the object finally possesses the possessor. the magus, john fowles.

not that i particularly enjoyed his brand of realism. it was magic realism stripped of all its magic rational. in the magus we are left with a novel of realism without any gravity. we do not know the reasons. it is too mysterious. too too. but there were a few good lines. sometimes you want to write a whole lot of shit just for one good line.

currently reporting from cambodia, siem reap. alone again after a week of socializing in phnom penh. what fun, then the stunning silence of hotel rooms. i have been in so many hotel rooms, it is countless…like the number of bug bites on my leg. just, utterly countless. countless also are my desires. here’s a good way to get over heartache? double, triple time by travelling as far as you can. there you go, now the life in new york seems far away but not far enough.

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