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09.16.01 the many hats of casablanca


fight: trying, o but i'm trying, to read libra. it seemed a viable point of entry for delillo: sure, i know the warren report, let's go from there. this worked with salman rushdie (who scared me shitless): the ground beneath her feet, pop music, right on, i loved it. so libra, i know what i'm working with.


except oh yeah, my u.s. history teacher lost interest in everything after the beginning of world war two, as he started in on casablanca and never really recovered. he's been building and pimping a board game on the movie for like the last twenty years - if eccentrics divert you, he'll really blow your hair back.


but so, libra. no touchpoints. style, ehh. i want to flee, but i turn back to my shelf and gravity's rainbow mocks me in this nasal punk voice with how i never make it past the banana pancakes. so i'm drawing the line, mister underworld-white-noise-golly-i'm-gifted. your ass is mine.


flight: twee albums don't do it for me, but twee sites i want to put in my pocket an' carry always. loobylu's fault, as is my love affair with lush products (brutal postage, magical tub stuff). bath ballistics, tea, and things that happened in second grade: it's sunday.