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Ending Magyar May with this

Magyar May continues...

Magyar May btw

red rows the clapboard shells her reading eye slid swallowing solemnly as if she'd just been told of someone's love, not for her, no, for the sea nearby in Bishop's poems, a slow wash of words on a beach hissing like fat in the flame, brief flare-up before final smoke

Yea

Dick lit summer

How do you dig yourself out of a reading slump?

Feels like I'm reading in slow motion.

Every profession is a conspiracy against the public, every profession protects itself with a language of its own, look at that psychiatrist they’re sending me to, ever try to read a balance sheet? ..Like the dog
cornering his prey till it all evaporates into language confronted by
language turning language itself into theory till it’s not about what it’s about it’s only about itself turned into a mere plaything