In my dreams...

...in my dreams I was taking photographs of the Ocean through a stone arch
...in my dreams I was back in France and the first thing I wanted to do after the welcoming family banquet was to see the family's doctor so that I could at last get an RX of Xanax or Lexomil

I'm reading Chuck Palahniuk's DIARY, and even if I think it is not his best book, his writing still has this magic quality to it. The guy's style is incredible, adding so much to the characters and the atmosphere. And so addictive too. Once you get used to it, really, you don't want to read Proust or Balzac ever again.

I'm also still in the middle of this new collection of scholarly essays on William S. Burroughs, and boy... it's all based on Foucault, Deleuze & Co.'s works and really, even me, I wonder if sometimes these people shouldn't just keep it simple for chrissake. Maybe I'm rusted for this kind of reading and it's my frustration talking. And I truly believe in pulling the masses up rather than chewing down everything for them the FOX-Fivish way. But still... How can you discuss Burroughs if you forget that when you use such words as "Capital," "Subjectivation," or "Materialism" you're not talking about anything?