life is mobility and creakiness and mostly the desire to remain alive ( and sometimes even to take anothers life just to see how it bleeds into the blender ) , and the cunt held its life , theatres superior leash on life , radically against it ; books depended on the reader , on the cunt , for their athenas breath , he was their life and thus , as soon as he lifes them , they are like him lifeless and sour and bloodless and pathetic and slow-burning and angry , infected by him and reflectively infecting him right back , infecting him beyond the pettiness of his individual hatred to an hatred of cosmic and theogonic dimensions , and that is why he likes literature , better than theatre at any rate .