Morad

John Berryman, from His Toy, His Dream, His Rest (1968).

29.09.2025 09:12 — 👍 4    🔁 0    💬 0    📌 0

Thomas Pynchon knew.

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He never defines it outright; the details do the speaking. By the end, you still can’t pin power down in words, but you feel it: the compulsion, the ceaseless climb upward. It isn’t power itself that corrupts; it’s what comes with it: the fear of losing it, of sliding all the way back down.

27.09.2025 10:34 — 👍 3    🔁 0    💬 0    📌 0

The best book I’ve read this year. Structurally, it sets the standard every historian should aspire to. Out of his glut of detail, Caro doesn’t just recount Robert Moses’s rise and fall; he shows what power is and, more importantly, why it grips people.

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Nick Flynn, from Some Ether (2000).

27.09.2025 08:18 — 👍 3    🔁 0    💬 0    📌 0

Started the day with Pynchon’s Vineland, ended with Weir’s The Mosquito Coast. Both circle the same truth: you can flee, you can dream up Eden, but the rot comes with you. Read one, watched the other. Now left with the rotten knowledge that every escape builds another trap. That trap is man.

26.09.2025 19:51 — 👍 4    🔁 0    💬 0    📌 0

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