I’m behind on Infinite Summer’s schedule, you know, the one that keeps me in check with thousands of strangers as we all sweat through David Foster Wallace together in a sick, modern mind race designed to pit my brain, but mostly my biceps and free time, against others in the pursuit of intellectual, and might I had worthless, achievement. It’s sad—we know it’s sad. And it’s working on all of us, all of the great lit-like-minded kids that drag it along with them like a dead body or a hostage. I’m behind, and it doesn’t matter, because there are too many fucking end notes to my personal life, too many characters and plot devices and acronyms that I’ve lost track of. So, for what it’s worth, I’ll finish it. But I’ll be damned if I don’t enjoy myself along the way.
3 responses so far ↓
antiplath // July 15, 2009 at 12:07 pm |
The minute I finished that book, I thought, “I need to read this again.” Not because I was so enthralled – I felt about ten different emotions toward that monster – but because I felt like I missed 75% of what happened. However, reading it was like ploughing head first through a sequence of brick walls. I wasn’t going to give up, couldn’t, but then I wasn’t really enjoying much myself either. Finishing it was more like attaining a badge of honor than actually learning to appreciate the text. I hope yo uhave a better experience! Not to say that I hated it. I didn’t. I don’t even know WHAT I felt.
MrTurner // July 15, 2009 at 5:03 pm |
Look at that beautiful redhead up there… ;-)
Accuracy « Subway Philosophy // September 8, 2009 at 12:48 am |
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