Great idea. This calls for a rambling 10-minute song called “Fireflies in Connecticut” complete with Mark Kozelek impression, I’ll see what I can rustle up
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Music/audio ideas:
- anything you want
- collaborate with someone writing something for this to provide you with either a spoken word passage or a poem for lyrics
- record as if you were Spellman talking about his work or giving an interview or whatever
- short podcast discussing his books?
I’d be more than happy to do that. Also, do what you like with the titles, I’m not going to claim intellectual property rights!
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“How to place Spellerman among the storied ranks of American men of letters? Less mannered than Nabokov, less urban than Bellow; less neurotic than Roth, less dour than Updike. But he is more than what he is not. His is a warmth that belies the cold of his New England childhood, and a generosity of spirit that overcomes his distinguished, Puritan roots. The Spellermans may have arrived in America on the Mayflower, but in Herbert, they finally arrived as a man of the people - a voice of joy and sorrow, of gentle lyricism and incisive wit. When we review the soft middle of our flabby twentieth century - that awkward pause between the fall of Berlin and the fall of the USSR - Spellerman may not be remembered as the loudest voice. But, he may one day be seen as the finest.”
Harold Bloom, New York Review of Books, April 1987
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Shall I post it here or send it you?
Which ever you prefer 
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It’s based on the only Connecticut resident we know… (I haven’t written anything in years, please don’t be toooo mean)
Fireflies In Connecticut
You just want to win don’t you Neil. That’s what races through the muddy track of your mind, thoughts spluttering around your head like the engines you’ve spent hours, days, weeks, tinkering with, playing with, adjusting and tweaking until they’re just right. But it’s not enough is it Neil? You’re good, you know you’re good, everyone knows it, but there is someone better isn’t there? He’s faster, sharper, somehow more attuned to the needs of the rusting, weathered machine between his thighs than even you, isn’t he Neil. That’s why you’re out here now, lit only by the fireflies, in the dead of the bitter, unforgiving New England night. You’ve brought all your tools haven’t you, those lumps of metal and plastic that have betrayed you. You’ve worn them down and used them incessantly and still he has you beat. But now those tools are going to do something else for you, aren’t they Neil? You edge open the door where he keeps it, the name of the machine a lie, it doesn’t mow lawns, it mows your dreams and hopes doesn’t it, that dark green, ride-on motherfucker. Your tools do their job and now you’ll win won’t you Neil, you’ll be fastest, sharpest, and nobody will know. Nobody has seen you, have they? Oh but they have Neil, those fireflies have seen everything. You turn and look at them and you wish you could take your tools to them and keep them quiet but you can’t, can you. They know what you’ve just done, and deep down in that lawnmower racer’s heart of yours, so do you.
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We all know he’s capable.
This photo is very nice, really grotesque but I love the textures of it. Can definitely imagine that as a Highways and Hotels cover 
Hey, it works! No need to put yourself down for it being low effort
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This took me abut 10 minutes to write and record - Mark Kozelek is absolutely stealing a living
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Very Stephen King esque, those god damn fireflies see everything! 
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Haha I saw Connecticut and thought of you!
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The fireflies here are pretty sweet, the author is not lying. In late spring I’ll take a picture when they all flock in my backyard.
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Love this
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fucking brilliant!
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Really looking forward to hearing this when I get a chance.