I am not reading correctly of late. I mean, I read a book about running in two days. But 2666, a novel I found by Fred Norris, magazines, computer/online newspapers, anything at all: not getting read. I can't really seem to concentrate on anything. Right now, as I type this, I have Metropolis qued up on netflix. I watched 25 seconds and decided to blog about it. Maybe its not the right book? I read half of 2666. The first three stories are good, not the easiest fucking read in the world, but good. The 4th section is almost 300 pages of death. One after another. Its tiresome, saying little of how fucking depressing it is. I skipped ahead to the last section, the part about the writer, but, by then, its almost too late.
I ordered some sonic youth bio, read about 50 pages of that: care.
I did order a Thor graphic novel. I am not familiar with thor, I do not know if i even like thor. I say "order," because i "bought," one the other day at a book store conglomerate only to get home and realize it was volume 2. That is what I get for shopping with the man. I need to stop that. Yes, only small, local book/comicbook stores for now on. Not that I care.
Not that I do all the right shit. That is far, far from real.

I did run yesterday, and the day before that. Today I rode my bike by giant houses and near a lake, which I may add is slowly draining, or at the least turning into mud: draining.
Not sure what thats about, but when you get near its edges you find yourself inhaling smells very similar to toxic waste.
(I would have hoped that by reading half of 2666 that my writing would have gotten better, yet it still seems steeped in grade school rhetoric.

To be fair, i had been playing with my brain chemistry. A "play," that certainly produced zero results. I am not in the awkward position of slowly setting everything back into place. Finding the circle peg, taking it out of the square hole, and moving on.