April 28, 2012
Adios, Nirvana by Conrad Wesselhoeft
When you piss off a bridge into a snowstorm, it feels like you’re connecting with eternal things . . . But who? The Druids? Walt Whitman? No, I pay homage to one person only, my brother, my twin.
In life. In death.
Since the death of his brother, Jonathan’s been losing his grip on reality. Last year’s Best Young Poet is now Taft High School’s resident tortured artist, when he bothers to show up. But his English teacher, his principal, and his crew of friends won’t sit back and let him fail.
This story moves right on along, and doesn't let you breath for a second.
It was Epic. Much like the opening chords of 'All Apologies'. Jonathan's character was really interesting, in a tortured, young poet kind of way. (Who doesn't love characters like that?) What he's really trying to do is get over his brother Telemachus's death. I'd say that he's not succeeding, but in a way, he kind of is. Poems. Guitars. Music. He's got the angsty teenager part down. But he's got something that your average angsty, fictional character doesn't have. He's got soul, and a wicked sense of humor. In a way, it's the best homage that Telemachus will ever get. He's a pretty big part of the story too, in his admittedly weird way. Because he's a part of Jonathan, and it really shows throughout the book. When Jonathan is finished telling his story, you'll be wishing it was longer.
Thickness is everywhere, among young and old, one street corners, and in school playgrounds. I'm very conscious of it. I even see it as a color--Soft blue.
The dudes at the Alamo were thick.
Odysseus and his men were thick.
The sailors in the picture are probably dead, or ninety, but their thickness lives on.
Thickness transcends death. Is an eternal torch.
If you are not thick with someone, you are very much alone in the world.
Still, even thickness can't always shed light on a truly dark soul.
And mine is truly dark.