A Humument

I read all of Tom Phillips' A Humument today, which had a lot more romance than I expected, especially at the end:

"The spot reached by a winding road of zigzags brought them close to art / alone on the margin of darkness ending in mist; a white dreamer moving / taste the world, he said Look, through the air and coloured vapours look at a story the windows told // Oh, Ah, / I will yes /And I said --yes, yes / end // think of the systems mute / Think of the dark rainbow toge / dedication-- / "TO THE SOLE AND ONLY BEGETTER OF THIS VOLUME. / by whose side I shall lie, bones my bones my best perpetuate equal page for page."

Above is my favorite page of text in the book. It's too hard to pick my favorite visual page.

"occasionally they [the blobular spaces that contain text] crawl amoebalike in muck and grow as germs do in laboratory jellies, or fly the way buffeted balloons might through a tempest, or float like used condoms on a wider river" --William Gass