Started to read a new book, sample sentence follows.

They were like the faces of sleepwalkers looking backward across nightmares, recognizing no one and no familiar things, glaring down across the fleeing irrevocable instant as if they were being hurried to execution itself, flashing on, rapid and successive and curiously identical, not despite the fact that each had an individuality and a name, but because of it; identical not because of an identical doom, but because each carried into that mutual doom a name and an individuality, and that most complete privacy of all: the capacity for that solitude in which every man has to die,—flashing on as if they had no part nor interest in, and were not even aware of, the violence and speed with which or in which they rigidly moved, like phantoms or apparitions or perhaps figures cut without depth from tin or cardboard and snatched in violent repetition across a stage set for a pantomime of anguish and fatality.

Yes, William Faulkner; this time offering A Fable, winner of the 1955 Pulitzer for Fiction. Actually, Faulkner is one of my favorite authors, since being introduced by Oprah’s Book Club: Summer of Faulkner: As I Lay Dying (very, very good)/The Sound and the Fury (have read twice)/Light in August (need to read again) in 2005.

For the past year or so I’ve been reading as many of the Pulitzer prize winners as I could find, beginning with the very first, His Family, by Ernest Poole, winning in 1918 (good read) (interesting last chapter). For the prizes 1980 and later, I’ll try to read the listed almost winners, too. Oh wait, don't they call those the short list? Just being nice I guess in this age when everybody gets a trophy.

On a side note, I broke the D string on my electric guitar when trying to tune it. It got horribly out of tune from not being played for over a month. Bipolar is such a drag, it gets into unwanted places in your life at the worst times.

My son says he’s going to restring and tune it. Says he saw guitar players on the band he worked as a roadie for tune their guitars, so he can tune mine, too. In so many ways I fail to believe him, but he’s taking 40 mg of Prozac to control his anger and says that will help.

Good thing I have a service contract on the guitar, might have to use it if he breaks the neck, which I’m lucky I didn’t. You know, I could just use my acoustic until he gets the electric fixed. Nah, that would mean having to switch things around in my room, which the bipolar might get in the way of. It certainly feels that way just thinking about it.