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I swear I could stare at the Unjustice League page for hours, especially if some hallucinigens happened to make themselves available. And "The Spar-Strangled Shroud" am ugly piece of unpoetry if there ever was. Zibarro's first line in Eight, "Not these. They'll wonder around Bizarrotropolis indulging in the usual aimless, meaningless non-activity that they love...at least until the All-Night" - totally sparked me up, reminding me of Theodore Roethke's poem Dolor, particularly:
Desolation in immaculate public places,
Lonely reception room, lavatory, switchboard,
The unalterable pathos of basin and pitcher,
Ritual of multigraph, paper-clip, comma,
Endless duplication of lives and objects.
...other than the word "immaculate," unless that's purely in the Bizarro sense of the word, of course. GM & FQ's micro-terrain of Bizarro-Home, I have to agree with you, Falke. They all have that unsettling dreamworld drip-drop ambience to them, the weird balance (all the fine detail of the landscape mashing up against the empty-but-doom-red sky by Jamie) and a peculiar incompleteness. They'd never be able to function after the story ends, they have to end, they're always very transitory un-spaces... |
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