... who wears the cape in this relationship...
Today I finished reading what is, arguably (arguably only because of the preceding novel), the best book I have read. Killing yourself to live is an unbelievably well written first person narrative. The plot is, offically, Chuck Klosterman traveling around the United States visiting landmarks of rockstar's deaths. The actual plot is about Klosterman's inability to commit to one girl and his obsession with lyrical metaphors. The sheer greatness of this book is not the point however. The point is that, like the wake of reading previous Chuck Klosterman books, I am inable to think in any other way than the flow of the text and so my posts for the next week will most likely be in first person narritive. Sorry for the inconvenience to anyone who still reads this shit.
As of lately, I have been feeling inappropriatly good. I can't explain why everything looks clearer now. I can explain the feeling though. It's like in those old fifties romance scenes when the camera lens is covered in vasoline to make the seen appear more steamy and intimate. It feels as if that lens has just been wiped clean.
As of lately, I have been feeling inappropriatly good. I can't explain why everything looks clearer now. I can explain the feeling though. It's like in those old fifties romance scenes when the camera lens is covered in vasoline to make the seen appear more steamy and intimate. It feels as if that lens has just been wiped clean.