Richard Brautigan is the only author whose work I have read completely multiple times. When I say "multiple times", I mean more than once. And each time, it is like taking a walk in a painting by Magritte or Delvaux.

Herman van Veen once said: "There are people who write and there are people who write about people who write."

You don't write about Richard Brautigan. You let him speak for himself and you look around, you take it in, you let it penetrate you and you cherish it until you go for a walk again in his work.

"... my heart has been like a colony on the moon populated by unique icicles who have apparently no transition."

"... that life cannot be controlled and perhaps not even envisioned and that certainly design and portent are out of the question." Richard Brautigan's words have a magical charm that draws readers into his unique literary world. His works are filled with strange and wonderful images, as well as profound insights into life and human nature. Reading his books is like embarking on a journey of discovery, where every page reveals something new and unexpected. I am truly着迷 by his writing and will continue to explore his works in the future.

I have been a passionate lover of this man's poetry for over 30 years. For some strange reason, it never occurred to me that he had written more than what I was familiar with. I am rather ashamed to admit this, but such is the case. Now, however, I am determined to make up for the lost time and I am thoroughly enjoying the process.

I absolutely adored this book. It is delightfully quirky, a bit scattered, yet so real and fun. At the same time, it is incredibly reflective and brimming with emotion. The author chronicles a specific phase of his life as it unfolds, with the aim of filling a 160-page notebook. The narrative meanders from tales of travel, to encounters with various people, to bickering with an elf, to musings on wasted time and then back again.

This is truly poetry in motion. It has left me eagerly anticipating delving deeper into his body of work and uncovering more of his literary gems. I can't wait to continue this journey of discovery and further immerse myself in the wonderful world of his words.

Rewriting and expanding this article:

Starting to read this book again was truly an amazing thing that occurred to me. The writing itself held my interest due to the seamless switches between different subjects. It was fascinating to see how his brain connected all the things he was thinking about. Moreover, the way he had no hesitation in writing about the little details of his daily routine and managed to find an entertaining way to look at the random things that happen in everyone's lives was highly amusing. It made me realize that even the simplest and most ordinary aspects of life can be turned into something engaging and interesting through the right perspective and writing style. This book has truly opened my eyes and made me appreciate the beauty and charm of everyday life.

I've never had any good fortune when it comes to blind dates. Once, some of my friends set up a blind date for me. And it turned out to be a complete disaster. I ended up having a huge argument with my "date" right at their house, all because of her dissertation. Seriously, how could this even happen? I didn't know this woman at all. All I was hoping for was maybe to have some fun and get laid or something. Her dissertation was centered around Italian architecture in the novels of Henry James. At one point, the poor woman was reduced to tears because of my response regarding Italian architecture in the novels of Henry James. My friends were completely shocked. They had never expected that Italian architecture in the novels of Henry James could turn a blind date into such a catastrophe.

I have a profound liking for this book. I believe my affection stems not only from what it accomplishes but also from what it refrains from doing. It leaps through time, skillfully blending fiction and nonfiction. Just like Brautigan's first book, "Trout Fishing in America," there is a great deal more happening beneath the surface, something that is felt rather than seen. I appreciate the book's stubborn refusal to conform to what one might expect from a typical book. Moreover, it contains passages such as this:

"The fears, doubts, and self-tragedies that he spoke of were all things that had haunted me for many years and were shared parts of my darkness. Things that I had to conceal to go on living. They were things that sometimes escaped from the prison I held them in myself. They would either ingeniously escape like a perfect prison break or I would simply open the cell door for them to come out and tear the living shit out of me like rabid werewolves, often in the middle of the night when I was alone and there was no one to turn to, and the only defending silver bullet was on a side of the moon that was so dark that it would make 1930s Shirley Temple tap dancing seem like coal growing slowly, painfully over millions of years in the gardens beneath the ground." - Richard Brautigan

"My life has actually been without a dynamic for over a year. And I just keep taking too long to do very simple things, and my heart has been like a colony on the moon populated by unique icicles who have apparently no transition. I know that I have felt this way before. And things have always changed when I thought that they would never change. But I still find it hard to believe that things will actually change... What will happen to me?" — Richard Brautigan

I'm not going to pretend and say that I fully understood this book. As I read, I could see depression and loneliness lurking between the words. It was like a mold that was insidiously extending its reach to every remaining good part inside of him. And what would happen if the mold succeeded in covering him completely? I dread to think about it. I find myself in a strange position of both loving and hating the fact that I related to some of his words.

There are several lines that I simply adored. For example, \\"...I can never call you again on the telephone and tell you something like I've just done that basically only your sense of humor could appreciate.\\" This line speaks volumes about the loss of a connection and the unique bond that once existed. Another line that stood out to me was \\"I am very distant, almost in exile from my own sentimentality.\\" It expresses a sense of detachment and perhaps a struggle with one's emotions.

The line \\"It would be convenient if one could redesign the past, change a few things here and there, like certain acts of outrageous stupidity, but if one could do that, the past would always be in motion. It would never settle down finally to days of solid marble.\\" makes me reflect on the nature of regret and the impossibility of changing the past. Additionally, \\"...and the sparse audience was basically human derelicts idling away their lives as I was also doing.\\" gives a sense of shared ennui and a feeling of being adrift in life.

Other lines such as \\"...I felt as if a period in my life had come to an end and I was now embarking on the next stage of my life.\\" and \\"I needed to become more aware of its role in eternity.\\" hint at personal growth and a search for meaning. The line \\"Yes, it is difficult to keep the past and the present going on at the same time because they cannot be trusted to act out their proper roles. They suddenly can turn on you and operate diametrically opposed to your understanding and the needs of reality.\\" highlights the challenges of reconciling our memories with the present moment. Finally, \\"...I met so many people that I had never met before and will never see again.\\" and \\"Also, I am always the last person to know what's going on in my life, but I have a feeling that's maybe the way it is with everybody and belief in self-understanding is only a delusion.\\" add to the overall sense of transience and the mystery of life.

I had firmly believed that I had perused every single work that Richard Brautigan had penned. However, fate had a different plan for me.

One day, while I was searching for something else entirely in the public library, I chanced upon this rather short book. It was truly strange.

The book chronicles some of his travels. He journeyed from Toronto to Maui, making stops in San Francisco and Montana along the way, during a span of just a few months in 1987, a mere two years before his untimely death.

Essentially, it delves deep into his descent into alcoholism and depression. To say the least, it evokes a great deal of sadness.

Yet, his remarkable ability to craft metaphors and similes is as evident as ever. This, indeed, is his saving grace.

It serves as a diary of his daily thoughts and activities, a vital historical record of his life.

The unfortunate woman mentioned in the title is, in reality, not just about a woman who committed suicide by hanging. It is, in fact, a reflection of Richard himself.

This was a rather strange piece, even when measured against RB's standards.

It had elements that were sad, funny, and at times, quite depressing.

It was an unusual study in the art of writing a "story" while also providing valuable insights and background into what he was doing and thinking during the writing process.

I'm not entirely certain what I had been anticipating, but I can say without a doubt that I was not disappointed.

The unique combination of emotions and the behind-the-scenes look at the writing made this a truly engaging and thought-provoking read.

It left me with a newfound appreciation for the complexity and creativity that goes into the act of writing.

Overall, it was a remarkable piece that managed to stand out even in a sea of other works.

I look forward to seeing what else RB has in store for us in the future.

Brilliantly sad and poignant,

These words seem to encapsulate a world of emotions.

The brilliance perhaps lies in the vividness with which the sadness and poignancy are presented.

It's as if a master painter has used bold strokes to create a masterpiece that tugs at our heartstrings.

Each "

I was deeply impressed. I underlined many places and I want to share some of them.

“The watermelon was nothing but a silly pretext to talk about the sadness in my heart and from now on to call you and not be able to tell you something like what just happened to me, something that only your sense of humor could appreciate, to park my being somewhere in my mind.”

… I think what I want to say is this: His voice had a slight luminosity like a small candle burning in a cathedral in the infinite darkness built for a religion that has never taken its final form (and therefore in which no worship has been performed).

…

That seems like such a long time ago. But for the past two years, time, experience, and emotions have been stretched and elongated to a point where it feels as if a dozen years have passed, and there are more experiences and emotions than all the computers in Japan could count simultaneously.

A wind has risen, and it is now roaring in the top branches of the cottonwood trees, which send forth their parachute seeds, seeking life. All the branches in all the trees are turning, and every blade of grass and each flower bows to the wind.

I find myself here in Montana, describing so much weather, so much actual change or change that threatens to occur but doesn't. I wonder if I am also describing myself.

Also, I am always the last person to know what's going on in my life, but I have a feeling that maybe that's the way it is for everybody, and belief in self-understanding is only a delusion.

This really blew my mind, to be honest. Each sentence is like a spark, pared down and pure and potent. The way it flows through contemplating the past, his self, poetic descriptions of his present, and surrendering to the future is beautiful and so conscious. Also, the way he transitions from digging up his own darkness to light-hearted wit on the same page. It all just feels so real and straight from the brain. I can't wait to read more of him.

Without the wildness, magic, and unpredictability of his previous work, there simply isn't enough left. His earlier creations were like a stormy sea, full of excitement and surprises. The wildness in them was like a force that could not be tamed, pulling the readers into a world full of mystery and adventure. The magic was like a hidden key that opened the door to a wonderful realm, allowing people to experience things they had never imagined before. And the unpredictability was like a wild card that made every turn of the story unexpected and thrilling.

However, in his recent works, these elements seem to have disappeared. The stories have become too tame, too predictable. There is no longer the same sense of excitement and adventure that made his previous work so captivating. It's as if he has lost his touch, his ability to create something truly unique and engaging. Without these essential elements, his work has lost its charm and appeal.

Perhaps he needs to go back to his roots, to reconnect with the wildness, magic, and unpredictability that made him who he is. Only then can he create works that will once again capture the hearts and imaginations of his readers.