The Postal Service is the single greatest musical rediscovery I've ever made.
Anyways, I'm slowly making my way through Jhumpa Lahiri's "The Interpreter of Maladies." When I read stories about people's lives falling apart, I feel a very visceral disgust, and undeniable fear. Lahiri writes beautifully, but I've become weak. This is when I willingly exile myself world of fiction. I used to drink these stories like truth, and now they are just hollow words on the recyclable cadaver of a tree.
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True that. I can't read anymore. It doesn't feel real, right? If I do, I just skim for the plot. Rushdie, now, he is the worst. Melding Indian and Greek/Roman myths. I can't get past a chapter because all his characters feel too much.
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