Che fu definito dallo stesso autore un romanzo fantastico: Blah blah blah Jung and the collective subconscious. Lists with This Book. Imagine yourself now walking in the past among ruined building and ancient relics. View all 68 comments.

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It pretty much bored me to the backs of my eyeballs and then showed me what those dangly nerves looked like in my pasty white hand.

I started reading The Other Side weeks ago. Forcing myself to finish reading it today pretty much made me want to cry in a violent revolt. Mariel people rise up against their oppressors! We mental people come from all corners of this wide mental land in peace.

You know how "They" always is in these suffocating scenarios. Remember when the administration head counted our just on time mustachioed and arpeggios? You can come live here. I lost it with the missing luggage. The Dream Land is a paper cut kind of festering. Shit, if they want shitty neighbors I can give them shitty neighbors. I used to live on a floor above the "hospice apartment". It still sucks when they try to come inside.

Patera hovers over with the promise of his invitation. Come on, I invited you, man! You know that other land place where missing socks go? My money too. The artist with his burned out bulb of worldly and dreamy wonder is returned to sender. Did you forget to put on the address?

The Dream Land was like that, to me. Like not going anywhere. The bitchy nurse says some shit now about how that was the point, Europe after WWI, blah blah blah.

Crush my soul with your regulation shoe later. It is emptier than a kite from the dullest kid at the candy factory and the skies are black of currents. Wife, gone. People, never there.

Artist, abandoned. Moving there at his behest made no kind of gut sense to me. The stethoscope has got nothing.

I took a look at what other reviews said. Blah blah blah Jung and the collective subconscious. Blah blah blah Kubin was a pessimist and tortured small animals in his youth I thought that was a serial killer sign but what do I know? Blah blah blah he was an artist and The Other Side was his only novel.

The German may be perfect for all I know. I liked the written descriptions of what would have been drawings. There are illustrations in the book but I liked the descriptions better than the drawings. He could presmell what they might smell like in his paranoia. Okay, maybe I liked the drawings better because that was a total lie.

Another voice from my peanut gallery: I liked how one man would give a look like a man who had fallen off a cliff. I could see that. I am thinking a lot these days about how one would write visuals that walk the tight rope of truth without ruining it by over defining it. Better to throw shit at the wall and get your responses out of it.

Come here often? The shape of the turd is like one of those clouds that looks like a bunny rabbit if you look at it the right way. I got bored of trying too hard to look that hard. Other than the way the artist would describe things as if he could paint them it was too much like trying to slap some name on it. I think I already feel too much that bad stuff that happens is a collective will, anyway.

The artist might have seen the omens in the ABC spagettios but did they spell the same in the other most important meal of the day? That bad things that happen is a deliberate act to silence another voice, yeah. Communities suck. Villagers abuse their dinner forks. I have a lizard tongue, apparently.

It was probably from when I made dead lizards dance as a four year old my biographer says so. Noooo, but you were soul boring! Click, click, click. Am I just naive in that art and personal responses and shit? Something about this collective unconscious in a burned to the ground village made me feel so tired.


La otra parte

Akinoktilar Blah blah blah Jung and the collective subconscious. The Other Side was written inwhen, at the kubun of 30, he found himself unable the blurb says to draw for three straight months. Every man wishes to be a creator but some creations of mankind are grimly monstrous. I suoi disegni, invece, sono arte pura.



Am I just naive in that art and personal responses and shit? Possibile che non ci siano limiti, che tutto sia vissuto come da sonnambuli, che due giocatori di scacchi non finiscano mai la loro partita? Engravings became porous and fell to pieces. View all 68 comments. You can come live here. That bad things that happen is a deliberate act to silence another voice, yeah. The incredible thing was the way the same illusion would appear in several minds at once.



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