March 7th - Books on the Shelf
Books on the Shelf
The books on the bookshelf haven’t always gotten along – a collection in conflict – hard to identify any running themes that would show the thoughtful depth of the place. The absence of any common interest between the titles was instead the prevailing atmospheric malaise – a slow death – the kind that collects dust. A magazine rack at a locally owned gas station says a lot more about the people around, living their lives. Words are life except for where they’re ignored and shut away in a dark and inconvenient room. Then they’re just echoes, or ghost-like whispers withered of any power of pulse.
Years later, that one collection became two. Each set was planted in two new places. Some of the weeds were pulled out and those allelopathic collections gained new companions. The shrouds of detritus were wiped away and each started to grow again. Slowly at first and then with a renewed enthusiasm. Crescat, vivat, floureat. They were organized in new ways – ways that supported each other in a myriad of colors and sans serif fonts. When read together, they created a unique story of beliefs and interests, fears and joys.
I would have loved her properly if she could point out that my Latin phrased tattoos are in an Old English font and not part of the Roman font family. If she could point out my ignorance and hypocrisy; that’d make me feel really special.
What I first noticed was the way her boobs created a gentle texture in an otherwise boring sweater.
And the way her butt made jeans look like an entire vacation.
That was nice and it would have ended with that quiet admiration if we hadn’t gotten to talking about some-artist-I-never-heard-of and her favorite Thai recipe to cook on a cold day.
I thought, “Now here’s a coupla things I could really get into.”
I didn’t know those things could be so interesting.
Talking to her was like walking through snow – slipping sometimes, but never really touching the ground.
The way she put the shape to words was really something.
I wasn’t really listening. She was taking me on a tour.
I started to shake a little
It made me so hungry
I wondered if our books would get along.
Whether they’d start families and invite relatives over.
Even trees can’t face the weather alone forever
Some are just turned into books.
Some words are lost in the wind
Some worlds are just part of the imagination
Some imagination creates the real world
An old tree, an old book, words on the wind and the pollen of imagination
Need good companions
Don't spend time reading books that you don't like. Unless they're good for you.