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Anyway, tl;dr, book good, @blipstress.bsky.social I eagerly await your future assaults on my reading sensibilities both voluntarily and under mild duress.

This book is about our desire to be understood; to find someone (character or reader) who sees us for what we are and acknowledges it; to find the person that makes us feel whole and validated; to not feel like a lit candle in an otherwise empty vacuum; to be *observed.* I think I'm rambling now.

But it's not just that. 'Plastic, Prism, Void' is about how we find meaning in a meaningless world; about our constant dissatisfaction with what we have and fixation on the success of others; about the desire to reach out and grab someone by the shoulder and shout at them until they acknowledge you.

Both the characters and, seemingly, the author are aware of the restraints of the medium and are constantly asking for your participation nonetheless. It reminds me a lot of 'With Those We Love Alive' in what it asks of its readers, both physically and empathetically.

I feel like it alternates between asking for my understanding and pulling a knife on me and demanding my action. (Not literally, though I wouldn't be surprised if the sequel somehow finds a way to package a loaded revolver in its bindings.)

But it's not just that. 'Plastic, Prism, Void' is a dialogue with the reader. It's an attempt to bridge the divide between author and reader; to make the reader feel like a present and active party in the story to the point where it's, frankly, threatening.

To get a bit nerdy, it reminds me a bit of Danielewski's 'Familiar' series in how frequently and disparately it attempts to surpass the assumed limitations of the written word. Absolutely great shit.

Allen seems determined to utilize every bit of the author's agency to its maximal extent. Color, font, spacing, footnotes, image inserts, and more--all are utilized to wild effectiveness, visibly attempting to burst past the constraints of the printed page.

But it's not just that. 'Plastic, Prism, Void' is also the result of the author's seemingly endless fascination with the limitations of the written word. While it's technically ergodic (what with all the footnotes), this novel is less of a House of Leaves-esque maze and more of a blank canvas.

It's sexy, it's funny, and it's full of moments that make you aware of just how much love the author has for these modern pulp fiction genres. The writing is both unfailingly hilarious and thought-provoking (even if the thoughts provoked are a puerile pun on a dead poet's name).

If I had to give a plot summary, 'Plastic, Prism, Void' is about a middle-aged magical girl with questionable values and a middle-aged mecha pilot with questionable values and their absolutely awful and compelling romance with one another.

Okay, finished this a few days ago and ready to give my thoughts. First thought: read this damn book. Second thought: READ. THE. BOOK.

Provolone. Simple, but highly effective, and heightens any meal it's added to. If I want a bolder taste, sometimes a sharp white cheddar will do the trick.

anyway tl;dr, show good, please play "bangkok" on thursday

Her ability to bring Neil's compositions to life was what really made this tour possible, and it's absolutely wonderful how well she does at it. Is she perfect? No. Is she Neil? No. But she's a damn good drummer playing damn good music and making an entire arena smile, and that's good enough for me.

The other thing worth mentioning were the touring musicians joining the band. Loren Gold's contributions on keys were subtle but well appreciated, and Anika Nilles' performance filling the biggest shoes in drumming was absolutely impeccable.

The setlist picked from all over Rush's immense catalogue, and had a good balance of old classics that new fans would appreciate hearing and deep cuts for the older fans. No one was disappointed hearing "Tom Sawyer" and "The Spirit of Radio" of course, but "Natural Science?" That was for the freaks.

But those few (necessary, needed) moments of reflection aside, the evening was full of everything that makes Rush music incredible--nearly three full hours of incredibly catchy and musically stupefying rock, designed not just to fill arenas, but leave them roaring.

In fact, it even brought new life into some of the tracks--hearing Geddy mention Neil before playing "The Garden" gave the entire song a whole new dimension, almost as a thesis of Neil's thoughts on a life well-lived. "Time Stand Still" also took on a new dimension without Neil behind the kit.

But those moments of sadness didn't bring down the mood at all; they were celebratory, helping everyone remember just how much their departed friend meant to both themselves and every fan his work touched. It was incredibly moving, and a needed catharsis for fans who had been with the band a while.