GR translation: magenta firths running comblike into jagged comicbook-orange chunks of island

[jochen stremmel]

Just a normal comb, the firths his teeth, running into chunks of island, I
would say, not the strangest simile in Pynchon's store.

2015-09-02 8:13 GMT+02:00 Mike Jing <gravitys.rainbow.cn at gmail.com>:

> V634.27-38  . . . it is costing Rózsavölgyi an effort to stay in this
> shadowcorner. It is not, at all, his sort of place. For one thing, the rest
> of the room seems to be at more of a distance, as through the view-finder
> on a camera. And the walls—they don’t appear to be . . . well, solid,
> actually. They flow: a coarse, a viscous passage, rippling like a standing
> piece of silk or nylon, the color watery gray but now and then with a
> surprise island in the flow, some color absolutely foreign to this room:
> saffron spindles, palm-green ovals, magenta firths running comblike into
> jagged comicbook-orange chunks of island as the wounded fighter-plane
> circles, jettisons the tanks, then the silver canopy, sets the flaps to
> just above a stall, wheels up as the blue (suddenly, such a violent blue!)
> rushes in just before impact throttle closed uhhnnhh!
>
> What kind of comb does it mean here in "comblike"?
>
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