By Stan Rogal
A postmodern novel that follows a writer's trip via tradition, romantic relationships and literature.
Read Online or Download Bafflegab PDF
Similar audible audiobooks books
Welcome to the Chapel condo, the outdated oceanfront mansion the place a gaggle of shut associates percentage their hopes and desires and the place love is typically an unforeseen visitor. Heartfelt and deeply relocating, deepest relatives gained the 1989 RITA Award for top unmarried name modern Novel from the Romance Writers of the USA.
During this provocative and wide-ranging learn, Douglas Mao argues profound stress among veneration of human creation and nervousness approximately production's risks lay on the center of literary modernism. concentrating on the paintings of Virginia Woolf, Wyndham Lewis, Ezra Pound, and Wallace Stevens, Mao indicates that modernists have been captivated by way of actual gadgets, which, considered as gadgets, appeared to partake of a utopian serenity past the achieve of human ideological conflicts.
Robert Neville torna a casa dopo una giornata di duro lavoro. Cucina, pulisce, ascolta un disco, si siede in poltrona e legge un libro. Eppure los angeles sua non è una vita normale. Soprattutto dopo il tramonto. Perché Neville è l'ultimo uomo sulla terra. L'ultimo umano sopravvissuto, in un mondo completamente popolato da vampiri.
Additional info for Bafflegab
I have cancer. No. No one has told me & I have not been to a doctor to confirm my diagnosis. MY DIAGNOSIS. Notice, I do not say suspicion, for there can be no doubt to my mind: prolonged indigestion, lump in the throat, sore refusing to heal, change in mole, persistent cough, trouble swallowing—they have me & I them. Is it possible to eliminate the obvious final effect in the face of so many causes? Can there indeed be no fire in the presence of so much smoke? I think not & remain resolute. There can be no doubt—I have cancer.
Sure! 'Course I remember you. " & now she's smiling, & the drinks keep coming, & the film keeps rolling without a flutter, without a break. I don't believe it. All I've done this weekend is sit around the apartment with my finger up my ass, watching TV, playing solitaire & basically fucking the dog. But then, it doesn't matter what I do. Whether I do anything or nothing at all. Unlike Space, which leaves me uncomfortable & ill-fitting, Time passes without a care or thought as to my well-being. It brands me with its mark & I am denied the barest glimpse.
I've gotten better able to play the game & think about other things at the same time, without tripping over my feet. This can be a good or bad thing. Uh oh, a gang of spike-leathered clouds are kicking the shit out of my blue sky. Time to circle the wagons & head the hell home. well? Go ahead. Sit. It's waiting. It calls to you as only a chair can: complete chairness & you believe it. The chair is an invitation with your name on it, an invitation to sit & so you will. Never a thought that this chair may actually be a paid assassin in disguise or that it is haunted by the blood-stained ghost of Lizzie Borden's axe or that a moment ago it was a lowly cockroach & an 44 hour from now it will transform itself into a majestic winged serpent & swoop out the door.