Infinite Jest.
44.5 reading hours.
Unsteady exhaustion mixed with euphoria and disappointment. Rise and fall. Not the first time I’ve read this, but the first with the present Self (as is always the case) and with a little more meat of days behind me. Disappointment at the Self that couldn’t put the book down and slight pangs that—yes, as before—major questions go unanswered, as they often do. The liminal lines between inside and outside, cage and sky, self and other, need and cause, et and c. flit and flirt with the lapping tongue of a smart mind that expects it surely can just stop turning this page or simulation thereof. (Where has Pemulis’ shoe fallen?) Diving back now into the stream of voices. Who is there?
Kindle edition ($4.)