Pupae. Where to start with "Pupae?" To begin with, you have nothing to start with. This one just tries to appeal to those who can care for the "you" that the book is talking about. It is totally ridiculous and just every perspective poetry ever. It doesn't even feel like poetry, just a bunch of words crumpled together and called it "poetry" or "art" for the author. It doesn't give any context at all. It is just a mystery that is just random like "life" except its words.
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Abundant punctuation errors litter all over the screen which is an editor's nightmare but that just makes you think it is an "error." Think to feel that something is wrong and something is right is just one and the other except that different outcomes blossom from these decisions "to read" or "to understand." What does it all mean from the perspective of "you?" If you is even used as the you anyone uses in everyday life. It makes sense "to see" it wrong than to make it right because "you" have no control over the poems because you are not "the author."
It doesn't force you to read because the one it is looking for is "you." Who is this "you" to begin with? It drives the simple mind to take the benefit of the doubt "to not know."
I myself wrote this, not because "I" wrote this but rather I is the product of "you." And that is just the blurb. Not even talking specifically that it is poetry. Normally, anyone would call this a collection of poems or a collection of stories or a collection of memories and experiences, if you're that deep, but it is not that simple, even though it is.
It separates the normal from the unique because it knew it is "different" and not the same of itself but the "self" part is left out and completely forgotten. It is now left a bunch of gibberish and lost messages that anyone could've wrote because they are words. Examining...no.... dissecting this further would only make it far more complex and much harder to understand because everyone forgot where they came from.
The fact that it is a book has been erased and the emotions are shattered and rearranged to this pile of bad poetry. This is why it would never make sense to anyone fully because "you" is missing. It reveals to you as a text-driven cluster of words of what happened or where it left off but never where it is "not" going because there is nothing special about poetry and nobody determines it as "likable" nowadays.
Honestly, this would never work as an actual functioning book but most definitely worth checking out if anyone would still be willing to check in now and again because this has "no end nor beginning" but "has a middle."
We are used to reading like, chronologically if possible, as do cavemen; left to right, right to left; are practically the same thing. That would mean nothing has changed since then so does the way to look the time: you see the sun, its day; you see the moon and the stars, its night. Identification and surety of the means satisfy a humanity. To believe that life is difficult but sleep isn't "too hard" is it? Technically, still a part of life. So is everything about life so difficult? The better question is: Is there another way to live?
Sure it may be difficult but think about death, for instance, it is "easy." It is a form of escapism from the difficulties of life. Although, nobody can prove this because has anyone seen "death" or even "God" and "lived" to tell the tale. Anybody can make their guesses but that's just it "guesses." A form of trying "to know."
All in all, don't read it. In numbers:
Neutrals (+ or -)
4.8/30 -not even surprised-