Oh my gawd, the Sushi Master told me the EXACT SAME THING!
The Great Seattle Novel;
Chapter I
I got my gun.
Chapter II
I shot Charles.
Chapter III
The shiny steel clouds bent to show the mustard underglow. A narrow band of blue showed white shoulders far to the South.
James and Alice were stuck beyond the misnomered pass, beyond hope, beyond memory.
A crocodile died, and no one cared.
But Harps now plays in the emerald heavens.
Chapter IV
I put the gun away.
There was death in the afternoon, yes; but no bull.
What's quite funny is that this post combines both his great (and almost creepy) fascination with women and his love of dense and practically meaningless logorrhea to an almost absurd degree.
Another take on the old "why don't they make good movies anymore/God is dead" thingy that has padded college essays for the last 25 years.
@3
The saddest type of woman obsessor is the type who can never get them, ala Charles.
I've always been fascinated by the idea that we are characters in a novel. The author is "God", who is not immortal or omnipotent but just an ordinary author, fat, bad teeth, drinks too much, irritable. Definitely irritable.
How Olympian.
have you read The Life of Pi?
Hmmm, who's picture is that? You take that one Charles?
"Also, there is no division between fiction and nature."
There's a hole in the ozone layer, not in the text, Charles. This kind of anthropocentric literary criticism (nature-as-text) isn't just solipsistic, it's passe and irresponsible.
Reading comments on a post that's beautiful and inspiring to me makes me sick.
Hell is other people on the internet.
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