Interested in sophisticated fun? You, hubby, girlfriends?
The more the merrier. Get in touch with Tristero, through
WASTE only, Box 49.
Its funny how Pynchon does not scares me anymore. He is not the tentacled Cthulhu (thanks Mr. Lovecraft for my insomniac exhibits) I thought he was. I guess Gravity’s Rainbow was the ice-breaker. But what’s this obsession with myriad dimensions of entropy, Thomas? The explosive universal “black hole”. Drives me nuts at times!! Who am I kidding? Entropy and thermodynamics are Pynchon’s bitches. They hover around him no matter what hallucinogenic concoctions I consume. Thus, I will not be ranting on how the micro/macro societal elements randomly escalate in a chasm of chaos and exponential disparity. Blah…Blah….Blah.
Crying Lot of 49 is a fearless indulgence. A petite manuscript (127pgs), it is an ideal doorway to ‘Pynchonville’. For those who are by now familiar with inescapable Slothrop’s paranoia or Zoyd’s ruthless nostalgia, it’s a cool glass of lemonade on a scorching summer day.
Lest if you ever venture in this avant-garde communiqué vortex, let me facilitate a plausible comprehension.
Oedipa Maas– Unfortunately does not relate to parent-fixated sexual issues. She is a principle model of muddled estrangement. The executor of Pierce’s will, Maas is relentlessly under hallucinogenic high with a healthy sexual appetite. Why doesn’t that surprise me? A chick on a healthy LSD dosage and voracious sexual treat. That’s a pretty good start. Well done Thomas! Wait….roll it back. What was that blessed letter Maas got which made her frantically drive up to San Narciso. Ah! The communicative passage to several metaphoric symbols and signs. Who said being rich was easy?Hmmm..what about her husband Mucho Maas? Well, besides being a disc jockey at a local radio station-KCUF, the dreary bloke got nothing much to do except being a lab rat in Dr.Hilarius’ LSD-25 testing. Better watch out for the non-linear existence of Metzger Mike Fallopian, Nefastis and Cohen, they could be a handful with their coherent scientific interpretations.
Stamps– Things I used to like licking as a kid. Yeah, there are the same tiny labels that you stick (used to) on the upper right corner of the envelope. They can fetch you couple cents or if you have the ‘right’ set could earn you a fortune at Christie’s.
Thurn and Taxis– The “big kahuna” of the postal conspiracy. Or is it? Arrghhh… Those archaic European postal houses. They sure knew how to revolutionize monopoly.
W.A.S.T.E. – where inter-looped communication brings life in the ongoing deaf-mute conspiracy. Quite the sinister entity!
Porky Pig, Bugs Bunny, Baby Igor and KCUF – just for kicks yet intentional metaphysical symbols inferring human demeanor.
Jeez! These nasty voices in my head. Why wasn’t I a child of the 60s? Why can’t I still lick stamps for pleasure without being charily stared at? And why are these Harajuku girls serenading me?
Suddenly I have an urge to listen to Beatles and roll a rizla at Tristero. Now only if I could find my mail from Dr. Hilarius.