Before the Time Machine Breaks - Tokenainamae
I forget where I discovered this band, it had to be in a random shoegaze mix on youtube. I remember hearing one of the songs and instantly looking for the album. They've grown in popularity rightfully so but one of the first draws for me was how unrecognized they were. They were at 20k spotify monthy listeners and in my head they should've been at a million. I'm not a music expert, but I imagine a Hollywood producer meticulously layering each element of a song—separating the guitar, vocals, drums, etc. This album, on the other hand, meshes every layer of noise into a beautiful harmony. Some people might say the vocals are too low, but that adds to the energetic, nostalgic atmosphere. It’s like a faded memory you can't remember the details to, only how it made you feel. The piano glues everything together. Its really the center piece of every song and compliments the sound perfectly. Not being able to understand the lyrics also adds alot to the emotion. When you know the language the feeling of the song comes second to thinking about what is being said, but when that dosent exist its almost like looking at a piece of art. You can derive whatever feeling you want from it regardless. This is def in my top 3 shoegaze albums. a good live performance, there arent many and most of them are bad quality.Untrue - Burial
Im not the one to say a something changed my life but if there was an album that did it would be this one. There's almost too much that comes to mind when i think of burial. Electronic music seems like it would be sterile and inhuman, which maybe in a way that's the point, Kraftwerk gives me that feeling. Kraftwerk is incredible so that's not a con but they both clearly serve a different purpose. I found burial super late, i think i watched a video called "all my homies hate skrillex" on youtube a long time ago and it was basically how he "ruined" electronic music. I dont mind that era of music at all, deadmau5 is undeniably a god and honestly one of the most consistent musicians ever. Anyway, when i first listened to burial it was really cold out and in my head i remember the feeling of being in an empty train yard. Up until that point i never really just sat down and enjoyed music like it should be. Whenever im in the mood ill put my earbuds in and listen to the whole album with my eyes closed. Albums can really play like movies if you let them. Untrue for me starts off outside a dying party. Groups of 3 in the front yard, people leaving as the amibent music drifts away with them and the orange street lamp. It carries you all the way to a bus stop bathed in blue light, dripping with dew. It ends with heavy eyes struggling to stay awake in a familiar bedroom. One thing Burial has made me realize is to create anything of value that has impact and soul it has to be done with unrelenting authenticity. He creates an atmosphere that can only exist through living and experiencing then channeling that through trusting your gut response for every creative decision. All my homies reduce our burning souls of passion and desire to ashes.AKIRA (1988)
This movie inspired me to pursue art. Perfection is such a strange subject. Perfection cant be replicated or planned. All the stars aligned for this movie, from japans economy in the 80s to new groundbreaking techniques. I wonder what it feels like to work on a project like this, are you aware of what it will become? I find the most beauty in things that require multiple levels of mastery to join together and become one. No one thing is better than the other. Sountrack, story, color, charachter design, mood etc.. The integrity that went into this movie gives me so much hope. It represents everything i want to be.Millennium Mambo (2001)
Bedroom Cigarette Scene
Stalker (1979)
Shoulder Ride SceneAugust in Water (1995)
Such an ethereal feel with no use of special affects. Its so nice to not be spoon-fed meaning for once. If the smell of chlorine was a movie.
Blade Runner (1982)
The one. Pinnacle of sci fi...this and fifth element. The fact that this was made in the 80s blows my mind, practical effects and pushing the limits within the box, somehow, the more capable we are the less creative we become. Cgi is so much cheaper so we will never see anything like this ever again. It will forever be a game of replication...get it?
Blue Spring (2001)
The best representation of coming of age responsibility i have ever seen. The realization in highschool that this is the last year of your life where you can be a directionless loser and free from responsibility. We dont recognize the beauty of school until its too late. The dynamic within your friend group will never exist again, everyone moves on and begins their life in some way and its just a matter of time before everyone drifts apart, but maybe this is a good thing if youve been surrounded by all the wrong people. For some, graduating might be seen as a fresh start. No scene has ever moved me more than when Kimura is giving the freshman his jacket. Kimura costs his entire team nationals by throwing a fast-ball instead of a curve. He realizes his youth was was spent with one goal that he will never fulfill. He liberates himself by appreciating what baseball gave him and joins the yakuza, accepting himself as the loser. Some would view this as giving up, but so much time can be wasted wallowing in the what could have beens and holding on to something that will never come. If you give it everything you have and still come up short, you can at least move on with no regrets. "i staked my life on my bat, my dreams on my pitches." Also, the midget makes it weirdly ethereal for some reason lmao. the scene
Chungking Express (1994)
Needs a rewatch, but easily my favorite romance movie. Visuals are everything i've ever wanted. No one will be able to replicate wong-kar wai. Dreamy, nostalgic, and pure.
Haru (1996)
The movie that inspired me to find penpals...hi guys if ur reading this. I think i expressed how i feel in an email i sent a while ago. "The internet used to seem like it was an addition to life but now it seems like life is an addition to the internet. I was thinking about this and realized we live in a world where we yearn for answers over experiencing things as they are, doing is the best teacher but people want to know everything about everything before they allow themselves to learn and fail." Long form communication is one of the best ways to communicate. Especially when talking to someone new. The dating culture now is cursed because of this. The permanent accesibility we to have to one another causes us to talk to each other less out of fear for being cringe or random, when you would never feel that way if you got a letter in the mail. A conversation through text or DM can never end and leave you with the same feeling that a more thought out letter or email can. On top of the pressure of literally being able to see if the person read the message or not. Texting is obviously good though, but i just realized that maybe texting feels too close. When you know the person is looking at the screen and watching you type its as if they are there. I think alot of people can benefit from writing out their thoughts, thinking ideas through, making sense of things and revising. Its more fun with another person though, email me if u want. The effects are so cool at describing the internet in a human way. The email sections of this movie really do a good job at making you feel secluded, just like you are when you're in front of a screen. The forum is like a night club. I try to remind myself that who i am is what i represent online and in person, anonimity can be an easy way to lose control of that.
The Man Who Sleeps (1974)
I watched this at a very directionless time in my life. Withdrawing from society can be a satisfying idea but i feel like the void lies within yourself. We live in a world of expectation and its so easy to become a slave to it. Expectation is misery, if we never expect anything how can we possibly be dissapointed. The only thing you can control in this world is your thoughts and your actions. You blame society but really you are a victim to yourself. This life is too beautiful to sacrifice it for anyone else. The voice-over is hypnotizing, makes it so much better.
Edvard Munch (1974)
Death, heartbreak, rejection, fear, panic, dread...a tragedy in its purest form. I believe you truly find yourself through suffering. Purity at its core is often completely misunderstood which is why most artists arent famous until they die. There is something to say about a man who suffers, to suffer is to find yourself. Success leaves your mind stagnant creatively, but we yearn for it more than anything else. Its the duality of man, the wish to be accepted but express yourself at the same time. Style is ultimate naturalness. The truly successful people are able to be fulfilled without any external reward. The more that AI gets shoved down are throats, above all the debates and right or wrongs i can truly say from the bottom of my heart that nothing will ever take away the relatability of another human. That makes me so happy.FLCL (2000)
Rewatch #2 I started this with the expectation to go into a complete spiral of existentialism. I think my self-destructive behavior or general attraction to sadness subconsciously tempts me to do things that have hit me hard in the past. It was the complete opposite, the visual simplicity and deep complex story of FLCL is what i truly aspire for in my art. The hopelessness of an ordinary city is something people despise, but i realize that creating something within that modernity is true fulfillment. Being ok with the ordinary by knowing its is a perma state, its easy to think everyone elses life is full of excitement and even if some are you really wouldn't want that bc it completely de-sensitizes you to joy. Thinking life is butterflies and rainbows is naive, how can there be joy without pain. Desire is a discontent with the present, nothing is ever enough for humans. Its so beautiful at how the enthusiasm of the team just bleeds through this show, it reinvigorated me, today i woke up and 6 hours passed before i even realized i was working. Maybe this is just me but i think the way my brain works is by constantly making sense of things and questioning, this somehow ties into productivity. I aslo really hate how people dicredit it for how hard to understand it is, after watching it a second time i can pull alot of understanding out of it but even then thats not the point. I hate being spoon-fed. Being able to find your own meaning in something tends to be so much more visceral bc its directly ties to your understanding of the world. I was really sad after watching it for the first time but now im excited...i could cry, this is the point of life dumb bastards >:( That just flew out of me and prob alot typos sry, in short, fill your life with things you know you enjoy and develop conclusions that will eventually be re-understood in the future :)revisiting this to write about "never knows best". fuck, man. this anime is crazy and it really wasnt meant to be, weird how we derive so much out of so little. the only reason the guy drew it on her cigarette is because it looked cool lmao. i always assumed that it was a way of saying ignorance is bliss. i somehow failed to attribute it to what mamimi was thinking and what her character represented. never knowing best is a way of accepting the misery in your life and being unwiling to change. she felt so connected to naota because of how his brother made her feel, refusing to move on. we can always limit our potential by saying "i could never do that" or "im not good enough" but "you never know how good you might have become unless you try...so lets get with it" - Mike "The God" Mentzer. we often take who we are for granted and live comfortably within the hell we or the world has created but being the person you're unhappy with hurts a lot more than the change it takes to escape.
Noir (2001)
I watched the first episode and then completley forgot what the show was called and months later randomly found it again. This anime seemed super rushed which isnt rare for the early 2000s. I think the story would have been alot more enjoyable condensed into 12 epsiodes instead of 26. It seems like they had one animator who was way better than the rest. Throughout the show you'll see a really good creative shot thrown in during important moments. They took their time with the first episode to hook you in. It reminded me of trigun, some episodes are good and others are skipable. It establishes a certain feeling i havent gotten from anything else. The soundtrack is nice too.
The Symposium, Plato
[1] We all know that Aphrodite is always accompanied by Love. If there were only a single Aphrodite there would only be a single Love. But since there are two Aphrodites there must be two Loves also. And it cannot be denied that there are two goddesses. One, older obviously, is the daughter of Uranus and had no mother, and we call her "Heavenly Aphrodite"; the younger is the child of Zeus and Dione and we call her "Common Aphrodite". It follows then that the Love who works with the latter Aphrodite should correctly be called "Common Love" and the other "Heavenly Love" [2] The Love who belongs to Common Aphrodite is truly common and it engages in his activity as opportunity offers. This is the Love that inferior people experience. In the first place men of this sort love women quite as much as boys, and secondly, their bodies more than their souls, and thirdly, the stupidest people possible, since they have regard only for the act itself and do not care whether it is rightly done or not. Hence their activity is governed by chance, and as likely to be bad as good. The reason is that the Common Aphrodite, with whom this Love is associated, is far younger than the other Aphrodite, and because of her parentage she has characteristics both of the male and of the female. [3] "Those whose pregnancy is of the body", she went on, "are drawn more towards women, and they express their love through the procreation of children, ensuring for themselves, they think, for all time to come, immortality and remembrance and happiness in this way. But [there are] those whose pregnancy is of the soul - those who are pregnant in their souls even more than in their bodies, with the kind of offspring which it is fitting for the soul to conceive and bear. What offspring are these? Wisdom and the rest of virtue, of which the poets are all procreators, as well as those craftsmen who are regarded as innovators. But by far the most important and beautiful expression of this wisdom is the good ordering of cities and households; and the names for this kind of wisdom are moderation and justice. [4] After this he will realise that the beauty in souls is more to be prized than that in the body. If therefore someone's soul is good even if his physical attraction is slight, that will be enough for him, and he will love and care for that person, and seek out and give birth to the kind of discourse that will make young men better people. As a consequence he will be compelled to contemplate the beautiful as it exists in human practices and laws, to see that the beauty of it all is of one kind, and to realize that what is beautiful in a body is trivial by comparison.A Designer's Art, Paul Rand
[1] Symbols are a duality They take on meaning from causes ...good or bad And they give meaning to causes ... good or bad. The flag is a symbol of a country. The cross is a symbol of a religion. The swastika was a symbol of good luck until its meaning was changed. The trademark for Chanel smells as good as the perfume it stands for, This is the blending of form and content. [2] Trite ideas, or unimaginative translation of those ideas, are often the result not of poor subject matter but of poor inter- pretation of a problem. In the absence of a fresh visual solution, subject matter sometimes becomes the scapegoat. Such difficulties may arise if a) the designer has interpreted a trite idea with a common- place image; b) he has failed to resolve the problem of integrating form and content; or c) he has failed to interpret the problem as a two dimensional organi- zation in a given space. He has thus deprived his visual image of the potential to suggest, perhaps, more than the eye can see. Originality and Subject Matter Ideas do not need to be esoteric to be original or exciting. As H. L. Mencken says of Shaw's plays, "The roots of each one of them are in platitude; the roots of every" [3] To distort the letters of the alphabet in the style of Chinese calligraphy (sometimes referred to as chop suey lettering) because the subject happens to deal with the Orient is to create the typographic equivalent of a corny illustration. To mimic a woodcut style of type to go with a woodcut: to use bold type to harmonize with heavy machinery, etc., is clichéd thinking. The designer is unaware of the exciting possibilities inherent in the contrast of picture and type matter. Thus, instead of combining a woodcut with a harmonious type style (Neuland), a happier choice would be a more familiar design (Casion, Bodoni, or Helvetica) to achieve the element of surprise and to accentuate by contrast the form and character of both text and picture. [4] Through trial and error, I have found that the solution to this enigma rests, to a large extent, on two factors: the kind of problem chosen for study, and the way it is posed. I believe that if undue emphasis is placed on freedom and self-expression in the statement of a prob-lem, the result is apt to be an indifferent student and a meaningless solution. Conversely, a problem with defined limits, with an implied or stated discipline (system of rules) that in turn is conducive to the instinct of play, will most likely yield an interested student and, very often, a meaningful and novel solution. Two powerful instincts exist in all human beings which can be used in teaching, says Gilbert Highet: one is the love of play. The best Renaissance teachers, instead of beating their pupils, spurred them on by a number of appeals to the play prin-ciple. They made games out of the chore of learning difficult subjects -Montaigne's father, for instance, started him in Greek by writing the letters and the easiest words on playing cards and inventing a game to play with them. [5] Similarly, there are badly stated problems in basic design that stress pure aesthetics and free expression without any restraints or practical goals. Such a problem may be posed in this fashion: arrange a group of geometric shapes in any manner you see fit, using any number of colors, to make a pleasing pattern. The results of such vagaries are sometimes pretty, but mostly meaningless or monotonous. The student has the illusion of creating great art in an atmosphere of freedom, when in fact he is handicapped by the absence of certain disciplines which would evoke ideas and make playing with those ideas possible, work absorb-ing, and results interesting. [6] If possible, teaching should alternate between theoretical and practical prob-lems, and between problems with tightly stated rules" imposed by the teacher and problems with rules implied by the problem itself. But this can happen only after the student has been taught basic disciplines and their application. He then is able to invent his own system for "playing the game." "A mind so disciplined should be both more abstract and more concrete. It has been trained in the comprehension of abstract thought and in the analysis of facts.” [7] "I'm not so concerned with the art or graphics of package design as I am with new developments in packaging technique -new materials, new construction and new applications." This statement was made some years ago by a specialist in package design. Today the tawdriness of most supermarket shelves bears witness to this lack of emphasis on decent design in our daily lives. Technical advance in the field of packaging has been impressive indeed: the one-piece "flip-top," the push-button container, the shining array of new plastics with ingenious closures, the cleverly contrived shapes that stack, fit refrigerators or pockets, collapse, expand, and so forth. But does all this make a package? No. There is more to a package than convenience; it has to be looked at. How many flip-top cigarette packs or regular cigarette packs, for that matter, afford any pleasure to the eye? How consistently are we blinded by the dazzling display of vulgarity eagerly provided by most aerosol cans, cereal boxes, soaps, bread wrappers, etc.? Many, admittedly, are cleverly packaged. Technologically, scientifically, and hygieni-cally packages of today are practical, but are they beautiful? Functionalism does not preclude beauty, but it certainly does not guarantee it either. [8] Indifference to aesthetic problems and the espousal of vulgarity probably derive mainly from the advertiser's single-minded preoccupation with having his product noticed and then quickly identified. In the frantic hope of "stand-ing out," he tries to outshout, outcolor, and outglitter his competitor. He approves gaudy color schemes, oversized or misshapen lettering embellished with outlines, double or triple shadows, pseudo-Victorian decorations, and other exhibitionistic devices. [9] One of the more common problems which tends to create doubt and confusion is caused by the inexperienced and anxious executive who innocently expects, or even demands, to see not one but many solutions to a problem. These may include a number of visual and/or verbal concepts, an assortment of layouts, a variety of pictures and color schemes, as well as a choice of type styles. He needs the reassurance of numbers and the opportunity to exercise his personal preferences. He is also most likely to be the one to insist on endless revisions with unrealistic deadlines, adding to an already wasteful and time-consuming ritual. Theoretically, a great number of ideas assures a great number of choices, but such choices are essentially quan-titative. This practice is as bewildering as it is wasteful. It discourages spontaneity, encourages indifference, and more often than not produces results which are neither distinguished. interesting, nor effective. In short, good ideas rarely come in bunches. [10] Similarly, the skilled graphic designer is a professional whose world is divided between lyricism and pragmatism. He is able to distinguish between trendiness and innovation, between obscurity and originality. He uses freedom of expression not as license for abstruse ideas, and tenacity not as bullheadedness but as evidence of his own convictions. His is an independent spirit guided more by an "inner artistic standard of excellence than by some external influence. At the same time as he realizes that good design must withstand the rigors of the marketplace, he believes that without good design the marketplace is a showcase of visual vulgarity.The War of Art, Steven Pressfield
[1] I get up, take a shower, have breakfast. I read the paper, brush my teeth. If I have phone calls to make, I make them. I've got my coffee now. I put on my lucky work boots and stitch up the lucky laces that my niece Meredith gave me. I head back to my office, crank up the computer. My lucky hooded sweatshirt is draped over the chair, with the lucky charm I got from a gypsy in Saintes-Maries-de-la-Mer for only eight bucks in francs, and my lucky LARGO name tag that came from a dream I once had. I put it on. On my thesaurus is my lucky cannon that my friend Bob Versandi gave me from Morro Castle, Cuba. I point it toward my chair, so it can fire inspiration into me. I say my prayer, which is the Invocation of the Muse from Homer's Odyssey, translation by T. E. Lawrence, Lawrence of Arabia, which my dear mate Paul Rink gave me and which sits near my shelf with the cuff links that belonged to my father and my lucky acorn from the battlefield at Thermopylae. It's about ten-thirty now. I sit down and plunge in. When I start making typos, I know I'm getting tired. That's four hours or so. I've hit the point of diminishing returns. I wrap for the day. Copy whatever I've done to disk and stash the disk in the glove compartment of my truck in case there's a fire and I have to run for it. I power down. It's three, three-thirty. The office is closed. How many pages have I pro-duced? I don't care. Are they any good? I don't even think about it. All that matters is I've put in my time and hit it with all I've got. All that counts is that, for this day, for this session, I have overcome Resistance.No Longer Human, Osamu Dazai
[1] All I feel are the assaults of apprehension and terror at the thought that I am the only one who is entirely unlike the rest. It is almost impossible for me to converse with other people. What should I talk about, how should I say it?—I don't know. This was how I happened to invent my clowning. It was the last quest for love I was to direct at human beings. Although I had a mortal dread of human beings I seemed quite unable to renounce their society. I managed to maintain on the surface a smile which never deserted my lips; this was the accommodation I offered to others, a most precarious achievement performed by me only at the cost of excruciating efforts within. [2] "I want to be a painter." I said this with conviction. "Wha-a-t?" I can never forget the indescribably crafty shadow that passed over Flatfish's face as he laughed at me, his neck drawn in. It resembled contempt, yet it was different: if the world, like the sea, had depths of a thousand fathoms, this was the kind of weird shadow which might be found hovering here and there at the bottom. It was a laugh which enabled me to catch a glimpse of the very nadir of adult life. [3] From then on, however, I came to hold, almost as a philosophical conviction, the belief: What is society but an individual? [4] I gradually came to relax my vigilance towards the world. I came to think that it was not such a dreadful place. My feelings of panic had been molded by the unholy fear aroused in me by such superstitions of science as the hundreds of thousands of whooping-cough germs borne by the spring breezes, the hundreds of thousands of eye-destroying bacteria which infest the public baths, the hundreds of thousands of microbes in a barber shop which will cause baldness, the swarms of scabious parasites infecting the leather straps in the subway cars; or the tapeworm, fluke and heaven knows what eggs that undoubtedly lurk in raw fish and in undercooked beef and pork; or the fact that if you walk barefoot a tiny sliver of glass may penetrate the sole of your foot and after circulating through your body reach the eye and cause blindness. There is no disputing the accurate, scientific fact that millions of germs are floating, swimming, wriggling everywhere. At the same time, however, if you ignore them completely they lose all possible connection with yourself, and at once become nothing more than vanishing "ghosts of science."Breasts and Eggs, Meiko Kawakami
[1] The question of whether the thing I was writing qualified as a novel was open for interpretation. That much was true. At the same time, I was sure I was writing a novel. Absolutely sure. Maybe it looked like I was wasting my time. And maybe for everyone but me, that was all it would ever amount to. An enormous waste of time. But I knew that it was wrong to dismiss my work like that. It felt like I had said something that I could never take back. Writing makes me happy. But it goes beyond that. Writing is my life's work. I am absolutely positive that this is what I'm here to do. Even if it turns out that I don't have the ability, and no one out there wants to read a single word of it, there's nothing I can do about this feeling. I can't make it go away. I recognize that luck, effort, and ability are often indistinguishable. And I know that, in the end, I'm just another human being, who's born only to die. I know that in reality, it makes no difference whether I write novels, and it makes no difference if anyone cares. With all the countless books already out there, the world won't notice if I fail to publish even one book with my name on it. That's no tragedy. I know that. I get that. [2] Midoriko looked at me and nodded in agreement. The tops of her cheeks and the tip of her nose were red from all the sun, but now they caught the blue of evening. This happened once—a million years ago, when I was her age... on a ferris wheel just like this, looking down over the city. Climbing high into the evening, blue lapsing into black. Was Makiko there, too? Had Mom brought us... or Komi? I tried to picture our mom waving us goodbye once we pushed off, to see the wrinkles on Komi's hands—but the more I reached for them the further away they slipped, blurring into obscurity. Little birds drew arcs in the sky, then disappeared. The tall buildings in the distance looked like columns of white smoke. Who had been there with me, as a kid, when I watched the sky and city slipping into night? Trying to remember made me doubt it ever happened. Maybe it hadn't. Maybe the mix of smells and images and feelings lined up perfectly, in such a way that they appeared to be a memory, but I had never actually been here in real life with someone, watching the sky and city slipping into night. [3] I turned on the TV. The weatherman was pointing at a giant weather map, saying how tomorrow the weather would change for the worse. The light behind the closed curtains was growing dim. Almost night. How many more times in my life would I sit back like this and find myself transfixed by the blue of the evening? Is this what it means to live and die alone? That you'll always be in the same place, no matter where you are? "Is that so bad?" I asked myself out loud. I don't need to tell you that no one answered. [4] For better or worse, living with someone is nothing but friction, the collision of incompatible ideals. It takes trust to make it viable. I mean, love is basically a drug, right? Without love and trust, resentment is the only thing that's left. And that's where we found ourselves, real fast. [5] The caramel-colored tiles. The storefront on the ground floor, several iterations later. A pale green overhang I never saw before, where the sign for the last failed business had been painted over, making the characters indecipherable. The shutter patched with rust and covered with mildew. The building was so small. You could've barely parked a couple of bikes outside. There was a narrow entrance to the right, the hallway leading to the stairs to our apartment. I pursed my lips. I knew it would look small, but not this small. The entryway was barely wide enough to fit through. You almost had to turn your body sideways. The little concrete stoop between the sidewalk and the entrance, where I always used to sit, was the same concrete gray. I can vividly remember the day some guy showed up in work clothes and filled the crack in the pavement outside the entryway with concrete, to make a little slab. He told me to stay away until it dried. When he was gone, and I'd made sure the coast was clear, I held my breath and poked the drying concrete with my finger. I crouched down to investigate. It was still there: a tiny dent that looked like it might disappear before my eyes. Waiting for Mom, I used to lean against the caramel tiles and press my finger in the dent I made. [6] I saw her for the first time. She was unlike anyone that I had ever known. Unprecedented in my memory or my imagination. She was new to me. Her voice rang through her body, loud as anything. I called to her, speaking in a voice that no one else could hear. Where were you? You're here now.Berserk, Kentaro Muira
To know what is capable with your brain, a peice of paper and a pen makes this complex world seem so simple.Brave New World, Aldous Huxley
I love sci-fi and i went into this thinking it was gonna be great. This is the most insufferable book ive ever read. Being eloquent and overbearing isnt impressive at all to me, the first half of the book almost gave me a stroke. The idea is a really horrific thing to think about which is why people love this book and i get why. The things it makes you think about after each chapter was way more fun than actually reading it but i guess thats worth something.Ok, im revisiting this review...i think about this book all the time and I realize now how necessary the insufferable vocabulary of this book really was. It created such a sterile enviroment that played into the disconect you feel when you read it. They took a normal man based on our reality and viewed him as a savage until he actually turned into one. This book does its job well and honestly feels like a horror novel at this point, there is so much that goes into being human. The sacrifice and loss that makes you appreciate everything more, all of it gets ripped away in this society and you're left with humans that are conditioned to operate like robots. Thats what makes it so scary, its not like they are robots, they are just trained to operate like them, their humanity still exists but its normal to not express it. Send me to the falklands.