islands, whose names i can't pronounce. the islands and the scotchs. reading books in the disused stair well at my not exactly corporate not exactly government job. mispronouncing and misspelling suspiria.
boston boppers, claude channes, chinn chinn, cause co-motion, dancing did, digitial dinosaurs.
movies with henry james novellas inside of them, 1970's sleeze with amon duul II posters, art ensemble of chicago soundtracks, or soundtracks recorded by members of the group recherches musicales. u.k. boarding house films of the 1950s and 60's, whiskey/scotch/bourbon/rye drinking films, and the recovery from them, movies with creepy blind psychic women (and their daughters or sisters), and of course u.k. boarding house films with blind psychic women drinking whiskey.
Alfred Hitchcock Presents, Mary Hartman, Mary Hartman, Magnum P.I.
the erasers, hopeful monsters, accident, perec, roubaud, mathews, calvino. fast cars, clean bodies. no one reads jeanette winterson anymore. or phil larkin. or kinglsey amis. i feel less bad about sweeping smugglers bible & mulligan's stew into the incinerators of forgotten novels.