“A god, I reflected, must speak but a single word, and in that word there must be an absolute plentitude. No word uttered by a god could be less than the universe, or briefer than the sum of time. The ambitions and poverty of human words-all, world, universe-are but shadows, or simulacra, of that word which is the equivalent of a language and all that can be comprehended within a language.” – the writing of a god.
There is no doubt in my mind that if we redefined this man as a scientist instead of a writer in any time period, he would have discovered the formulas for relativity, DNA, deep learning algorithms, and so on. I want madly to talk with him, not to ask questions but to throw some absurd concept into the cauldron of his mind and see what recursive fractalized words rise from the smoke. This book is an ingredient to a witch’s brew, and if I were born outside of this civilization, I’d keep it stored next to my arsenal of herbs and stones the same way disgruntled modern men carry Catcher in the Rye under their arm like a plate of armor.
I read his stories fast with no internal monologue and I get just glimpses of insanity and the brilliance that surrounds it like a silver lining. Then I read it slowly, and I see a kind of spirit to Salvador Dali’s universe. I see him intuitively deduce systems of telepathy, wave-particle duality, but with a universal language, nothing that needs to be cited or connected to some foundation of prior knowledge. I feel validated that every song, every engineer, every construction worker, every strand of DNA is saying the same thing in a very different way.
Do you realize…
We can read so glacially slow, spend hours on a sentence?
Anthropological Magical Realism 