Monday, October 10, 2005

past the skin and into the gall

Coetzee kills. oh he so kills. he's brilliant, i get that. somewhere in foe you get the unreliable narrative and maybe that lil' something about the body but man. the text is... boring.

i had a good rant in my head while in the shower. now it's gonna come out in pieces. always that time lag, always.

or maybe it's not going to come out at all. susan barton, susan breton. she's cold, she's dead -paraphasing: let him do what he wants with her/did his business with her - oh it was just last night i read that part it was boring enough to allow me to remember how i managed to muster a little bit of disgust at her martyr-like passivity. the rest of me was deadened by her presumptive boringness, if there's such an expression.

let's get a little into the body politic. the head is the monarch, correct? by head i would think it's the brain they are referring to - rational and all that. maybe even the eyes, all seeing. well now, in the style of hk period dramas, my all seeing eyes go into revolt against the king, sitting there only receiving messages. my eyes, which are close to the king (always someone close to rebel, always) starts to glaze over somewhere about page 70 this morning (page 40+ last night). the eyelids start to feel heavy. the brain says must go on, finish the book because after 2 Coetzees for lit the mind should recognise the punishing brilliance of such an author. the stomach constantly in an uncomfortable position ('cause it's cramped 'cause the back was bent) protests but i can't hear it anyway 'cause i think it should be accorded the status of a commoner (realise we never listen to our stomachs when it says that it's full - but that's really another matter). rather, i the flipped onto my stomach to stay the eyes but -

the eyes say (something i would happily type out but there's a little inconvenience known as propriety) and clamp shut.

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