Monday, March 27, 2006
Currently Reading
House of Leaves : A novel
By Mark Z. Danielewski
woot! got my GOGOL BORDELLO cds! flippin' awesome!
House of Leaves just keeps getting better and better. I'm starting to feel for the characters, the complications...I'm afraid that the book brings up so many questions that have no answers, answers that have no questions, everything, nothing about everything, even "nothing's all"...it's making me think deeper about things I don't even consider very relevant, but are becoming more so because of this new realization. This new way of thinking. This new take on everything...or perhaps an old take on nothing at all. I feel so compelled to nail up measuring tape all around my room...just to make sure it's not shifting. Put tin foil over my windows...I'll feel safer...Perhaps I'm going quite mad. Or perhaps this book has opened my eyes and I'm finally seeing for the first time. Or perhaps I'm going quite mad. yeah. It's kinda like that. I was actually really distraught at work because of an encounter Johnny Truant had with a little, gross looking Pekinese. It kinda messed me up. Made me hate people more than I already do. What kind of person can throw a dog out their window with excessive force and run it over, no thought, no notion of the fact that they took what life this little doggie had, no remorse, no mercy. I have to stop typing...the letters on the screen are shifting...they aren't in straight lines...the letters on the screen are shifting. And for some reason, whenever I read it, I lose all notion of time. Maybe because time was irrelevant to begin with. Yet as humans, we rely on its invisible presence ever so dependently. What has the world come to when one of the most important things we depend on is invisible. But then again, ever so present, ever so controlling. But so is God. Invisible. Present. Controlling. All life: pre-determined. All time: pre-determined. Time will never change, regardless the state of the people. Why is God so relevant and why is Time so irrelevant? Am I wrong? I'm wrong. I'm tired. Or are the leaves of my mind's mind telling me that I'm tired as a subliminal message to get me to stop writing? Why did I call this writing? I'm obviously typing, but I'd hardly call this mess a work of writing or typing for that matter. Stretched to the limit. I'm done...
...wait...
Or is it "I'm finished?"
Invader_Champloo! Community Member 
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