Breaking into a sweat…..

He drew the blinds shut, cranked up the air-conditioning to its coldest setting, and settled into bed with his new laptop, the late Beethoven String quartets played by the Berg Quartet in his ears, and David Foster Wallace’s Oblivion in front of his eyes. He had a hard time with DFW short stories, and though sure Infinite Jest could have been shorter he enjoyed the joke and cared more for the characters than he did those paraded through his stories. We flick pages. We begin in the middle of Oblivion, with the story “Philosophy and the Mirror of Nature,” sounding like a topic of one of this writer’s many thoughtless English papers fifty years ago. Ok, so I am he, to a poing,  and we will delete pointing that out, chasing it to footnotes, then to a smelly locker full of old ideas, not Cohen’s;  we deleted our own one at a time when inevitably we found the idea realized allowing some smart young entrepreneur to retire before 30 by selling it to Multi Global Universal Company (MGUC) for billions of dollars. We take some comfort in their unhappiness, and even in our heart of hearts when they commit suicide. Soon forgotten, their brilliant disruption of the shaving industry for 18 months before selling out to Shick, an event that didn’t even crack MGUC’s annual report.
 A note on our use of pronuns…pronouns. Plurals will be used as often as possible unless we are specifically talking about a singular person like David Foster Wallace. As a writer with multiple selves we have decided to use plurals for ourselves, since we can’t discern which of our selves is speaking, well writing we’d better say. (ha)

Today I do not find Oblivion, I forget what it looks like and in which pile of books I slipped it. I listen to Hole, Courtney Love dreaming a heaven which never comes. I also have misplaced my Diclofenac, supercharged voltaren, thinking about applying Voltaire to reduce the pain in my neck and shoulders. It’s too hot to make things up, and I’m fat, sweaty, ugly Jimmy Bang Redux.

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