outer reach.


i put down consequences, a book by some poor schmuck who wished to be a cop who said he had to be a soldier to be a cop and promised his wife he'd come back for divinity school and got rejected as cop for his bad heart but got in the military through the back door blackwater, who wanted to be an interpreter and as an interpreter had to be an interrogator  and to be an interrogator had ti be a torturer and he did say in the first water the war was the most appalling chapter i american history but then eighty pages later was still pursuing his destiny with a flatfooted mind. argh, i could not wait for his eventual awakening. i take it for granted, and move on to don delillo with great and good relief. 

but i was thinking, my disgruntlement with that grunt was fueled by watching an entire season of leftovers- the most desultory, vague end of the world without the rapture story that made me feel just like i already feel. 
what art do we require now? who the hell knows, but i'm hazarding the chance it's delillo.