Diary of a Californicator XIX: Eulogy
It became my solace; my own nostalgic haven to recall my own past and the many years I spent biking those same dusty streets as a schoolgirl with my own battered copies of pilfered Beat Literature under my armpit as the desert winds whipped my wheels forward.
Kimberly Nichols is back after a three-year absence. And not a minute too soon.
The Missing Links
The publication of Tzvetan Todorov‘s La Litt érature en p éril has sparked off a debate on the relevance of contemporary French fiction. Todorov argues that French novels, today, tend to be either solipsistic or nihilistic, when they’re not simply (sic.) disappearing up their ars rhetorica. He is usually pitted against the thirtysomething novelists associated […]
I’m not going back there again, me.
Not if you fucking paid me. She’d only be drunk again. She’d only want to start another fight; demand I grope her cunt or something. Probably chew me up and spit me out. She’d say to me I’m worthless, useless, rotten and boring. She’d laugh in my face, ridicule me and belittle me; filch the money from my pockets. She’d pour warm beer over me, spit on me, call me a twit and poke me in the ribs — just for fun.
By Lee Rourke.