evokes this gorgeous reflective celestial feeling that is so vast yet so personal and vry romanticist—reminds me of Rilke at times. at the same time, its center is taken up by the dissonance of: sublime moments of beauty in the world happening alongside all the daily global violences that make it run. i will say that (like so many of my favorite artists) his writing almost turns cloying quite often (or if not cloying, then repetitive) with these constant invocations of “the stars”, “the heart”, and “the snipers in Kosovo”. my harshest critique is that such political allusions can feel forced, exploitative, or so Normal American Guy-centric (becomes difficult to compartmentalize for me sometimes)… but some self-awareness therein is captured and explored thru the irony+satire of the book's second section.
nonetheless, the book’s highest points rly rly hit my deepest heart strings tho… !