“...It seems to me I am trying to tell you a dream--making a vain attempt, because no relation of a dream can convey the dream-sensation, that commingling of absurdity, surprise, and bewilderment in a tremor of struggling revolt, that notion of being captured by the incredible which is of the very essence of dreams...No, it is impossible; it is impossible to convey the life-sensation of any given epoch of one's existence--that which makes its truth, its meaning--its subtle and penetrating essence. It is impossible. We live, as we dream-alone...” This is one of the best I've ever read, it tells a story about a man named Marlow, who is sent down King Leopold's Congo to meet up with an Ivory trader named Kurtz. Only, when he arrives, he is met with an unspeakable horror...
A man whose heart has been taking by the sub-continent of Africa, who is hiding from prosecution by the "adult" world. I'd most likely join along with him as long as I could get some of the lithium (as opposed to opium which is what I through Marlon Brando was trading in Aposcalpyse Now.
