Till the big saucer eyes were looking at me. As he describes it, “I’d wait until they were totally in love with me. I wanted her body to remember mine…” Manipulative and near sociopathic with women, our narrator’s only joy in life is killing the souls of women, biding his time until they are truly relaxed enough to think he would never leave them and then bolting when the last of their guard was down.
I wanted to be present on her wedding night.
Anal sex? That would still leave her a virgin… But I didn’t like the idea of me as a sexual plumber. Lacroix, MN, where our narrator puts himself into a self-imposed exile).ĭiary of an Oxygen Thief isn’t particularly “good” or groundbreaking. In the style of Bret Easton Ellis, our rather psycho narrator frankly and unabashedly unfolds the tale with such foul sidebars as talking about how he must ensure psychologically damaging a virgin and her future husband for life by not actually fucking her: “Somehow it was obvious I that should leave her virginity intact. His desired audience, like Lin’s, was always built-in and targeted as the hipster set that Williamsburg has shat out into so many other places by now (maybe even St. The author was living in Amsterdam at the time, still working the ad agency circuit that cemented his alcoholism.
#Diary of an oxygen thief free reading for free
“Anonymous” perfected what Lin did after publishing one thousand hardcover copies of the book when a friend of a friend offered to do so for free in ’06 (thank god not everyone is allowed the luxury of this offer or there really would be a lot of shite out there). And, to be frank, the assessment was not off the mark. You’re maybe perhaps the single most irritating person we’ve ever had to deal with.” Gawker also went on to flat-out call Lin a “retard,” back when you could still do that. I just want you to know that because of your ill-conceived self-marketing strategy, you have 100% guaranteed that I will never read your damned book. As Gawker did when they personally addressed Lin by writing, “I know you’re reading this. Put any drivel you want in it (as Lin so often does) and people will buy it so long as they can recognize its cover from the streets of New York, Twitter and/or Instagram (Facebook, not so much).īecause even when they mock your whorish marketing strategy, they’re still talking about you. It was the first no-turning-back solidification of the fact that selling books has nothing to do with the book itself. No meaning, no association whatsoever with his book. No, that wouldn’t come in its “true modern state” until 2008, with Tao Lin’s “promotion” of his book (or second poetry collection), cognitive-behavioral therapy, by way of plastering stickers throughout the city that read simply: BRITNEY SPEARS. The city of New York had not yet truly become bombarded by the marketing schemes that social media has made a part of our everyday existence. In 2006, the “anonymous” author (though many a passerby has bought his book from the man himself in SoHo) responsible for Diary of an Oxygen Thief was still marooned in Europe.
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