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Currently reading a couple books...Madam Bovary (again), The Portable Beat Reader (I am strangly obsessed with America circa 1950s, and I feel everyone should read, know, grok, Howl: For Carl Solomon by Ginsberg), and I'm reading It by S. King...yet again. Creepy clowns make me shiver and quiver...It feels good to be a little frightened of something fictional, especially when you spend so much time being frightened of reality.
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