the murakami test

i speak of the one, the only, haruki murakami.
let me first preface by saying i've read a few of his novels. and i didnt like any of them.
norwegian wood?
the windup bird chronicles?
hardboiled wonderland and the end of the world?
a wild sheep chase?

why yes, i have read them all and yes, i did not enjoy any of them.

why do i continue reading them, you may press.

well i read them because he is a god amongst mere mortal writers. so i've been told.

murakami has his own unique way of writing and only those that truly get it, share in on his brilliance. they are in fact, brilliant themselves for being able to appreciate his brilliance. well, that was my logic.
and that my friend, is the murakami test.
do i have the goods to appreciate murakami's warped and confusing mess of disjointed stories?
understanding his novel is sorta like solving a riddle, wrapped in an enigma twisted within a mystery while intoxicated. can it be done? is it meant to be done?

sometimes i would lie to myself and say i liked it. and i would truly believe it too. for a milli second.
and then i would feel bad because i would realize lying to myself is sort of like masturbation. in the end, you're only fucking yourself. okay okay i apologize for that joke. it's been heard around the world ten times over by you, me and anyone who has fb. but it was so appropriate, no?
man, if i invented that joke i would be so proud of myself. not because it's funny, but because it's so appropriate! you can end just about any discussion with that line because anything can be alluded to fucking yourself.

_____ is like masturbation. in the end you are only fucking yourself.


"working this job is like masturbation. in the end you are only fucking yourself," you can proclaim before quitting your job in a blaze of glory.

"being with you is like masturbation. in the end you are only fucking yourself"
that is the ultimate breakup statement.

and the list go on and on.


so back to the topic at hand,
of course my never getting murakami made me very sad. as i felt that i wasn't a true writer because i never "got it". i didn't understand his magnetism obviously therefore i was merely just a simpleton who was better off reading dan brown novels like the rest of the masses. i don't get to cross over to the league of writers. i was a fake writer, an amateur journal writer. oh those goddamn journal writers are the worst. they write one journal entry of clarity and think they can rule the world.

so i marched on and read his novels nonetheless, hoping against hope that one day, i would in fact get it and finally be a real writer.

well guess what bitches... i finally "got it". go get it gurl.
i read Kafka on the shore and was blown away.

i have arrived.

a party is a-coming and everyone is invited.

or as my friends say- party in my mouth and everyone is coming.
ok that was too easy.