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"[...]a vessel cleaving the dungeon of the waves[...]"
You're Love in the Time of Cholera!
by Gabriel Garcia Marquez
Like Odysseus in a work of Homer, you demonstrate undying loyalty by
sleeping with as many people as you possibly can. But in your heart you never give
consent! This creates a strange quandary of what love really means to you. On the
one hand, you've loved the same person your whole life, but on the other, your actions
barely speak to this fact. Whatever you do, stick to bottled water. The other stuff
could get you killed.
Take the Book Quiz
at the Blue Pyramid.
Never miss a word
You're Infinite Jest!
by David Foster Wallace
While you1 consider yourself2 to be clever,
there are those3 who think you're just full of yourself or, perhaps worse,
playing a joke4 on everyone around you, and yet you are pretty sure that
you really are that brilliant after all, since people would hardly take the time to
get to know you5 if they didn't care very deeply about what you had to
say to them, to wit, about their lives, their hopes, their dreams, their fears, their
drug habits, and of course what videos6 they prefer to watch, since,
after all, your impressive vocabulary and tendency to go on and on7 makes
you seem superior, able to educate them, and really drive a sense of something
ineffable into their measly little skulls while you are not above making a cheap
gag or really going after anyone or anything or telling them about incredible
futures involving tennis, geopolitics, and
1Meaning you personally, not someone like you or your own
personal daddy, for example.
2As well as you can see yourself, which, frankly, may not be that well.
3Though we wouldn't deign to be so peripatetic as to name them here, mind.
4Jokes, though not common in Victorian England, were known to originate
sometime in ancient history, perhaps as early as the time of Babylon, or even before.
It is thought that the history of the joke plays an integral role in the mindset of
the characters depicted here, though you may disagree at this point, in which case I
am facing quite the dilemma in relaying this narrative, no?
5It is rather time consuming, after all.
6Ha!
7and on and on and on...
Take the Book Quiz II
at the Blue Pyramid.
You're The Metamorphosis!
by Franz Kafka
Though you think you're in the midst of a dream, the fact of the
matter is that your life has become a nightmare. The nightmare at first seems
horrific to you, but you are slowly able to adjust to the facts of the matter
and settle down and make do with what you've been given. There are those that
would say you're pointless and absurd, but you're really just trying to
demonstrate that people can (and do) adapt to anything, no matter how absurd
it is. Not that this will really inspire them to change, because they probably
don't understand.
Take the Book Quiz II
at the Blue Pyramid.
About Me
- Σφιγξ
- possesses wholly unmerited academic pretensions; examines love as an entomologist; collects haunted dollshouses; notes the lunar phase as regularly as the temperature; peruses field guides; reads like a serial magazine subscriptionist; functions through coffee and "mood" music; draws to the very corners of the page; takes notes on unlined paper; reads poetry as prayer; observes textual authority with the incredulity of fiction; suppresses the smart-ass answer(s); adapts as well as anyone beseiged by her own bibelots; she is a sensation seeker in spite of all of this.
4 comments:
Most of the time, I can accept repeating myself.
http://www.mots.org.il/eng/exhibitions/WorkItem.asp?ContentID=1
http://books.google.com/books?id=fVjXBN9edXYC&pg=PA261&dq=the+english+patient+maps&hl=en&sa=X&ei=h4ENU-jpOa6GyQH-w4HgDw&ved=0CDAQ6AEwAQ
"This, Damira, this being that was remembering, was nothing but a map of a woman long dead—a map folded into a new shape to fit in the mind and sinews, the massive skeleton and the sensory apparatus, of a mammoth. This Damira...
[...]
Because now, when she remembered the gift of the elephant, she remembered something strange. The gift had been a clumsy thing, sewn most likely in some factory not far from Tomsk where she grew up, designed by people who had never seen, in their lives, many of the animals they were imitating. It was formed of cheap plush, with dark eyes imitating glass, and clumsy curves of white tusks that began to lose shape as the stuffing inside compressed.
But it had not been gray: it had been brown. She had dismissed the color, barely noticed it—after all, there were pink elephant toys and purple elephant toys and elephant toys of an acid green, so why should brown be strange?
But now she saw the loop. It was not an elephant Timur had given her, at all. That first object around which her ideas for the future had begun to wrap themselves as a mammoth.
And it was a mammoth she had become (80)."
https://www.google.com/books/edition/The_Tusks_of_Extinction/pVC4EAAAQBAJ?hl=en&gbpv=1&dq=The%20Tusks%20of%20Extinction%20Nayler&pg=PP1&printsec=frontcover
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