The week in review. Sort of.

No proper posts recently: my father had a mild heart attack and emergency angioplasty this past weekend, and I’ve been a bit scattered. He’s doing fine now, and his cardiologist has been amazed at the speed of his recovery, so, obviously, things could have been much worse, but I’m still just not thinking straight.

Maybe I inhaled something in the ICU waiting room.

Well, I know I did, but maybe it’s affected my brain.

See, here’s where I want to explain that sentence by way of leaping into a rant about how there was a certain individual who had taken up residence in the waiting room that filled the surrounding area with the oh-so-pleasant olfactory delight that can only be described as being composed mostly of rot and decay, with just a hint of puréed feces. I just can’t bring myself to (other than that last sentence, obviously), though. Partially because I can’t really focus on anything long enough to properly organize my thoughts (hell, I’ve barely been piecing this together in a very haphazard sort of way, across the last couple of days), but more because I don’t feel right laying into someone (even in effigy) because they were so torn up over the barely-lingering state of a loved one that they lost sight of everything else.  So, on that mixed note of melancholy and disgust, and in the interest of changing the subject, here’s a half-assed list of other things that happened since last I committed words to the internet.

  • Brian‘s research into the weaponization of pregnancy was shut down when it was determined by independent researchers working for government agencies that his so-called experiments consisted of nothing more than “…being a dirty, dirty man slut.” Their words, not mine.
  • I saw part of an episode of Las Vegas that contained a “high-speed” chase on pocketbikes. In the end, someone walked up to the fleeing suspect and knocked him out with a garden hose. I want the drugs their writers are on.

    "i can haz wit?" "No."

    I can't find a single picture from that scene, so you'll have to settle for this.

  • I finally started reading House of Leaves. Once you get past the Thomas Pyncheon-esque49 post-modernist trappings of an experimental novel  about a man telling the story (through footnotes, the length and breadth of which put my incessant rambling to pitiful shame) of (rampant graphic sex, constant abuse of assorted drugs, a descent into paranoid insanity, and)

publishing a dead[]blind man’s rambling, preten[ ]us critical analysis of an apparently nonexistent do[]mentary, there’s a compelling tale XXXXX a man who discovers that not o[ ]y is his house larger on the inside than on [  ] outside, but that it  sometimes contains a constantly-adapting Daedalian[]labyrinth which seems to feed off the psychoses and dysfunctions of those around it, and may or may not be home to a malevolent presence153.

Hijinks ensue.

153. I had just arrived at work when the smell began to surround me again. That dark, sulfurous odor that permeated every meaningless scrap of my puny existence, turning my nostrils to fire and igniting within me that primordial terror. I knew then, without even seeing, that it was behind me, muscles coiled and rippling. On a hair trigger, waiting for the moment when they would unleash their energy and propel that massive, snarling form closer and closer to me. I could already hear it, floor boards creaking under its weight, pushing off towards me, then before I could even gasp, sinking its long black teeth into my neck, the blood pouring out and over ruined muscles and shattered bone to drain the life from me and into the thirsty maw of that unspeakable horror. As shock began to take me down, into the eternal unfeeling abyss, a twinge across my back, and then my existence exploded into bright screaming agony as those claws sank deeper into my body, the last sensation I would ever experience.
But there was no pain.

No gaping wounds.
No monstrous abomination behind me, devouring my every life’s breath.
Only the buzzing of florescent lights, and a solitary filing cabinet.

  • Chris dislocated his knee by jumping from a moving train, because he was bored and he’s “always wanted to do that.” I submit that entertainment is in critically short supply in Wichita Falls, and that the first person to build an arcade or bowling alley there will be an overnight millionaire.
  • The water pump on my car started leaking, and has to be replaced to the tune of about $650. Yay.

and

  • I had to buy new tires. Which, I hope, wasn’t related to the water pump. That would break my fragile mind.
  • Paul was briefly convinced he was the reincarnation of an ancient Sumerian . Who, as it turns out, happened to be a water buffalo. Don’t ask.

It’s possible that only five of those seven things actually ‘happened.’

*Hint: I don’t actually read, and sold my car to purchase a small boat.

49.  This guy:

File photo.

File photo.

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~ by tazehim on May 15, 2009.

2 Responses to “The week in review. Sort of.”

  1. I would hate to criticize what may be purposeful text formatting, but the text about the novel sort of looks like the html code sneezed on it. Is it supposed to look that way? (I do like the appropriate blue-ing of the title, though)

  2. Yep, it’s intentional (but I love your description of it); it’s more or less how the novel is written. Entire chapters are written in multiple page footnotes interjected in the middle of other passages. Different fonts are used, the word ‘house’ is always blue, other sections are struck through and in red. There’s a whole chapter with footnotes crammed into a small box near the middle of the page, then duplicated in reverse on the back of that page. There are segments containing only one paragraph, or line, or even sometimes word per page. Occasional words are x’d out or missing letters. Disturbing, chilling passages are written off with a sentence and ignored, and some of the most horrific sequences don’t even really occur. It’s a great read so far; I’m a little over halfway through it, but so far, it’s more effective at creating a sense of unease and discomfort than any other ‘horror’ novel I’ve ever read.

    I normally avoid post-modern ‘gimmicky’ novels, but in this case, it really adds a dimension to the story.

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