Dude on the run (from who?) describing how it is that one ought to be on the run. I thought the QR codes were just vestiges of a weird .mobi file, but no this thing's a whole multimedia experience. The writing is frantic, many chapters are a single sentence (long). Either the meaning went over my head or this was another one of László's goofie pranks. It didn't really "come together" for me.

and above all there’s indeed no such thing as a way out, so that I, the fugitive, am forced to sojourn in precisely the very world from—and because of—which I’m fleeing

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Actually, you’re not supposed to eat, either. Or drink. I’ll explain it—yes, I am speaking to myself, as always, as if I’m speaking to someone, even though I never speak to anyone, only to myself, carrying on my permanent dialogue with myself, not a dialogue that can survive me, although, yes, I admit—naturally I nibble on something every once in a while—of course I gulp down a few swigs from time to time, but this can’t qualify as eating and drinking, because my watchfulness at these times, on these occasions, is if possible even more intense, so that I can barely swallow, in fact eating as well as drinking is a torment, chiefly because while you’d think that this watchfulness, this straining to sense if my murderers are approaching with frightening speed behind my back as I’m eating or drinking, could not in fact be elevated to an intensity greater than it is at the times when I’m not eating or drinking, yet the intensity does elevate, that’s to say it’s impossible, it causes such excruciating agony that even to think of eating or drinking makes my throat go into such spasms that I no longer “want to eat or drink, though naturally that doesn’t mean that I won’t eat or drink again, even though it should, but in any case, I especially do not advise you to try it, because this is not for you, you might as well keep on stuffing yourself, and just let whatever has to happen, happen.

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but I am paying no mind to the future: as a matter of fact I simply don’t give a shit about the future, it holds nothing promising for me, chiefly because it doesn’t exist for me, only the moment in which I find myself exists, which leads us into the stinking infinite, both me, the hunted one, and those who mean to seize me in order to first rough me up a bit and then inflict every imaginable torment upon me

time is a single discrete present, no future or past. Questions are bad:

I hate dumb questions, just as in general I dislike all questions, as was mentioned earlier or will be, later, I’m not sure, at times one or two questions do crop up, but I try my best to avoid them, I have a poor relationship to questions, they just make me nervous, because they don’t lead anywhere

The title comes from Ch 15 which features a tour guide lecturing the Japanese couple about the Odyssey which doesn’t work on them but does work on protag who flees for Aleppo pines in search of Calypso’s island of the dead, where he’s sure he’s ditched the assassins. Strand

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