Its true: David Foster Wallace has apparently committed suicide. In a proto-bloggian world of misnomers, unknowns, complexity beyond human comprehension, and empty celebrity gossip truths, there are still a few soldiering on in the old ranks of modernist literature and the ‘big’ novel… and every time we lose one of them, the world grows [...]
Remember when the hippie connection used to work? When old friends could count on old friends– for a bed if not then a sofa, if not then a scrap of rig. No more. In the context of extreme strain we can meet in honesty only those who are willing to be as absurd– as lively– in the idea. Not [...]
In ancient time of Victorian Literature, there came an invention of wonderous extremes to threaten the secret lives of all the plants, excluding of course, the Day of the Triffids references: and yea, such an invention did bring joy to many readers of those called books upon the planet: and yea thusly, did the books, [...]
