Vaseline Buddha

It's rambling stream of consciousness akin to what Lucy Ellman is trying with Ducks, Newburyport - but even more disjointed and obtuse. Moon will spend a page recounting a story, then admit to having made the whole thing up which sends him on several tangents. It's an anti-travelogue, a depressive monologue, a barely coherent, plotless ramble filled with circuitous language that eats itself. Young-moon Jung is having a conversation with the reader inviting them into the very process of writing - often driven by boredom and looping, repetitive thoughts.