Wednesday, November 27, 2013

On the phone this morning to Sylvère who's in East Hampton I was talking about reading. How I like to dip into other people's books, to catch the rhythm of their thinking, as I try to write my own. Writing around the edges of Philip K. Dick, Ann Rower, Marcel Proust, Eileen Myles and Alice Notley. It's better than sex. Reading delivers on the promise that sex raises but hardly ever can fulfill – getting larger cause you're entering another person's language, cadence, heart and mind.

Page 207. Reading I Love Dick (1997) by Chris Kraus for the third time.

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