The Problem with Mungo are the Voices in Ned's Head

Nearly every week, I hear the horror in my parents' voices from eleven hundred miles away as they plumb the depths of my cynicism and despair. They do not recognize in this young man the writing enthusiast they raised, the boy who wanted nothing more than to write good books (perhaps the Great One) from the time he was old enough to want anything ... or at least old enough to realize how much math was involved in a career as an astronomer.

HIGHWAY 9 is going nowhere, and, with the exception of David Foster Wallace, Dave Eggars, and that Volleman fellow, every newish novel I've read has been terrible. How am I supposed to advance the art of Novelty Novelty (he he) if I hate what is being done now?

"Then again and all the time,
Every minute, never ending,
Unrelenting all around
This world falling indesidiously.
Ovulating movement,
Motion: this way, that way.
Always take a free fall,
Love love, kiss kiss,
Make do.
FREE TO BE is what I need."

Peace and Love,
Mungo

Song of the day: Elf Power - "Nothing's Going to Happen"