The Blonde... The Redhead... The Brunette... The Latina...The sequence is engrossing and I am bombarded by sensation, as though the whole of reality were nothing but some abstractionist exhibit in a universal gallery of the mundane and at the center of all inspiration, of all art, of theology, philosophy, sociology, metaphysics and such; would be the two of us there, in that moment, among the human exhibits.In The Making the author presents a vivid and revealing account of what is admittedly the most poignant time in his ...
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The Blonde... The Redhead... The Brunette... The Latina...The sequence is engrossing and I am bombarded by sensation, as though the whole of reality were nothing but some abstractionist exhibit in a universal gallery of the mundane and at the center of all inspiration, of all art, of theology, philosophy, sociology, metaphysics and such; would be the two of us there, in that moment, among the human exhibits.In The Making the author presents a vivid and revealing account of what is admittedly the most poignant time in his life. Via an intimate first person viewpoint, the reader delves into the heart and soul of an individual caught up in misdirected sentiment and given to escapism as he searches the urban landscape for meaning yet even more so, love. Based on true events, yet written without identifying anyone; this is his story, his interpretation of the world as viewed through his interactions with four specific girls. Trying to graduate from college. Illegally cultivating cannabis in Central Florida. A day and night in New Orleans during Mardi Gras at the turn of the century. The weekend smoking base in a strange house. Watching the towers fall while sitting beside the girl he loves and her future husband...To know joy, one must be accustomed with sorrow.
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