on thursday i made my first foray into the world of recently published fiction since the summer of 2008 (all the sad young literary men, keith gessen) with paul auster's invisible. i enjoyed it while i was reading it but i honestly don't think i'll remember much of it in the coming months or even weeks. now i'm reading bury my heart at wounded knee by dee brown and holy fuck is it ever depressing. it's also very good.
i've been thinking - should i embark on a all-tights march? i'm kinda down. all black tights everything?
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