You are the assumed identity of a man who does not know himself. ![]() You devour memories whole you leave your victims emptied out, you take what is them and you eat it. ![]() You begin to receive letters and packages from your former self, clues to your mystery, a path to follow. You see your psychiatrist, who tells you little besides platitudes. You wake up in this empty house and follow the instructions that your former self has left for you. You have a cat named Ian and a house bereft of clues. You have a dissociative identity disorder you suffer from psychotropic fugue. You are a book that this reviewer liked, sometimes. You made me think on many things: new ideas and old, what is a person, what is an emotion, what makes a concept real. You excited me, then bored me, then excited me anew. ![]() Your level of writing ability is impressive. You are a first novel, complete with a first novel's typical weaknesses: an intermittent stridency and repetitiousness that is occasionally tedious, a tendency towards wanting to amaze the audience with your brilliance, characters and dialogue that are intended to be cheeky & real but often come across as precious & cutesy-poo. ![]() You are a mystery you are a postmodern text you are a Burroughs, with a certain sort of sunny spotless mind. You are a story of loss and love and memory, of a broken heart and a broken mind.
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