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Amygdalatropolis
/1404er/, il protagonista di Amygdalatropolis, abita un mondo digitale ermetico popolato da altre entità senza forma che condividono con lui lo stesso nome. Le sue interazioni ruotano esclusivamente attorno alla condivisione e alla discussione (e a volte alla creazione) dei contenuti più volgari, violenti, ripugnanti e indifendibili che si trovano nelle zone d’ombra extra-legali del cosiddetto «dark web». Comunicando tramite una nube tossica di acronimi e gergo, la tribù dei /1404er/ condivide con cinismo e distacco glaciale le storie e le immagini più sconvolgenti. Nel frattempo, la «vita reale» si disintegra dietro la porta perennemente chiusa a chiave della cameretta. Gli orrori del dark web, la malattia mentale, l’alienazione, l’isteria di massa e il loro nutrirsi a vicenda sono qui condensati nel ritratto di un sedicenne che si ritira in un mondo estremo e nichilista, in quel lato oscuro di Internet in cui migliaia di giovanissimi, soprattutto americani, si perdono ogni giorno. L’anti-romanzo di Yeager è un’opera di narrativa sperimentale in cui minimalismo americano, gergo di Internet e una prosa-poesia visionaria si alternano con un effetto ipnotico.
184 pages, Paperback
First published January 17, 2017
103 people are currently reading
12233 people want to read
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 511 reviews
February 29, 2024
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From the first two pages of the introduction I knew this book would only make my existential crisis that much more horrific, so I gave it a little space before starting it.
It is by far the best book I have read all year. I felt myself looking at a horrific extrapolation of the teenager I was, crossed with an alarmingly accurate portrait of someone very dear to me who was depraved and corrupted by imageboards, TOR, etc. and is now in prison for sex crimes. Much like any abusive parent, I love 4chan and still visit it from time to time in spite of its horrific reputation--but AMYGDALATROPOLIS should be required reading for anyone browsing the site.
It is about the corruption of the soul and how that corruption leads to transcendence or doom or both; about time measured not by the clock or the calendar but by the post number; it is about the horrific scourge of house centipedes (lol, not really, but really) and isolation and alienation and helplessness and what I recently heard called "the bondage of the will," which to me perfectly describes the paradox of free will vs. determinism. They are not mutually exclusive. Time is complete and yet we are within it, and yet we are not and never have been.
This has to be my longest review on Goodreads to date. I only post 5 star reviews on Goodreads for living authors because if a book isn't 5 stars I don't want to hurt anyone's feelings and so I just won't review it, but when I go out of my way to write this much about a book, you know for sure that I mean every one of those 5 stars and more. I sincerely doubt there will never be a better book about the Internet and what it has done to us, or a better book about the absolute horror of existing as a human being with the capacity to experience everything other humans are capable of.
From the first two pages of the introduction I knew this book would only make my existential crisis that much more horrific, so I gave it a little space before starting it.
It is by far the best book I have read all year. I felt myself looking at a horrific extrapolation of the teenager I was, crossed with an alarmingly accurate portrait of someone very dear to me who was depraved and corrupted by imageboards, TOR, etc. and is now in prison for sex crimes. Much like any abusive parent, I love 4chan and still visit it from time to time in spite of its horrific reputation--but AMYGDALATROPOLIS should be required reading for anyone browsing the site.
It is about the corruption of the soul and how that corruption leads to transcendence or doom or both; about time measured not by the clock or the calendar but by the post number; it is about the horrific scourge of house centipedes (lol, not really, but really) and isolation and alienation and helplessness and what I recently heard called "the bondage of the will," which to me perfectly describes the paradox of free will vs. determinism. They are not mutually exclusive. Time is complete and yet we are within it, and yet we are not and never have been.
This has to be my longest review on Goodreads to date. I only post 5 star reviews on Goodreads for living authors because if a book isn't 5 stars I don't want to hurt anyone's feelings and so I just won't review it, but when I go out of my way to write this much about a book, you know for sure that I mean every one of those 5 stars and more. I sincerely doubt there will never be a better book about the Internet and what it has done to us, or a better book about the absolute horror of existing as a human being with the capacity to experience everything other humans are capable of.
December 1, 2025
Few books depict and dissect the modern world's pathologies as accurately as this one does. Dark Web horrors, mental illness, alienation, mass hysteria and the way they feed off each other, all condensed in the portrait of a 16 year old hikikomori retreating into a world of extreme pornography, psychopathy, illegal boards and total nihilism, until the real world - including himself - cease to exist.
Yeager's anti-novel is a brilliant work of experimental fiction in which American minimalism, web jargon and visionary prose-poetry alternate with an almost hypnotic effect. The narration takes place on three parallel levels, or layers of consciousness, made discernible by different fonts and layouts (the boards' threads; the protagonist's actual life, or what remains of it; the beautifully obscure dreamscapes and stream-of-consciousness flashbacks).
The realism of the online dialogues is impressive. The author even manages to reproduce the typical non-English speaker's misspellings and improper syntax.
A masterpiece.
Yeager's anti-novel is a brilliant work of experimental fiction in which American minimalism, web jargon and visionary prose-poetry alternate with an almost hypnotic effect. The narration takes place on three parallel levels, or layers of consciousness, made discernible by different fonts and layouts (the boards' threads; the protagonist's actual life, or what remains of it; the beautifully obscure dreamscapes and stream-of-consciousness flashbacks).
The realism of the online dialogues is impressive. The author even manages to reproduce the typical non-English speaker's misspellings and improper syntax.
A masterpiece.
May 11, 2025
What renders this novel about a radicalized incel hikikomori so captivating is that Yeager finds an experimental form to investigate his consciousness: Neuroplasticity means that the brain changes due to experience, and the brain we encounter here is fully overtaken by years of staying in the same room while consuming 8chan message boards full of hate, trolling, shitposting, as well as videos of murder, torture, rape etc. pp. The amygdala in our brain processes memory, decision-making, and emotional responses, and the text reflects how all of these areas become warped, the mind becomes an isolated void separated from reality. The reading experience is intense.
So please don't be disencouraged by the introduction written by Georges Bataille-specialist Edia Connole, which is unnecessarily complicated and way too meta, IMHO: The text itself is easy to follow. The protagonist is only referred to as /1404er/, his forum name, indicating his progressing dehumanization both regarding his flight from the real world and his moral attitudes. /1404er/ spends his days in his bedroom, and we meet him in a state where he merely responds to extreme stimuli provided by the darkest of the dark rabbit holes. His mother puts food and packages he ordered in from of his door, he never goes out. He has also developed a revulsion against human bodies, preferring everything digital and plastic. The novel shows his further descent into madness, with a mistrained brain that more and more hinders him to function as a normal human being. /1404er/ gets lost in a dark digital void that might swallow him completely.
Why does he want to disappear there? Why aren't his parents staging a serious intervention? These question lead to further unease, which is heightened by passages in which /1404er/ is unable to distinguish between dream, reality, and mental malfunction (and we as readers also don't know what actually happened). The novel consists of three forms of texts which are presented in a montage style: We have a linear narrative that drives the plot; we have message board entries that illustrate extreme hate cultures driven by nihilism, cruelty, and edgelord-y satire; and we have William S. Burroughs-style hallucinatory passages full of allusive, lyrical labyrinths of disorienting dream states (think his heroin smasher Naked Lunch - and /1404er/ is clearly addicted to the digital abyss as his numbing elixir of choice).
Sure, one might initially compare this to the ultimate message board novel, The Sluts (which I LOVE), but while Dennis Cooper ponders the internet as a narration machine, fictionalizing reality in the most twisted ways, B.R. Yeager creates horror by focusing on how the web's darkest corners de-humanize consumers, physically altering their brains - message boards as self-harm, if not self-annihilation.
I was intrigued by this daring text, it's highly unsettling and provides a new angle to the internet radicalization debate.
So please don't be disencouraged by the introduction written by Georges Bataille-specialist Edia Connole, which is unnecessarily complicated and way too meta, IMHO: The text itself is easy to follow. The protagonist is only referred to as /1404er/, his forum name, indicating his progressing dehumanization both regarding his flight from the real world and his moral attitudes. /1404er/ spends his days in his bedroom, and we meet him in a state where he merely responds to extreme stimuli provided by the darkest of the dark rabbit holes. His mother puts food and packages he ordered in from of his door, he never goes out. He has also developed a revulsion against human bodies, preferring everything digital and plastic. The novel shows his further descent into madness, with a mistrained brain that more and more hinders him to function as a normal human being. /1404er/ gets lost in a dark digital void that might swallow him completely.
Why does he want to disappear there? Why aren't his parents staging a serious intervention? These question lead to further unease, which is heightened by passages in which /1404er/ is unable to distinguish between dream, reality, and mental malfunction (and we as readers also don't know what actually happened). The novel consists of three forms of texts which are presented in a montage style: We have a linear narrative that drives the plot; we have message board entries that illustrate extreme hate cultures driven by nihilism, cruelty, and edgelord-y satire; and we have William S. Burroughs-style hallucinatory passages full of allusive, lyrical labyrinths of disorienting dream states (think his heroin smasher Naked Lunch - and /1404er/ is clearly addicted to the digital abyss as his numbing elixir of choice).
Sure, one might initially compare this to the ultimate message board novel, The Sluts (which I LOVE), but while Dennis Cooper ponders the internet as a narration machine, fictionalizing reality in the most twisted ways, B.R. Yeager creates horror by focusing on how the web's darkest corners de-humanize consumers, physically altering their brains - message boards as self-harm, if not self-annihilation.
I was intrigued by this daring text, it's highly unsettling and provides a new angle to the internet radicalization debate.
May 7, 2025
Ho bisogno di rifarmi una doccia, adesso.
January 10, 2025
I came for the marvellous titular neologism, I remained for the demented descent into a 4Chan mindfuck, a screed of trolling edgelord forum posts, fragmented prose-poems, and tragic dispatches from beyond the protagonist’s bedroom door. The forum vomit is the closest thing to an accurate glimpse into Elon Musk’s mind I have read in literary form—a churning moral sewer of horrorporn and tired shitposting—while the novel itself is a captivating drop into the bowels of online radicalisation.
December 29, 2019
most honest account of chan culture i've ever read. loved the structure. read the whole thing in one sitting! more of a 4.5, would definitely recommend
November 27, 2017
Amygdalatropolis starts off with an introduction into the philosophy of modern nihilism by Edia Connole. The fact that a thirty-page academic buffer was deemed necessary before getting into Yeager's story might give you some indication of what we're dealing with here.
Our protagonist is identified only as /1404er/, a member of a deep web forum of the same name, where all the members share this same handle. /1404er/ is a teenage boy who has withdrawn from the outside world into a cyber existence that leaves his dick shriveled and his poor mum beside herself with worry. It is a cautionary tale for our time, I suppose. Whether that's what Yeager's intent was, I can't say.
Amygdalatropolis is a difficult read yet impossible to put down. It's a fucking car crash, man. /1404er/ spends his time in a world of snuff films, live suicides, child rape, and every other kind of sensational horror humans could conceive of and conceive of posting online. Everyone is fascinated with the morbid possibilities presented by the deep infiltration of computer technology into our lives and this book is a nauseous meditation on the same. Sick indulgence that was once the domain of academics quietly passing around stills from the rape of Nanking is now accessible to any kid with a computer. I guess the $40,000 question is what all this says about the state of the human animal. Does the anonymity and availability provided by the internet encourage the worst in our natures, or is just a very clean window?
I found this read to be an informative exercise. And actually, the academic introduction put me in the proper frame of mind. The discussion on this subject could be endless, but my takeaway was one solid kernel of knowledge. Connole brings up the idea of God through negation. Nihilism is negation and the idea is proposed that the rejection (or destruction) of what we are (humanity) is the only way to truly address a higher power, a power that is truly beyond human comprehension. (This is just my interpretation of a philosophical point that Connole sites, mind you.) I think this can be spun in a quite positive way. The key to finding a better path in life perhaps lies in the rejection of that which is wrong, or evil, if you will. Simple, but not easy. I suppose the first step in rejecting that which is evil, would be identifying it.
Yeager and Schism do a fine job in presenting an interesting think piece. She's really put together. If you will. And the writing is good. Yeager should be commending for accomplishing the difficult task of making a loathsome character /1404er/ almost relatable. This shit has my rickety hamster wheel turning, anyway!
Our protagonist is identified only as /1404er/, a member of a deep web forum of the same name, where all the members share this same handle. /1404er/ is a teenage boy who has withdrawn from the outside world into a cyber existence that leaves his dick shriveled and his poor mum beside herself with worry. It is a cautionary tale for our time, I suppose. Whether that's what Yeager's intent was, I can't say.
Amygdalatropolis is a difficult read yet impossible to put down. It's a fucking car crash, man. /1404er/ spends his time in a world of snuff films, live suicides, child rape, and every other kind of sensational horror humans could conceive of and conceive of posting online. Everyone is fascinated with the morbid possibilities presented by the deep infiltration of computer technology into our lives and this book is a nauseous meditation on the same. Sick indulgence that was once the domain of academics quietly passing around stills from the rape of Nanking is now accessible to any kid with a computer. I guess the $40,000 question is what all this says about the state of the human animal. Does the anonymity and availability provided by the internet encourage the worst in our natures, or is just a very clean window?
I found this read to be an informative exercise. And actually, the academic introduction put me in the proper frame of mind. The discussion on this subject could be endless, but my takeaway was one solid kernel of knowledge. Connole brings up the idea of God through negation. Nihilism is negation and the idea is proposed that the rejection (or destruction) of what we are (humanity) is the only way to truly address a higher power, a power that is truly beyond human comprehension. (This is just my interpretation of a philosophical point that Connole sites, mind you.) I think this can be spun in a quite positive way. The key to finding a better path in life perhaps lies in the rejection of that which is wrong, or evil, if you will. Simple, but not easy. I suppose the first step in rejecting that which is evil, would be identifying it.
Yeager and Schism do a fine job in presenting an interesting think piece. She's really put together. If you will. And the writing is good. Yeager should be commending for accomplishing the difficult task of making a loathsome character /1404er/ almost relatable. This shit has my rickety hamster wheel turning, anyway!
October 16, 2025
2.5 stelle ☆
Purtroppo questo libro per me finisce direttamente nella categoria "ottima idea, pessima esecuzione". Lo stile è intrigante, ma le uniche parti della trama che ho trovato interessanti erano quelle sul forum.
Poi, su un libro di 141 pagine (di Kobo), 26 pagine di postfazione mi sembrano decisamente esagerate; e, soprattutto, a fine lettura non vi ero assolutamente interessata.
Purtroppo questo libro per me finisce direttamente nella categoria "ottima idea, pessima esecuzione". Lo stile è intrigante, ma le uniche parti della trama che ho trovato interessanti erano quelle sul forum.
Poi, su un libro di 141 pagine (di Kobo), 26 pagine di postfazione mi sembrano decisamente esagerate; e, soprattutto, a fine lettura non vi ero assolutamente interessata.
July 27, 2019
Absolutely, 100%, the most interesting (to me) text I've read, so far, this year. There's a fascinating introduction by Edia Connole, that I felt may have worked better as an afterword. I say this because it alludes to a smattering of passages in the text, that sort of explain (in greater detail) what might have actually been happening; very academic-like, which, to me, reading the "intro" prior to getting to the actual story, sort of distracted. It was as if I was juggling a masterful intro with this brilliant story about a lonely man-boy, but couldn't think straight because I kept wanting to not forget the particular passages highlighted by Connole. Anyway, I digress.
There's three beautiful things that happen, all throughout: the narrative, that sort of happens in real-time and is as-is; this quasi-poetic stuff that speaks in the abstract and depicts all sorts of phantasmagorical wicked craziness (this is always written in italics, so you'll know); and then there are the forum/BBS/website posts, about random things all these Dark Web Internet people like to talk about. Think: beheading videos, suicides videos, dead body pictures, erotic and violent cartoons, etc. Pretty much, all the stuff people loved to try and find in the hidden corners of the Internet during the late 90s and all throughout the 00s (Rotten.com, anyone)? All the topics covered in this text are interesting as fuck. If you obsess about reading random Wikipedia articles on anything--this book is for you! There's a ton to do with the Dark Web, but like, not the "cool" and "slick" and "glossy" Dark Web you see on shows like Law & Order but the downright disgusting and ugly and real Dark Web. (There's even links in the book--I don't know if any of them are real; I don't know how to Dark Web...).
And then there's one of the most beautiful endings to a book, that I have ever read. I am still trying to process it all. The way Yeager describes and uses colours--out of this world. The prose, at times, was like a mix of Cormac McCarthy & F Scott Fitzgerald but at their most cool. I loved the free-form look of the book (like, literally, it takes on its own layout inside, and it keeps changing with each page, in a way that is 100% linked to the story). I enjoy reading texts like this, with fucked-looking covers and then an interesting and very unique story that could have only been written by the person who wrote it. The love and passion is there. So much of it it basically adds to the weight of the book.
This is a page-turner. Like, if you aren't sure but have heard about this book, now you can be sure. I read it. I enjoyed it. I read it pretty quickly, too (only because I wanted to keep reading, not because I was rushing). I will be re-reading again, sometime soon ...with a highlighter and pencil/pen.
Also, whenever I do my five-year purge of books I donate to other people and places, because I want to "share" my books--THIS one, I think, is going to remain in the permanent collection. Yeah.
There's three beautiful things that happen, all throughout: the narrative, that sort of happens in real-time and is as-is; this quasi-poetic stuff that speaks in the abstract and depicts all sorts of phantasmagorical wicked craziness (this is always written in italics, so you'll know); and then there are the forum/BBS/website posts, about random things all these Dark Web Internet people like to talk about. Think: beheading videos, suicides videos, dead body pictures, erotic and violent cartoons, etc. Pretty much, all the stuff people loved to try and find in the hidden corners of the Internet during the late 90s and all throughout the 00s (Rotten.com, anyone)? All the topics covered in this text are interesting as fuck. If you obsess about reading random Wikipedia articles on anything--this book is for you! There's a ton to do with the Dark Web, but like, not the "cool" and "slick" and "glossy" Dark Web you see on shows like Law & Order but the downright disgusting and ugly and real Dark Web. (There's even links in the book--I don't know if any of them are real; I don't know how to Dark Web...).
And then there's one of the most beautiful endings to a book, that I have ever read. I am still trying to process it all. The way Yeager describes and uses colours--out of this world. The prose, at times, was like a mix of Cormac McCarthy & F Scott Fitzgerald but at their most cool. I loved the free-form look of the book (like, literally, it takes on its own layout inside, and it keeps changing with each page, in a way that is 100% linked to the story). I enjoy reading texts like this, with fucked-looking covers and then an interesting and very unique story that could have only been written by the person who wrote it. The love and passion is there. So much of it it basically adds to the weight of the book.
This is a page-turner. Like, if you aren't sure but have heard about this book, now you can be sure. I read it. I enjoyed it. I read it pretty quickly, too (only because I wanted to keep reading, not because I was rushing). I will be re-reading again, sometime soon ...with a highlighter and pencil/pen.
Also, whenever I do my five-year purge of books I donate to other people and places, because I want to "share" my books--THIS one, I think, is going to remain in the permanent collection. Yeah.
March 1, 2023
Read this with my 4th graders in class this week and they loved it, highly recommend for any other elementary or middle school teacher out there!
January 9, 2023
the foreword was really really reaching and annoyed me before i even got to the actual book, constantly bringing up some other dude and the parallels but i don’t ….know why…..he’s even being brought up to begin with tying stuff to religious imagery for some reason? i found it pretentious
but for the actual story i just didn’t get like…..anything out of this, maybe it’s cause i’ve personally watched 4chan turn from harmless pedobear memes and longcat, lucky star, and k-on! gifs to a bunch of annoying political garbage being spouted over and over, i can realize this place sucks now and trying to be put into the shoes of this privileged dipshit was just really annoying to me, i just didn’t care about anything that happened and was waiting for someone to beat this guy over the head with a rock
there’s one part that comes out of nowhere and leaves just as quickly and i don’t know what i was supposed to even begin to get from, and the end felt vaguely emotionally manipulative?
it’s not all bad it’s a good idea just the execution was extremely irritating, i did laugh out loud at the numerous raids copypasta use and the author def knows what they’re talking about, but so much delves into psychobabble jargon and these vague visions that i don’t know what i’m supposed to be connecting to that i just started skimming a lot
idk wanted to like it a lot more than i did but nah this mostly just reminded me how much i hate people like this, it was a lot to basically say “touch grass”
but for the actual story i just didn’t get like…..anything out of this, maybe it’s cause i’ve personally watched 4chan turn from harmless pedobear memes and longcat, lucky star, and k-on! gifs to a bunch of annoying political garbage being spouted over and over, i can realize this place sucks now and trying to be put into the shoes of this privileged dipshit was just really annoying to me, i just didn’t care about anything that happened and was waiting for someone to beat this guy over the head with a rock
there’s one part that comes out of nowhere and leaves just as quickly and i don’t know what i was supposed to even begin to get from, and the end felt vaguely emotionally manipulative?
it’s not all bad it’s a good idea just the execution was extremely irritating, i did laugh out loud at the numerous raids copypasta use and the author def knows what they’re talking about, but so much delves into psychobabble jargon and these vague visions that i don’t know what i’m supposed to be connecting to that i just started skimming a lot
idk wanted to like it a lot more than i did but nah this mostly just reminded me how much i hate people like this, it was a lot to basically say “touch grass”
May 18, 2021
Another wild one. The content is about as extreme as it can get but the work is built in such a way that the reading flies past. Excellent transgressive literature, throwing some light on a part of the internet culture I don’t understand and through that a part of human nature I don’t understand. Reminded me in parts of Dennis Cooper’s The Sluts which I loved, but this work by Yeager doesn’t bother with the magic trick of unreliable posters, every user is just nobody and through being nobody they are everybody. Here it’s just, stare into the abyss and the abyss stares back. There’s little hope in this work but that’s a relief for once. Feels free of everything.
July 22, 2021
I enjoyed his ‘Negative Space’ so decided to give this one a try. From page one 'Amydalatropolis' set off at lightning speed in a strange direction, seemingly not caring whether or not I was following. I really have difficulty with books that choose to throw you in rather than ease you in to unusual worlds. Unfortunately, I never really got into it. Pity!
February 1, 2021
Gratuitous hyper-real snuff poetry? Exquisite and disorienting death meditation? Both? Probably it's both. In any case, think this is the first book I've finished in 12 hours since my youthful Harry Potter binges, though this one's short, blissfully. I felt a kinship with the adrenaline-addicted, agoraphobic protagonist, being as I was only able to emerge from my room to re-up on stimulants until I finished. I began reading with a kind resentful/shameful, can't look away from the crash feeling, but finished it feeling like maybe the horror hadn't been so cheap, that maybe there could be a door at the bottom of the an-hedonic spiral into that expansive and permeating field of nothingness described by so many mystical traditions. I'll practice the narrow good-faith of the story's depraved boarders and abstain from passing judgement on our protagonist's trajectory towards dissolution, as this seems really not to be the point, and just say that this feels like an extremely potent idea.
May 4, 2024
nietzche meets batailles meets 4chan incel forums
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July 23, 2025Quanto sono mostro, io?
Mi è parso spesso che il protagonista di questo romanzo, nascosto anche lui dietro un nickname, fosse una versione possibile di me, una che ho schivato per puro caso soltanto – un me altro da cui differisco solo per la fatalità di qualche click sul trackpad del mio portatile.
Sarebbe bastato soltanto premere sul link sbagliato e non fuggire via. Attendere un poco in quel sottobosco, respirarne l’aria diversa e accettare un altro sfogo per la rabbia.
Se non è stato così, se la mostrificazione completa non si è compiuta, è perché mi sono dato in pasto al dolore. Perché ho cercato distrazione nel mio corpo e nella mia carne; contro il mio corpo, contro la mia carne. È perché ho reso l’incomunicabilità silenzio, e la furia autolesionismo, e la fragilità muraglia, e la disperazione isolamento. Mi sono chiuso in camera, ho ceduto la mia vita a degli alter ego e ho accolto le visitazioni inquiete degli spettri dell’insonnia – fuori dalla mansarda, una maschera, la solita da anni, mi si è inchiodata sulle tempie, la fronte e il mento.
Mi sono ridotto a schegge. A trent’anni e un po’ ho capito che non c’è più alcun rimedio, che la convinzione di poter fermare tutto, un giorno, e scendere dal treno in corsa era un’idea stupida. Non c’è alcun treno, non ci sono stazioni. Tutto è solo un lento precipitare: quante volte ho pregato solo per il fondo, per lo sfracellamento conclusivo. Perché non c’è salvezza, né panacea.
Non si può più ricostruire.
Resterò per sempre il frutto bacato di quell’adolescenza. Il burattino taciturno riverso in un angolo, pronto ad animarmi di movimenti sincopati non appena mi si rivolge la parola, ma altrimenti distante e svuotato. Poco più che un sacchetto addobbato di un'espressione stronza sul viso: lo sconosciuto che divide la tavola con mio padre, il neonato della culla sbagliata.
In sorte ho solo l’estraneità: legato dal sangue non dalla famigliarità. Destinato ad essere un cadavere ritrovato dopo giorni per la segnalazione di un cattivo odore da parte di un vicino di casa. Non so dire l'amore, non so dirmi nell'amore. Sarò sempre un solitario, lo sarò persino con orgoglio.
“Vivo” per il lavoro e l’illusione d’essere un ingranaggio che funziona, dimentico d'esserlo in una trappola che toglie il tempo. In perpetua ricerca di consolazione di carta, perché quella di carne, sia anche solo un abbraccio, mi ferisce. Che se non si toccano le farfalle per non spezzare loro le ali, a me da spezzare non resta più niente e ogni contatto mi infuoca le sinapsi.
Sai cosa mi ferisce, davvero? Il non aver avuto colpe. Che colpa potrebbe poi mai avere un bambino? Mi sono inferto tutto questo perché non volevo disturbare, non volevo creare agli altri scomodità. Mi sono tolto di mezzo da solo, per non arrecare fastidio.
Mi sono mutilato per stare nella scatola, e ora questa sarà la mia bara.
Ero un bel bambino, sai? Curioso, sorridente. Ero sensibile. Adesso di questo non mi resta più niente: solo un dolore sordo come colonna sonora e un paio di battute già abusate, ammanettato a un corpo che avverto come una carcassa.
Che gran colpa la sensibilità, no?
Libro letto nel momento sbagliato, ma ammetto d’essermelo andato a cercare.
Ti rovescia addosso uno strato di lordura. Ti fa sentire immondo.
Mi è parso spesso che il protagonista di questo romanzo, nascosto anche lui dietro un nickname, fosse una versione possibile di me, una che ho schivato per puro caso soltanto – un me altro da cui differisco solo per la fatalità di qualche click sul trackpad del mio portatile.
Sarebbe bastato soltanto premere sul link sbagliato e non fuggire via. Attendere un poco in quel sottobosco, respirarne l’aria diversa e accettare un altro sfogo per la rabbia.
Se non è stato così, se la mostrificazione completa non si è compiuta, è perché mi sono dato in pasto al dolore. Perché ho cercato distrazione nel mio corpo e nella mia carne; contro il mio corpo, contro la mia carne. È perché ho reso l’incomunicabilità silenzio, e la furia autolesionismo, e la fragilità muraglia, e la disperazione isolamento. Mi sono chiuso in camera, ho ceduto la mia vita a degli alter ego e ho accolto le visitazioni inquiete degli spettri dell’insonnia – fuori dalla mansarda, una maschera, la solita da anni, mi si è inchiodata sulle tempie, la fronte e il mento.
Mi sono ridotto a schegge. A trent’anni e un po’ ho capito che non c’è più alcun rimedio, che la convinzione di poter fermare tutto, un giorno, e scendere dal treno in corsa era un’idea stupida. Non c’è alcun treno, non ci sono stazioni. Tutto è solo un lento precipitare: quante volte ho pregato solo per il fondo, per lo sfracellamento conclusivo. Perché non c’è salvezza, né panacea.
Non si può più ricostruire.
Resterò per sempre il frutto bacato di quell’adolescenza. Il burattino taciturno riverso in un angolo, pronto ad animarmi di movimenti sincopati non appena mi si rivolge la parola, ma altrimenti distante e svuotato. Poco più che un sacchetto addobbato di un'espressione stronza sul viso: lo sconosciuto che divide la tavola con mio padre, il neonato della culla sbagliata.
In sorte ho solo l’estraneità: legato dal sangue non dalla famigliarità. Destinato ad essere un cadavere ritrovato dopo giorni per la segnalazione di un cattivo odore da parte di un vicino di casa. Non so dire l'amore, non so dirmi nell'amore. Sarò sempre un solitario, lo sarò persino con orgoglio.
“Vivo” per il lavoro e l’illusione d’essere un ingranaggio che funziona, dimentico d'esserlo in una trappola che toglie il tempo. In perpetua ricerca di consolazione di carta, perché quella di carne, sia anche solo un abbraccio, mi ferisce. Che se non si toccano le farfalle per non spezzare loro le ali, a me da spezzare non resta più niente e ogni contatto mi infuoca le sinapsi.
Sai cosa mi ferisce, davvero? Il non aver avuto colpe. Che colpa potrebbe poi mai avere un bambino? Mi sono inferto tutto questo perché non volevo disturbare, non volevo creare agli altri scomodità. Mi sono tolto di mezzo da solo, per non arrecare fastidio.
Mi sono mutilato per stare nella scatola, e ora questa sarà la mia bara.
Ero un bel bambino, sai? Curioso, sorridente. Ero sensibile. Adesso di questo non mi resta più niente: solo un dolore sordo come colonna sonora e un paio di battute già abusate, ammanettato a un corpo che avverto come una carcassa.
Che gran colpa la sensibilità, no?
Libro letto nel momento sbagliato, ma ammetto d’essermelo andato a cercare.
Ti rovescia addosso uno strato di lordura. Ti fa sentire immondo.
June 8, 2025
UN VIAGGIO SPIRITUALE
L’auto-superamento del nichilismo.
Amygdalatropolis è volutamente la creazione di un eccesso, un eccesso che intrattiene una relazione molto particolare con il nulla e dunque, più nello specifico, una autoconsapevolezza del punto di vista del nulla assoluto.
Il male appare come una fonte di vita!
Il dolore è così raro che dobbiamo ricorrere all’arte per non restarne senza. Non potremmo sopportarlo quando ci colpisce se ci sorprendesse completamente, non essendoci familiare. E soprattutto dobbiamo avere una conoscenza del nulla che è rivelata soltanto nel dolore. Le più comuni operazioni della vita ci vogliono chini sull’abisso. Se l’abisso non si incontra nelle sofferenze che ci capitano, ne abbiamo di artificiali che ci procuriamo col leggere o con gli spettacoli o, se abbiamo la capacità di farlo, creandocele
Nello Zen, si mira al satori soltanto attraverso comiche sottigliezze. È la pura immanenza di un ritorno a sé. Al posto della trascendenza, l’estasi – nell’abisso più folle, più vuoto – rivela un’uguaglianza del reale a sé stesso, dell’oggetto assurdo al soggetto assurdo, del tempo-oggetto, che distrugge distruggendosi, al soggetto distrutto. Questa realtà in un certo senso uguale si colloca oltre la trascendenza ed è, credo, il possibile più avanzato.
Yeager ci spalanca l’abisso del nulla, a cui noi, a nostra volta, dobbiamo aprirci se vogliamo apprezzare pienamente il messaggio di questo testo che tenta di generare nella scrittura e nei lettori quella dissoluzione di soggetto e oggetto che è l’esperienza interiore.
Una parabola dei giorni nostri che trova riscontro in testi come " Il libro dell'esperienza " di Angela da Foligno e in quasi tutti i testi di Bataille.
Il paragone che fa alla fine.. dove la meditazione di Angela sulla sofferenza di Cristo si propone di esplorare a fondo i dettagli della tortura da lui subita, così che la sua sofferenza diventasse esperienza viva per lei , è il viaggio mistico di /1404er/ attraverso diverse board.
Utenti Attivi: 2986
Indice
►REGOLAMENTO (leggi prima di postare o vafffanculo)
►gente finita in galera: 60 (in aggiornamento)
►questo stronzo mi ha rubato la ragazza. rovinategli la vita
►red rooms?
►creepypasta o storie vere
►tira una moneta per decidere se mi ammazzo, il primo che risponde sceglie.
► devozione generale per Mussolini
L’auto-superamento del nichilismo.
Amygdalatropolis è volutamente la creazione di un eccesso, un eccesso che intrattiene una relazione molto particolare con il nulla e dunque, più nello specifico, una autoconsapevolezza del punto di vista del nulla assoluto.
Il male appare come una fonte di vita!
Il dolore è così raro che dobbiamo ricorrere all’arte per non restarne senza. Non potremmo sopportarlo quando ci colpisce se ci sorprendesse completamente, non essendoci familiare. E soprattutto dobbiamo avere una conoscenza del nulla che è rivelata soltanto nel dolore. Le più comuni operazioni della vita ci vogliono chini sull’abisso. Se l’abisso non si incontra nelle sofferenze che ci capitano, ne abbiamo di artificiali che ci procuriamo col leggere o con gli spettacoli o, se abbiamo la capacità di farlo, creandocele
Nello Zen, si mira al satori soltanto attraverso comiche sottigliezze. È la pura immanenza di un ritorno a sé. Al posto della trascendenza, l’estasi – nell’abisso più folle, più vuoto – rivela un’uguaglianza del reale a sé stesso, dell’oggetto assurdo al soggetto assurdo, del tempo-oggetto, che distrugge distruggendosi, al soggetto distrutto. Questa realtà in un certo senso uguale si colloca oltre la trascendenza ed è, credo, il possibile più avanzato.
Yeager ci spalanca l’abisso del nulla, a cui noi, a nostra volta, dobbiamo aprirci se vogliamo apprezzare pienamente il messaggio di questo testo che tenta di generare nella scrittura e nei lettori quella dissoluzione di soggetto e oggetto che è l’esperienza interiore.
Una parabola dei giorni nostri che trova riscontro in testi come " Il libro dell'esperienza " di Angela da Foligno e in quasi tutti i testi di Bataille.
Il paragone che fa alla fine.. dove la meditazione di Angela sulla sofferenza di Cristo si propone di esplorare a fondo i dettagli della tortura da lui subita, così che la sua sofferenza diventasse esperienza viva per lei , è il viaggio mistico di /1404er/ attraverso diverse board.
Utenti Attivi: 2986
Indice
►REGOLAMENTO (leggi prima di postare o vafffanculo)
►gente finita in galera: 60 (in aggiornamento)
►questo stronzo mi ha rubato la ragazza. rovinategli la vita
►red rooms?
►creepypasta o storie vere
►tira una moneta per decidere se mi ammazzo, il primo che risponde sceglie.
► devozione generale per Mussolini
June 16, 2025
Amygdalatropolis di B. R. Yeager non è un libro qualsiasi, ma è una discesa negli inferi più profondi... Terminata la lettura, mi è difficile scrollarmi di dosso la sensazione di schifo e sporco che sto provando, proprio per farvi capire quanto sia feroce e disturbante questo romanzo.
Yeager ha un modo di scrivere febbrile e allucinatorio, accentuato ancora di più dall'intelaiatura narrativa che ha le fattezze di un forum online e trasmette immediatezza.
Fulcro di questa rete inquietante è il protagonista /1404er/, una sorta di hikikomori, che sta rintanato nella sua stanza per partecipare attivamente ai thread della piattaforma dove ha luogo una spasmodica ricerca dei contenuti più perversi del dark web assieme ad altri utenti altrettanto depravati.
Fin da subito veniamo trascinati in una soffocante spirale di paranoia, odio, alienazione, dissolutezza e nichilismo puro. Non c'è scampo, né appigli morali: assistiamo a una lenta corrosione della realtà.
Per comprenderlo a fondo è assolutamente necessario leggere la postfazione a cura di Edia Connole. Senza questo supporto, la crudezza del contenuto e i dettagli macabri potrebbero risultare un mero voler sconvolgere il lettore fine a se stesso.
In realtà, Amygdalatropolis è molto più di questo: è una riflessione controversa sul degrado della contemporaneità sotto le mentite spoglie di un esperimento narrativo estremo.
Non sei tu a scegliere i tuoi genitori, non scegli i tuoi geni, non scegli l'ambiente in cui quei geni si esprimeranno, non sei tu ad assemblare le micro e macrostrutture del tuo cervello che decidono ogni azione conscia e inconscia che farai nei 2,5 miliardi di secondi della tua vita, non sei tu a scegliere i pensieri che pensi. Cosa ti fa credere che esista una qualche forma di libero arbitrio.
Potremmo considerare il titolo un avvertimento per la crasi tra amigdala — la regione del cervello che controlla paura e ansia — e metropolis, che dà l'idea di una città tentacolare, anche se in questo caso si sviluppa all'interno di un microcosmo virtuale. Un labirinto digitale in cui si aggirano lupi travestiti da agnelli a seminare un terrore dilagante.Yeager ha un modo di scrivere febbrile e allucinatorio, accentuato ancora di più dall'intelaiatura narrativa che ha le fattezze di un forum online e trasmette immediatezza.
Fulcro di questa rete inquietante è il protagonista /1404er/, una sorta di hikikomori, che sta rintanato nella sua stanza per partecipare attivamente ai thread della piattaforma dove ha luogo una spasmodica ricerca dei contenuti più perversi del dark web assieme ad altri utenti altrettanto depravati.
Fin da subito veniamo trascinati in una soffocante spirale di paranoia, odio, alienazione, dissolutezza e nichilismo puro. Non c'è scampo, né appigli morali: assistiamo a una lenta corrosione della realtà.
Per comprenderlo a fondo è assolutamente necessario leggere la postfazione a cura di Edia Connole. Senza questo supporto, la crudezza del contenuto e i dettagli macabri potrebbero risultare un mero voler sconvolgere il lettore fine a se stesso.
In realtà, Amygdalatropolis è molto più di questo: è una riflessione controversa sul degrado della contemporaneità sotto le mentite spoglie di un esperimento narrativo estremo.
June 18, 2023
quick read, interesting premise and presentation but ultimately i think im kinda just... whatever about? finished the book and was just like "yeah okay" with no further thought. accurate representation of hyper online 4chan doomer type mfs with all the general warnings that comes with that but it really truely honestly didnt do anything that shocked me at all. kinda went a little too nowhere and also sort of just generally confusing with how stuff is presented. interesting as a study but idk abt anyrhing else
February 6, 2020
A harrowing, brutal masterpiece -- feels like a new form of literature. Reaches a true rock bottom of the soul, then finds something oddly life-affirming on the far side.
June 7, 2021
"/140er/(Mon) 18:11:07 No. 1006861101: i've seen so many different pics and vids of what a shotgun directly to the head does, yet it still always blows my mind. Buh-dum-chh" (61).
January 2, 2022
In a similar way to Gary J. Shipley, Yeager is able to craft really lovely poetry out of the most grotesque violence and ugliness. Like his other incredible novel, Negative Space, B.R. creates are horrifying alternate reality that is made all the more frightening by how recognizable it is to our own.
November 2, 2024
If you were a teen in the internet wild west era or have ever strayed down a TOR/chan/board rabbithole, this'll be all-to-familiar and horrifying.
March 16, 2021
a pity party for ghosts
i love Yeager's writing. he writes dreadful themes with a lovely voice.
this particular novel is incredibly well done.
/1404er/, the main chap, is honestly one of the best character studies i've read in a while.
he doesn't know who he is, and he's terrified of what he perceives he is. his disgust. his shame. his urges.
the family drama underlying the brazen 4chan style entries is honestly.. pretty genius, and was (in my opinion) an accurate depiction of that side of internet culture.
somewhat abstract, but i actually really enjoy that.
would recommend!
i love Yeager's writing. he writes dreadful themes with a lovely voice.
this particular novel is incredibly well done.
/1404er/, the main chap, is honestly one of the best character studies i've read in a while.
he doesn't know who he is, and he's terrified of what he perceives he is. his disgust. his shame. his urges.
the family drama underlying the brazen 4chan style entries is honestly.. pretty genius, and was (in my opinion) an accurate depiction of that side of internet culture.
somewhat abstract, but i actually really enjoy that.
would recommend!
November 17, 2025
Leggere Amygdalatropolis è stato fin troppo reale, ho sentito sulla pelle il fastidio dei riflessi bluastri del Computer come unica fonte di luce. La storia segue /1404er/, un ragazzo che vive incollato a forum e imageboard carichi di violenza, pornografia e deliri anonimi di altri come lui il cui nome utente è sempre /1404er/. Si corre dietro alla perdita di identità del protagonista mentre come lui siamo bombardati dal flusso disturbante di thread, video e voci sovrapposte, dove l’anonimato diventa sia protezione sia dissoluzione. C’è un modo particolare in cui Yeager descrive il vuoto emotivo del protagonista: non come un trauma esplicito, ma come una stanchezza verso la vita che corrode tutto. Alcune pagine mi hanno fatto sentire quasi in colpa per essere spettatrice, come se stessi scorrendo qualcosa che non avrei dovuto vedere.
Non gli do il massimo perché a volte la sua stessa potenza lo rende pesante: ci sono passaggi così saturi di buio, di ripetizioni, di visioni sgranate, che ho dovuto fermarmi un attimo per respirare. Ma non lo considero un difetto assoluto: è una lettura che ti chiede molto e restituisce una sensazione rara, quella di aver guardato da vicino un fenomeno ( quello degli hikikomori, del deep web, degli incel, della deriva digitale) che non conosciamo così bene e personalmente questi tipi di argomenti mi affascinano (e insieme mi turbano). Per me questo basta a renderlo una lettura importante.
Non gli do il massimo perché a volte la sua stessa potenza lo rende pesante: ci sono passaggi così saturi di buio, di ripetizioni, di visioni sgranate, che ho dovuto fermarmi un attimo per respirare. Ma non lo considero un difetto assoluto: è una lettura che ti chiede molto e restituisce una sensazione rara, quella di aver guardato da vicino un fenomeno ( quello degli hikikomori, del deep web, degli incel, della deriva digitale) che non conosciamo così bene e personalmente questi tipi di argomenti mi affascinano (e insieme mi turbano). Per me questo basta a renderlo una lettura importante.
December 20, 2025
This book made me feel two things: an incredible sadness for the state of the human race, and a fear of ever allowing my children to use the internet.
The main character required extensive psychiatric help but was enabled to lead a decrepit and unhealthy existence. He consumed garbage food and trash entertainment, and his life became exactly that. It pains me to know that humans behave in the manner described in these pages.
According to the introduction, this book is philosophically brilliant. Not sure I'd agree.
It did achieve an admirable darkness, which I usually enjoy, but failed to impress me with any deep intrigue, enlightenment, or thrill.
The main character required extensive psychiatric help but was enabled to lead a decrepit and unhealthy existence. He consumed garbage food and trash entertainment, and his life became exactly that. It pains me to know that humans behave in the manner described in these pages.
According to the introduction, this book is philosophically brilliant. Not sure I'd agree.
It did achieve an admirable darkness, which I usually enjoy, but failed to impress me with any deep intrigue, enlightenment, or thrill.
February 16, 2022
An isolated atrocity that begets isolation. I had things I needed to do today, but I finished Amygdalatropolis this morning and now I don’t think I can bring myself to leaving the house, let alone my bed. A necessarily affective book, all glowing with synthetic light and aberrant; I hope people read this in a hundred years to observe the past state of those dwelling in the recesses.
If age allowed us a billion years, thick skins would grow over our orifices and our hands would dissolve into stumps. Our blood would shrink so thin as to fall from our pores unbridled. We would grow from pools and breathe fluid through our conjunctiva. The next species may hover, making better use of the air than we could’ve possibly conceived.
If age allowed us a billion years, thick skins would grow over our orifices and our hands would dissolve into stumps. Our blood would shrink so thin as to fall from our pores unbridled. We would grow from pools and breathe fluid through our conjunctiva. The next species may hover, making better use of the air than we could’ve possibly conceived.
September 8, 2022
Gosh how I wanted to enjoy this book, but alas, i did not.
The writing style is bizarre and there’s a lot of random and meaningless filler paragraphs that add absolutely nothing of value to the “story” (if you can even call it such).
I mean, yes, the language and terminology used is very accurate to that of 4chan and kiwi farms chatter, but that’s the only “good” part.
The rest is bleak, and any time you think something might actually happen? It doesn’t.
I REALLY wanted to enjoy this, and reading the other reviews people seemed to really love it and there’s a lot of praise, but sorry, I can’t recommend such a boring, pointless and nihilistic piece of literature.
The writing style is bizarre and there’s a lot of random and meaningless filler paragraphs that add absolutely nothing of value to the “story” (if you can even call it such).
I mean, yes, the language and terminology used is very accurate to that of 4chan and kiwi farms chatter, but that’s the only “good” part.
The rest is bleak, and any time you think something might actually happen? It doesn’t.
I REALLY wanted to enjoy this, and reading the other reviews people seemed to really love it and there’s a lot of praise, but sorry, I can’t recommend such a boring, pointless and nihilistic piece of literature.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
November 23, 2020
Reminds me of the good old days on /b/ as a 15 year old. Sometimes the characters (posters) are silly caricatures, But sometimes they feel so real. Sometimes this book makes you feel like a little maggot, squirming and spasming under the weight of its impulses, drowning in a totally unintelligible abyss. It ends with a discussion of cosmology and whether or not its possible to exist at the edge of the universe, or if everything is just the same in every direction, forever. If this second model were true, it would mean that we are absolutely nowhere. This is the unintelligible abyss.
March 4, 2022
Cursor arrow hovering over an unspeakable image, the ciliary muscle contracts and then slowly expands. The word DeathDrive.jpg written in red serif. The red door of a haunted house falling through hypertext. Detritus endured to the point of exhilaration. Pleasure becoming stronger like a single light in a dark place. An open packet of kung poa noodles. The extinction of a human soul. Do you want to play again?
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