"Bad" is accordingly a word I apply to the object of an alien and repulsed internality; that object is bad because it was (in) me, because its originally prehensile viscosity figures my muculent presence in an "object" I create by spitting both out and up--and because, moreover, it continues to do so even after the vomit of the world thus invented has hardened to a state of externally stable and apparent objectal solidity.

And it--this reading--will have to confront, perhaps above and beyond all else, the effects of such meaningful-moral collapse on the novel's treatment of gender and sexuality, by which the female object-to-be-mastered flows ceaselessly into the subject to-be-loved, and any attempt to spit out the bad is blocked by the introjective projection of "self" in the mode of a muculent hole.