More great bleak future lit.

More great bleak future lit.
Love destroys the fantastic.
A celebration of my having liked some things this year. Whatever.
Too many tangents.
My boner for declinism presents itself again.
Shakespeare is the old Beatles. Arthur Phillips is the new Arthur Phillips.
Being real is so phony.
A reluctant biography, a humor book on purpose.
If these guys are the new Stieg Larsson, I’m the new Kurt Loder.