The crazed but controlled outpourings of a man on the verge of darkness in his career, in his love live, in his creativity and philosophical grounding, this text nonetheless holds up a candle to the postmodern/postctructuralist orthodoxy and both are found guilty of reducto ad absurdum. The howl of the will is distinctly heard, rendered, and often felt emanating out through the cracks of his apparent coded aphorisms. The references to Death of the author, bug-chasing and hyperlinking are interestingly dated. In short this is a difficult book given to short bursts to make it both easier on the reader and impossible to find a point on which to stand when it comes to interpretation. Unless you have an acquaintance with Schopenhauer. Good luck with this one. It's lucky I wrote a sequel to explain its motivations and randomly coded super proto hyperscript. Hey ho Kerching.
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