I’ve been so very tired lately; falling asleep on public transport and things like that. At precisely 11.03 AM each day a massive cascade of drowsiness descends upon me that lasts until about 1.00 PM. During this period I eat fruit, in the vain hope that it will fill me with energy, as much of it as I can muster (luckily I get all my fresh fruit for free (another story)). Then it shifts and mostly returns about 4.30 PM. I think my cells are either a) deteriorating b) dying (same thing?), or c) metamorphosising in that strange cyclical way they do from time to time throughout one's life. Who knows? Hopefully the new ‘me’ will be back sometime soon.
Having finished Roubaud I’m now reading Thomas Bernhard’s Frost. I’m about 100 pages in. I’m gripped by its intensity. It’s such an intense book. I have no thoughts about it as yet, but I get the feeling that once the book is done and dusted, myriad thoughts will come flooding in after the book has been put down.
In light of this intensity I was looking about the world wide web for lighter things to amuse me and, well, I found this:
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""A story assembled from everyday objects, unassumingly and quietly, that stuns and horrifies by increments...The Canal may look, at first glance, like a love story, but it harnesses the power of parable." John Wray, author of Lowboy.
