toaf is a very small book that irritated me about a book that couldn't be published, yet couldn't be left alone. i still don't know why it couldn't be a book itself, though i'm sure the author tried to iterate why ad infinitum in a slim volume. i think it has to do with questioning what a book is in reality, or what is life. i have no idea how many books i have read in my life, the vast number of which are as forgotten as yesterday's clouds.