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Tuesday 1/28/20

I read, proofed, edited the first 1/3 of the meatheads book three times today--so I did it in triplicate--and the experience depressed me to no end because the book is so sophisticated, surprising, hilarious, touching, poignant, it invents a new form of fiction--an actual new form of novel--and they are going to bury it, they are not going to let anyone see it, when it is a book that could sell millions of copies. It's perfect. It is populist, it is bottomlessly artful, and it is more verbally inventive than Joyce's Ulysses, and even anyone who is normally a non-reader could also understand every part of this book and love it. I felt when I wrote it--in a single week--that it was a perfect work of art and a perfect work of entertainment, and as I read it back I am realizing that it is even better than what I had already known and sensed. And they are going to bury it, when the book could truly impact the world. Talked on Downtown tonight about Hank Mobley, German Expressionism, and Star Wars.


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