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this moment, beware! Beware!) not only does he have flippers for arms but he is short very short about the size of a fire hydrant I can see him sitting in a chair perched atop a pile of phone books and flapping away at his keyboard pushing out brilliant word after brilliant word you can from his writing that he is highly educated and most probably has watched way too mush television he may be one of those television addicts there is this self-consciousness about his writing and there is this worldliness and sophisticated sense about his writing that makes him appear more traveled and cultured than the rest of us when I read his novels it’s like I get an education every time I learn new things about the world and myself and the learning is not like getting your teeth pulled it seems like Archimboldi is afraid of the reader’s reactions to his words and that he was controlling how people interpreted his words conscious of the manipulation how he comes off I think he obsessed over it he wanted to structure the meaning so that we would interpret it in a certain way in a way that put a positive light upon the writer so that we would think of the writer as a wonderful person someone with insight and understanding someone who could feel for the common person someone who was just like us who had feelings like us and fears like us someone we could associate with feel like they were a part of our cause even though the tenor of his words told us that he was not Archimboldi wants to persuade his audience he wants to employ the tricks of the Sophist yet hide behind the curtain of authenticity he wants us to consider him to be connected to a history of writers and this connection gives him a pass to bamboozle us I think deep down inside Archimboldi wants us to think that he is smart and cool I think it is an unhappy paradox going on with his writing he wants us to believe and he is afraid that we will believe too much he gives us a ticket to board the train and then he precedes to drive the train off the bridge to sacrifice himself and his readers for the sake of preserving the American dream in the worthiness of the novel the inflated jargon perpetrates a kind of double fraud the reward is not proportional to the effort I am afraid you should burn all of his books and run for your lives make up for the time you have lost do something worthwhile donate for a worthy cause Archimboldi has taken from you something that you can’t get back velocity and vividness replaces deployment people flicker in and out unifying vignettes irreverent brashness detestation and elimination the tired ritual of mock-worship my own lack of vision this weird delusion that everything around me exists specifically for me I am keeping the world turning it is not a lack of motivation it is lacking the proper tool there are so many things that my blindness has erased I want to be devastated I am losing the ability to believe in politics losing my ability to believe in religion I doubt that I even believe in you you are an disembodied voice at the end of a phone line a two dimensional image on a website give me a second glance a third and a fourth as your mother pushes me out the door pushing me into the dendrites they entangle me with their metallic mysteries there are too many lies swirling around my head I don't believe anyone any more everyone has a game they are all trying to sell me something about the hopeless enmeshment of the logos we are trapped in our make-believe worlds no has a map to lead us out this world