ive been really loving another bullshit night in suck city lately. the authors memoir about his deadbeat father. some of the mild whimsicalities of the story (his father's dummy corporation, the Fact Foundation of America, in particular) remind me a lot of kurt vonnegut in the way that cherry by nico walker also reminded me of kurt vonnegut (vindicated upon a direct namedrop in that one!!). the im-not-mad-im-just-observing of it. i love books like this. i love somebody looking at a dreary personal trauma and mulling over it for a few hundred pages. i love human stories. i suppose thats how id put it. i have my thing against genre fiction and i think its similar to my preference for dreampop over hyperpop. too stimulating. im of course a highly reflective person. i imagine it comes through in my blogging. i love learning and thinking about how it is to be alive
