Eric Raymond on Why He Should Get A Free Copy of Rick Moody’s The Four Fingers of Death
July 28th marks the return of Rick Moody from another deep space tour of novel writing. Whenever I hear Moody is on track to make it back, I feel a mix of anticipation and apprehension. It’s akin to how one feels watching futuristic films, waiting for the appearance again of a well-known astronaut, who, having traveled so far and so deep into the cold void of his own invention, prepares to splash down and open the capsule door. The uneasy cigarettes lit in mission control are all burning with the question of whether or not the guy has gone bat shit crazy on his solitary voyage.
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I saw Rick Moody read at the James Merrill House in Stonington, CT a year or so ago. He read two stories, the first about a New England family, not unlike those that call Stonington their home, out on their boat, drinking their daiquiris, or something.
This week in New York Cate Blanchett acts in 


Note: to the readers of this intermittent bulletin, I recognize in what follows that I am violating the compact I made a couple of months ago, to cover only unsigned, unreleased, or self-released music, and I want to assure you that I take that compact seriously, and will return to it very soon.
I love the city of Tucson, Arizona, because I like places that have run out of luck, and I think running out of luck makes for good music. Running out of luck makes for a lot of good things, in fact.
