such a fine fucking work by such a virtuoso of void, every word brimming with the unknowability of itself, actual people in actual situations, or not, these are memories but they shift, loved ones die, that is, change, thank god, in the glory of Bolano's seventeen (as is the glory of all seventeens), eternalized in word, born memorialized and eviscerated in word, a past described away in literature -
— May 17, 2022 02:19PM
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