“the sound of building coffins” would be one of the best, if not the very best, reads of the year. the kind that requires to be read way past bedtime as you crawl underneath a comforter with a maglite. aside from early poppy z. brite and caitlin r. kiernan, the last time i did that was with “the house of leaves”. maybe “the terror”. if there is only one book to be read this year, this would be it. although i am looking forward to stephen king’s “under the dome”, partially to see if he has gone catholic on us, constant readers.
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the temperatura is hitting the low 40s and will be dropping to around low 30s come the afternoon. this, after a sunny and warm weekend. i am officially hating the weather. there is no more escaping the 12 pounder coats and doc martens.
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the thought that in a month’s time i’ll be swimming in san miguel and shoveling panga ng tuna is failing to comfort me. i want to get out of new york, maybe for good. one can never get enough of this place and one shouldn’t even try. also, why not quit before you hit the hard concrete, har-de-fucking har. i just feel that this city is built on superficiality of the evil kind, the lovecraftian kind. at least vegas and LA, IMfuckingHO are not hiding their superficiality and aloofness and ostentatious display of shallowness. you get manicured lawns and bright lights and fake smiles and you know it to be true, even the fake smiles. here, it is impossible to tell.
last night i told my wife that i am tired of this city.
“you will miss new york”, was her only reply as she went back to here take-home work.
we have this code that when spoken by either of us, we will just pack our shit and go, no questions asked.
i very nearly came to using that word.
if only her firm has an office in new orleans or rhode island.
but of course, there is always manila.
i give myself one more year. so help me gods.
