I’ve been experiencing a degree of intellectual agitation (mental equiv of a label annoying the back of yer neck) over the matter of what I want to read next. Today I cracked it. I think I want to read a 1946 book that’s called Nightmare Alley (NYRB Classics) next I think someone Gresham is the author. It was adapted to a film in the 1940’s, the trailer made me laugh so hard today.

It’s time for some pulp methinks.

Failing that I’d like to find a literary equivalent of Agnes Varda to read. Something that dances entirely to and within its own unique tune, but has to be a tune I actually want to hear.  Two other titles I am pondering tracking down are one called Doctor Tin and another anthology on work called More than our jobs worth. Both are older Pulp titles. I am still semi on my seventies blitz.

This, of course, is in addition to Betty, who I’ll be nesting with til December.