White Noise — Don DeLillo proving himself to the New Weirds, I can write too, he says, well nothing wrong with that — it’s a good book, a powerful book — about middle age mediocrity, about the ring of fat that accretes around one’s midsection during one’s midsection (of life) — float away upon the seasection — premonitions of Bhopal, the power of TV, and the chilling naming that goes on in this new world where we invent new horribles everyday — “Airborne Toxic Event” / “Black Cloud” / the deaths we carry within ourselves — secretly not wanting to die first — however, me, knowing I will die, perhaps do — White Noise perhaps being the picture of a man who still yet hasn’t accepted the reality of —
Me — I accept it and don’t accept it, alternating by the day and hour.
The preternaturally clever child.
The massive eroticism of a modern-day supermarket.
All in all a good book — echoes of Pynch’s Vineland, but maybe better — still — the fat middle-aged — the fallen hero — he did leap out of the car — paterfamelias — pumped the gas so that they could continue their evacuation.
College-on-the-hill. Late-stage academic capitalism. Hitler Studies. I want to do to Elvis what you did to Hitler. Lampooning cultural studies and the raising of the low.