Infinite Jest II

It’s 1:44 am in Munich Germany. Do you know what your kids are doing?

Whatever it is, I hope to god they’re not scumbling. O_O

detail from a pic that required scumbling

Otherwise known as the act of moving the side of your colored pencil’s very finely sharpened tip in a careful, circular motion over the paper to achieve nice subtle values shifts while you pump bad techno music into your ears. It takes so much time that I definitely can’t recommend it for people who have a life.

In other mews, I’m reading a book.

Scratch that.

I am in a relationship with a book.

Like, we spend time with each other every day and he teaches me words so million dollar, not even WordPress has them in its spell-check, candent and neurasthenic and bilirubic, and he frustrates me to no end (the book seems to me to be of the male persuasion) and he can be very long winded sometimes (oh god, just now, he is carrying on about a game he used to play with his tennis buddies during the teenage years, a sort of ‘Risk’ on angel-dust experience, I could die it’s so boring, this description, but he is just so smart and funny and full of soul that even though we’re utterly incompatible and I have already cheated on him with at least three other books since we started going out (not to mention the thousands of people he has on the side of me, at this very moment, sniiff, how could you, IJ!) well, despite all these obstacles, I cannot help but love him and love him.

Or in the very least, never forget him.

David Foster Wallace said that fiction and literature were tools to combat the loneliness inside, and when I read Infinite Jest, I believe him.  Trying to tell someone what it’s about… it’s like trying to tell someone what life is about really–everything and nothing. It has the universe between the covers.

You can check out my lover here.


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4 responses to “Infinite Jest II

  1. Love the fish coming out of the hair…trippy

  2. Infinite Jest is amazing. Hard work but worth it.

    • Thanks! It is hard work–
      Just the other night, I came to a part (around pg 400) that disgusted me so much, I felt sick to my stomach. Literally. Sunday night chicken dinner–and I couldn’t eat a bite! I was–pissed off! It’s like DFW, really? Really? You had to write that part so that I come to it now, right now, but it’s like he could reach out over the void and through the power of words drop kick me in the face… I hated it and I loved it.

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