I'm reading this book, Dooneen. In the first pages I wondered, Is this guy dead? On page 157 Mew asks the same question of himself. There's no answer, it just goes on, like the dreamtime or the afterlife, but the world is still real, and I'm going on, walking along the sentences in my mind as it's reminiscent of my life or my sense of things as they go on and I ask myself Is this book crazy or am I crazy, or are we both crazy, and is it, too, divine?