Tag Archives: j.d. salinger


I got sick again and left early. I just can’t stay there anymore  without feeling like a fish trapped in a bowl floating unaware no certain place no sense of time or spatialness.

Edgar took me home and went back late. Regardless of any short comings he may have (so rude to madame!!) he is a good friend and person. Most of the time we judge our friends too harshly but take a moment to look at all the nice shit they do for you like driving you around and getting you birthday presents when almost everyone else forgets.


My cousin has told me where I am staying when I get to France and my heart is beating so hard and I’m so happy and scared and sad and excited and bubbling and over and winded et autre choses. It’s a fancy house that a nice couple is letting me stay in and it’s in a chic neighborhood and safe.  Germaine is coming with me and I feel less horrified with that fact draped over my shoulders. I Wish Brandon could come.


“You’re in a bed on a beach in a universe without periods reading J.D.’s book that he wrote just for you with Jens playing in the background and a gentle breeze.”

If I could make anything  feel personal anymore I’d be flowing. I’ve been left stagnant and a broken lamp. If not too busted, which I’m sure this lamp isn’t, it can all be fixed.


Btw, this the most awkward foreign language video I’ve ever seen:

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As you may know, Mr.  J.D. Salinger died on Wednesday at the age of 91 after decades of being a recluse. I feel like Susan Boyle was going up this alley after she checked herself into that mental hospital, rehab, whatever. Maybe if Hollywood hadn’t been wasn’t so damn phony people wouldn’t stow themselves away like wounded public enemies. 

Anyways, now that  he’s died people are thinking that any unpublished work he ever wrote will get published now COMPLETELY AGAINST THE FACT THAT SALINGER SPENT A MAJORITY OF HIS LIFE SUEING THE SHIT OUT OF PEOPLE WHO TRIED TO PUBLISH HIS WORK. I want to read it all, don’t get me wrong, but I feel like it’s fucked up to have your way with a dead person. Maybe his work got worse with age, much like how the genius, howling, fucking wonderful Woody Allen became just a mediocre pasty old has-been.

Well, Jerome David Salinger, you had a long and, presumably, boring life but your mind was reeling and I loved you.

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Filed under Death