:: Buzzwords Archive: December 2012. Click here for the latest posts.

The Great White shark of pain (published 12/12/2012)

D.T. Max and Tom McCarthy discuss David Foster Wallace.

How to be alone (published )

Underground Renaissance man Donari Braxton recently launched a new project called How to be Alone. It takes the shape of a series of brilliant video tutorials instructing viewers on how to undertake various activities – alone.

how to find a woman || how-to-be-alone.com from how-to-be-alone . com on Vimeo.

how to find a man || how-to-be-alone.com from how-to-be-alone . com on Vimeo.

The Missing Links (published 11/12/2012)

The lure of the writer’s cabin. * The literary kingdom of Redonda. * Greg Baxter interviewed. * It’s a Bad Brains Christmas, Charlie Brown. * An interview with Christine Schutt on Bookworm. * Against architecture. * Nothing will have taken place. * Desperately seeking Susan Sontag. * Why Thai women cut off their husbands’ penises. * When Jonathan Lethem met Anthony Burgess. * The musical career of Anthony Burgess. * New issue of Gigantic, featuring Robert Walser. * “The Secretary” by Robert Walser. * Handke by Iyer. * Danilo Kiš‘s The Attic reviewed. * More headstand and book shredding pictures courtesy of Stewart Home. * A literary search engine. * Anna Kavan. * Spasticus Autisticus. * The Literature Prize. * Is literature dead? * Is analogue photography dead? * 10 writers on how to read. * Everything you wanted to know about being a writer. * Shakespeare’s invisible women. * Shakespeare and Company‘s Sylvia Whitman is France 24‘s new book critic. * History of the Paris catacombs. * Paris’s underground art rebels. * Orgreave chic. * Darkness in literature. * Menswear finally go platinum. * From Talulah Gosh to Turner Prize. More here. * Pete Doherty: “The other day I really hadn’t slept since last week’s gig at Brixton Jamm, and I was coming home on the Eurostar. I fell asleep for an hour, woke up and didn’t know who I was. I was completely devastated and I burst into tears. The train was parked up. Apparently I’d been shouting in my sleep as well, so they’d just left me. I knew I shouldn’t be crying. The train manager said: ‘What’s the matter?’ I told him straight: ‘Look, I don’t know who I am, I don’t know where I am.’ He said: ‘You’re Peter.’ And I was going: ‘No, no, I’m not.’ Then bang, everything flooded back. I got my bag and ran off”.