Who has read it?
And the two resulting questions:
Who had nightmares?
and
Who didn't finish it?
A girl I was dating years ago recommended it to me. I tucked it away in my brain for later retrieval. When I was in Iraq sweltering in a pool of existential despair, and my own sweat and semen I decided that the next time I got around to making the trip to the internet I was going to order it.
Probably not a good idea.
I read it voraciously through until the part where Holloway flips his lid in the labyrinth and then had to stop for two weeks. Then, on a few days when I happened to not go out, have post, or anything, I read the rest straight through. There were several points during these few days that my little poncho/poncho liner cavern I had built on my rack started to close in on me and I started floating and ****. I'm sure my mental state was effected by dehydration and the lack of nutritious food, but all the same, the effect this book had on me was probably the closest to a religious experience I have ever had.
I'm sure it is just the nature of the book. It's about ****ed up people, so anyone is going to find some sort of ****ed up mirror or Rorschach blob to see, but the more I reread it, the more I seem to develop some disturbing intimate relationship with it. At first it was just a psychological horror novel, but at the same time it isn't really that at all. It's so scattered and incomprehensible that it makes the circle back to a perfect portrayal of, something. I am always blown away by the number of links it makes to itself and reality that are mind blowingly subtle. What's currently blowing my mind is Zampano's likely military past, possible relation to JT, or the possibility that the whole god damn thing is just JT's brain dumping.
If you haven't read it, I think I recommend it.
And the two resulting questions:
Who had nightmares?
and
Who didn't finish it?
A girl I was dating years ago recommended it to me. I tucked it away in my brain for later retrieval. When I was in Iraq sweltering in a pool of existential despair, and my own sweat and semen I decided that the next time I got around to making the trip to the internet I was going to order it.
Probably not a good idea.
I read it voraciously through until the part where Holloway flips his lid in the labyrinth and then had to stop for two weeks. Then, on a few days when I happened to not go out, have post, or anything, I read the rest straight through. There were several points during these few days that my little poncho/poncho liner cavern I had built on my rack started to close in on me and I started floating and ****. I'm sure my mental state was effected by dehydration and the lack of nutritious food, but all the same, the effect this book had on me was probably the closest to a religious experience I have ever had.
I'm sure it is just the nature of the book. It's about ****ed up people, so anyone is going to find some sort of ****ed up mirror or Rorschach blob to see, but the more I reread it, the more I seem to develop some disturbing intimate relationship with it. At first it was just a psychological horror novel, but at the same time it isn't really that at all. It's so scattered and incomprehensible that it makes the circle back to a perfect portrayal of, something. I am always blown away by the number of links it makes to itself and reality that are mind blowingly subtle. What's currently blowing my mind is Zampano's likely military past, possible relation to JT, or the possibility that the whole god damn thing is just JT's brain dumping.
If you haven't read it, I think I recommend it.
Epstein didn't kill himself.