Max
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Tried reading a few chapters of Infinite Jest and it left a bitter dislike. I might be on the wrong side of the hype cycle for it. Felt like it answered a question I didn't actually have: What if PKD had been unconstrained by living month to month, developed a terrible logorrhea, and tried a really terrible Vonnegut impersonation with help from the cinematography stylings of Wes Anderson?

I don't think this book is for me.

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Smeap.com

Smeap is the honk of a flamingo. Smeap was also at least once, a storybook land at the weird intersection of TV ads and the worlds they seem to inhabit. It was a place where wars were fought over sodas, and talking polar bears had very good reasons to guard soda machines. It was a place where rainbow color candies were harvested for electric power. It was a place where a prairie dog might move to big city inhabited mostly by Pink Flamingos to follow her dream to be private investigator, only to get slowly entangled in the seedy underbelly of crime and prohibited soda trading of the Neon Flamingos and their syndicate. Social media at times lately feels like it has become almost entirely seedy underbelly with very little upside. Maybe it needs more storybook worlds.