Cody > Recent Status Updates

I’m technically on hiatus. But then I bought this and, well, it’s Van der Graaf fucking Generator.

‘T’won’t be quick, but I’m a happy happy kid right now. Viva the Generator—

Temporary hiatus of week or two (at most) while I resign myself to Fall Session having begun full tilt. You know that Linklater line. ‘I get older, they stay the same age?’ Yeah. That’s sorta the fucking problem, Dick/Matt. Such bon mots age so unforeseeably. Uggh.

Being honest, it’s too fucking hot to read. Too hot to do anything.

Quick diversion into the cultural history and schools of tuning of my newest object of obsession. Thankfully, this is an academic endeavor rather than ‘Lute for the Layman.’ An amazing instrument organized in quarter-tones, so the harmonic possibilities are greatly expanded.

Progress impeded by spousal birthday (asshole), but this is a fucking bouquet of dark hilarity. Buy/borrow/steal it. Purdy is proving quite the chameleon.

When the Man (yeah, him) gets off my neck tonight, looking forward to starting this small looker. Thanks to MJ for tipping me (more than a year ago/I forgot). I will almost certainly get a few pages in before passing out fully clothed, lights screaming; fetal, conquered, and grabbing my square 5 hrs sleep before repeating til I die.

That's baseball for we Angels.

All I’ll say: book is fucking fantastic. Addictive, propulsive story.

Thing is a goddamn brick. Work what it is right now, should finish mid-2029. The advance copy is appreciated, though.

Nothing but mercy,
X

I swear this isn’t the real cover. It’s a lie!

(Couldn’t GR just have a stock image from somewhere besides Windows95 ClipArt?)

Happy Fourth, my fellow blah. Remember:

“But we're trash, you and me
We're the litter on the breeze
We're the lovers on the streets
Just trash, me and you
It's in everything we do
It's in everything we do”

Brett for King of America (deposing E Costello, I guess)

Safety, love, & solidarity X

Hey! I'm Doing A Thing!

Come feel the intellectual burn: Twelve books. Twelve constraints. Blind assignment. Randomized order. This is either a 'clever' literary experiment or an extremely elaborate way to avoid writing book reviews.

Aw, shit: it's both.

End of another semester = fiction temporarily suspended. Only the deadened trivialities of good ol non-fiction works in this crucible. As this is bad ol non-fiction, however, this may be more temporally fucked than not. One hopes.

Goddamn finals. Another 16 weeks of indoctrinating tomorrow’s failures today.

I’m situated approximately 300 yards from Southern California’s chemical/thermal runaway event’s blast radius. Gotta say, I wish I had a Murray Jay Siskind to talk to.

(People are a panicked herd; depend on logic if you’re among this throng. Solidarity.)

X

Why does no one tell me of these things? Roxy is, bar none, my favorite band ever (though The Band are a goddamn close second). Any autobiography by a band member (or ancillary, if you're out there Rik Kenton or...shit, lotta dead bass players) is an absolute. Hopefully Phil wrote the book, feed it to Eno's VC3, and let fly the manipulations. Watch me while I hold my breath.

Until these m*therf*ckers (I mean future academicians!) finish their goddamn finals, my brain is mush and attention divided. Ergo, Charlie Feathers w a mule full of wine. You’re sorely missed, Lux. “That’s what killed ‘im—hot nuts!”

I think I’ve let this sit on a shelf for a decade, forgotten. I know that the shenanigans of a hacker collective rendered 8000 universities and colleges sitting on the edge of our royal shelf last week, and I finished 32 of the last 38 hrs working just now as result. I think I need to not think. “Some people read idea books.” Fuck em, Alex.

Yay, I got an Uncorrected Proof yesterday in the mail. Thanks hashtag Knopf. Yes. Duty dine.

Hey, sue me. The world's a fucked up deal. Sanitarium I a-come.

After ARCs on Zionism and Palestinian Resistance by the no less seismically moving Moser and (my goddamn motherfucker) Khanafani, and especially considering my general disinclination toward non-fiction, I’m hoping this proves big dumb fun. You all can have the fucking world—I just want my half.

The Make Love, Fuck the War Band

Voice & Omnichord: Dagmar Krause
Guitars: Robert Fripp; Neil Young; 1976-vintage Tom Verlaine
ARP, Mellotron, Korg Micro Bass; Moog:Pope Bob Prevost
Bowed Double-Bass: Eberhart Weber
Drums: The ghost of Martin Lamble
•
President: Fuck, please die.
VP: see above
Congress: How do you sleep?
Media: Die, parasite
Reality: Malleable
Outlook: Meh

I’m stoked to be reading this so far ahead of publication. Yes, I am Californian. Thanks to the publisher. Before you go off title alone, Moser is the guy you have to thank for Lispector’s resurrection and subsequent publication/cottage industry.

“Make love, fuck the war.”

TRP, 1973

“All I need gonna fall away like rain”

TVZ, 1973

I reread Bangs’ collection every 30 or so years. I last read this in the middle 90s; will what was a resource for DATA before the clusterfuck of the internet still be, sorry, crazy after all these years? How much of Lester’s zimzam fruggalug, tugging ol’ Lou Reed’s johnson, and defense-by-WORDMASS/‘faux-Beat poetickzzz as a compensation mechanism’ may ruined by my need to crush rosy lenses? Let’s see.

Look at Indy and his ARC there. What a smug prick.

Fact: Work is the greatest lie ever perpetuated upon humankind.

Effect: fuck me.

Reviews will recommence once I’ve adjusted to the multifocal ‘progressive’ lenses currently impeding every aspect of waking hours, or I’ve gouged out my eyes w the pull tab off a Schlitz 24oz. Whichever comes first. Even money odds on DraftKings currently. “You stroke my locks/Some marijuana if you got some”—

O, jet lag, will you please go fuck yourself? I just tried to take a drag off a smoothie’s straw. So, reading should be fucking great.

Reading and traveling the compass points of Japan do strange bedfellows make. Is this how ‘normal’ non-readers do it? It’s fucking horrible.

My life of greasing international crime syndics is over. “The Shrew” is going above ground where the light allows reading.

“The Corleone family was like the Roman Empire.”

“Yeah, it was…once.”

—Frankie Pentangeli &Tom Hagen

I’m trying to peck howsoever I may over the next weeks of being overseas. Little prescient on the name, Ron. Goddamn, he was a hell of an asset to humanity X

My impending flight to Japan, though not til Monday, is already wreaking havoc on my limbic system. Reading affected. Fuck me—it is a brutal flight already, but the Pacific ain’t looking too pacific this winter.
Remember, I loved you all.

Avenge me!