I Think, The World Is

There's Something Very Strange About Associating Me With That Prize. I Had Hoped For It In A More Directed Way As A Journalist. Somehow As A Journalist You Know There Are Pulitzers Out There And You Can Work Hard And Get One. To Win It For Fiction Seems Unbelievable.

And The Question Is, Which One Is Really "you.

The World Is Full Of Shitheads, Rhea. Don’t Listen To Them—listen To Me. And I Know That Lou Is One Of Those Shitheads. But I Listen.

Even The Financial Disclosure Statements That Political Bloggers Were Required To Post Hadn't Stemmed The Suspicion That People's Opinions Weren't Really Their Own. "who's Paying You?" Was A Retort That Might Follow Any Bout Of Enthusiasm, Along With Laughter - Who Would Let Themselves Be Bought?

And It May Be That A Crowd At A Particular Moment Of History Creates The Object To Justify Its Gathering, As It Did At The First Human Be-in And Monterey Pop And Woodstock. Or It May Be That Two Generations Of War And Surveillance Had Left People Craving The Embodiment Of Their Own Unease In The Form Of A Lone, Unsteady Man On A Slide Guitar.