By chris
Date: 2007 May 24
Comment on this Work
[[2007.05.24.18.34.27040]]

Let's Talk About Love

The New York Review of Books -
my favorite publication to fall asleep to while listening
to saccharine 80s pop in dark spare bedrooms when
there's nothing else
to do.

It's that good.

Reading the review of Mailer's book about Hitler's
childhood,
it occurs to me that his name (Hitler's, not Mailer's) is
tossed around too casually, a catch-all for evil
and failed creative-types
who move on to illustrious careers
in mass murder. The gradations of loathsomeness are far,
far more subtle (just ask anyone who's been through a
divorce). Shit, 7th graders are better at name-
calling than many of the so-
called intelligentsia
these days.

Let's face it: Most books just don't need to be written.
They're like that Miami Sound Machine CD that should have
stayed in the Bargain Bin
for its own good.
Just because something is .99
does not mean
that it must be purchased.