You resemble Joyce, W. C. Williams, and Woolf. The culmination of the Enlightenment and the nation-state has literally blown your mind: you represent consciousness in a stream, but this stream is fragmented (somehow). You're a big fan of Picasso, and it shows in your prose. People think you're scatterbrained and indecisive, but you know better! If you ever pause, paralyzed in print, it's because you're pinioned between the Great Wars, between old religion and modernity -- and because you ask big, perhaps impossible-to-answer questions like "Suppose there is a pigeon. Suppose there is" and "do I dare to eat a peach?" Fare forward, Modern Period! You are full of passionate intensity.
Joyce, and Woolf, Really?? That means my writing is equal to the mental wanderings of a depressed maniac. Read at your own risk.
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