A: The most recent list of Marvin K. Mooney’s favorite books has gone missing.  We here at the Society have retained an earlier, undated list which includes the following titles:

If on a winters night a traveler by Italo Calvino
A Thousand Plateaus by Gilles Deleuze & Felix Guattari
Conducting Bodies by Claude Simon
Tender Buttons by Gertrude Stein
The Author Quartet (Readers Block, This is Not a Novel, Vanishing Point, The Last Novel) by David Markson
The Cut-up Triptych (The Soft Machine, Nova Express, The Ticket That Exploded) by William S. Burroughs
The Age of Wire & String by Ben Marcus
Lost in the Funhouse by John Barth
In watermelon Sugar by Richard Brautigan
Mulligan Stew by Gilbert Sorrentino
For A New Novel by Alain Robbe-Grillet
Watt by Samuel Beckett

The list goes on, but unfortunately the words become illegible as it seems that Mooney spilled some kind of blood-colored liquid over the remaining titles.

We hope you find this list helpful.  Thank you for contacting the society, and please spread the word about Mooney.  He needs you.

Sincerely,
The Marvin K. Mooney Society

If you bought The Complete Works in paperback in Sept., you also received a book from Marvin’s library. (ed: PURPORTED LIBRARY!!!)

If there are any markings, handwriting, chicken scratch, ephemera, gum wrappers, used prophylactics, buts, butts, links, threads, bread crumbs: PLEASE TAKE A PICTURE AND EMAIL THE EVIDENCE TO THEMARVINKMOONEYSOCIETY ((({{{[[{at}}[{[{))() gmail {dot}}} com. You’ll be credited. (loved? finally and completely?)

And: Mooney is catching on and circulating midmouth in Dutch.

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Mooney’s voice* was played on a radio show in Berlin.

A brother and sister talked about his works.

*???

I know you are located 9 km from Manzini and 34 km from Mbabane and are close to the main road linking the two cities, but this is not my entry point.  I know you have 1118 fellow students near you, but again I am not entering our communion in this way.  Forget Luyengo campus, forget Mbabane campus, forget Kwaluseni campus even though it is the main and oldest campus, is the nightshine lightstone gravespace smilingfaced grimlaced forever razor glacier of the mind.  You are not alone.  I imagine you, Salia.  I miss you, Salia.  I picture the curve of your teeth and/or eyes, the hair on your head how it grows and also your nails both finger and toe, the hands you use, the feet you use, the hard spine you hide under your thin skin, the wrinkled folds of your mellow frown, the dimple of your kneecaps and the button of your belly.  I am with you in Swaziland, Salia.  I am with you, I am understanding you, I am not judging you, I am quietly agreeing with you, always.  You may always know there is someone somewhere agreeing with you always.

Here take this, here take this take what take this take to take what to take with you to sleep:

A beam of light on the field at night the moon tries to outdo the sun but no one can catch the special bugs pillowing the glistening fields inside our eyes and so we clutch the special thing and hold the special thing and tell the world our special thing is bigger than South Africa, bigger than America, bigger than the distance between my secret location and your secret location and between us we shelter the magnitude of weather we cannot share with others.  Despite the fact that we are approximately 14,042 kilometers or 8,726 miles or 7,582 nautical miles from each other, we are not alone, Salia.  We will always have each other.  I do not know you and you do not know me but we know each other even though no one knows you and no one knows me, yet everyone knows you and can love you and can fight the warning signs before they commence because I have given them my permission, have asked them to take you into their arms and cradle you.  I have disappeared but I will not wake before you, will not fall asleep before you, will not dream without you.  I will only breathe our breath, our appetite is nothing when the night shares our breathing.  Our breathing, Salia.  Yours and mine.

From my fingers to your eyes,
Marvin K. Mooney

Okay?