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My reading flows like a dream. It is somewhere in the region of my 60th show of 2015 and a great way to round off book activity for the year. I talk about alcoholism, hallucinating buses full of vampires, and watching the Red Arrows perform aerobatics when I was six years old, over some musique concrete that my pal Andy Votel has made for me. I'm supporting the hypnotically brilliant Marissa Nadler in a packed LE:EN venue on the edge of town. In an alternate—better—universe, Nic Pizzolatto went straight from True Detective season one to directing a film adaptation of William Faulkner's As I Lay Dying and used Nadler's music as the soundtrack, redolent as it is of grown-over ancient pathways, rusted boxcars on long since abandoned railway sidings, once futuristic looking water towers, and the American continent as haunted as it is vast.It is a great evening but none of it is enough. There is a bottomless pit inside me that demands to be filled. Away from my family and heavy domestic work routine, old voices start making themselves heard once more.After all the music has finished, I take to the streets and canal footpaths of Utrecht on my own and it takes me 20 minutes before I find what I'm looking for: a kebab shop with a poster that reads "KAPSALON" in the window.
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