First impressions

[david christensen]

--Those first damned impressions


An underlying sense of the loss of our kin goes and goes throughout the
first 10% of this book.  Pynchon gets life and its inevitable spiral. When
one is privileged to see such mad undercurrents of syntactical possibilities
a leering grin in as of a shared conambulist ekes out of a dribbling mouth.
Drool in a dream perhaps at the parade such encumbered before such an
undertaking.
We reel at times and wonder at the verbosity and elegance of the structure.
It is familiar of course, but I like it immensely. The list lives and is an
institution.  And how I love institutionalism. The structure of our
Pynchonian universe allows such self-referential shit.  It is cool to know
GR.