Reading “Jack, July” really makes me feel as if I ‘m in a
drunk/high state of mine. The story is unable to focus at plenty of points but
at the same time I feel like that was the intention. The entire time I was
reading this piece, I could help but be forced into the shoes of this crystal
meth addict, losing time and pieces of the story not lining up at certain
points. Conversations seem disjointed and flashbacks plague plenty of areas,
forcing me to have to recall what’s the reality and what ‘s the flashback. It’s
as if I was constantly living in two
worlds. With the only spots of clarity coming from needing the next fix of
crystal. The story makes you feel weak in the sense that there seems to be no
positive path for Jack to go. It seems as if he’s burned every bridge with
napalm. Random thoughts pop into his head; he’s violent, incredibly irritable,
talks under his breath and at multiple occasions, doesn’t make sense at all. He
can’t seem to find what world he wants to live in. He's broke, he's homeless, he's without love and without family. All he has is his memories. It's sad, but it makes sense, with someone who's so deep in drug addiction, losing all these things just seems like the scenario most likely to happen. So the story accomplishes it goal by making me feel like the addict or at the very least the downtrodden aspect of the addict.
Yes! Nice response.
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