Struggle session hbomberguy movie#
Struggle session hbomberguy manual#
Struggle session hbomberguy full#

I remember reading Proudhon while drinking wine. I remember being briefly obsessed with Zola’s twenty-book Les Rougon-Macquart cycle. I remember the Salvation Army dancers outside (a) Macy’s in New York City. And watching his six hour video of Dark Souls (7 September 2016 addition – which I have watched twice now).

I remember Matthewmatosis’ critique videos. If I remember correctly, it was Don DeLillo’s Libra (Sidenote – has there been another major novelist named ‘Don’?) I remember finding a map of the Moscow rail system in a second-hand book. I remember the first time I had the entirely predictable and utterly ordinary experience of the traveller using non-native money, and how spending it felt only remotely real, and difficult to align with my understanding of spending. For someone who had, at the time, read only American writers (and genre writers at that), this was revolutionary to my understanding of literature. In a way, it showed me that European literature was deeply engrossed (obsessed?) with history. It didn’t stick, but I still greatly admire it. Foucault’s Pendulum was, briefly, a text I would consider seminal. The old man in me has a field day during these times – and of course I am rapidly approaching being that old man in truth as well as outlook. I remember (one of the times) when the iPhone changed its icons and colouring during an update, and how much I hated it at first. I remember Stephanie’s funeral and Neutral Milk Hotel’s song, “ I love how you love me“, which quite rightly played to the heartbreak of many, including me. Oh, Spanish! Oh, French! Oh, Polish! Oh, Vietnamese! It quickened my heart. I remember the excitement and fondness I felt for letters with diacritics. I remember the music from Firelink Shrine.

And when he emerged, sweat pouring down, even though it was cold. I remember Anna’s father standing on a ladder, his head disappeared into our asbestos roof as he gauged the dimensions of the ceiling and the trusses. In my absent-mindedness, or my lack of commercial awareness, that the day I had chosen was the day after Valentine’s Day. I remember deciding, three years ago, to propose to my (then) girlfriend. I remember having a phase in 2015 when I liked to use the words ‘conurbation’ and commensurate’ in ordinary conversation. I do, however, assume that I can be insufferable. Oh, the pretension! But I wasn’t trying to be pretentious. I remember a work meeting where I threw in a reference to Flaubert, and then a little later Kafka’s diaries. I could Google the reasoning behind the different covers, but I would prefer to come to my own conclusions, which I will do, one day, by reading the three editions side by side. All the same publisher – Collins Harvill.

Struggle session hbomberguy manual#

I remember finding a green-covered and red-covered copy of Georges Perec’s Life A User’s Manual and matching it up with my blue-covered copy. I remember eating half a sandwich at Katz Deli at 9 in the morning, and then we went home to sleep because I needed to fall into an immediate food coma. I remember discovering churning and wondering how I could make it benefit me (spoiler: in Australia, I basically can’t). I was not on the news that night, though perhaps that could also be attributed to my less than tv-calibre looks. The reporter asked me about the bookfest and I went on about the greatness of literature and the sanctity of human creativity.

Struggle session hbomberguy full#

I remember being interviewed by a television crew at the Lifeline Bookfest, likely because I had a shopping trolley full of books I was preparing to buy. I was rather proud of myself, even though the catalyst for this reward was previous poor performance, and I didn’t and don’t like to watch movies.

Struggle session hbomberguy movie#

I remember receiving two movie vouchers from a former boss to acknowledge that my performance at work was improving and that I was ‘on track’. American (Roth, Bellow, Updike, Gaddis, DeLillo, Pynchon, Vollmann). British (Eliot, Dickens, Burgess, Orwell, Stoppard, Bernard Shaw, Pinter). A time when I thought Spanish (Bolaño, Borges, Vila-Matas, Marías, Vargas Llosa). A time when I thought it was German (Bernhard, Mann, Musil, Grass, Sebald). I remember a time when I thought French literature was the greatest in the world (Proust, Flaubert, Zola, Sartre, Robbe-Grillet, Perec). I remember wondering if I could (should?) try to record YouTube videos similar to NorthernLion or PewDiePie.