I love books. I love them so much I even love reading about books. And reading about reading. And reading about other readers. I can’t decide what book club to join. I feel I might miss out on others. I have no time for them anyway, what good is talking about reading when you could use your time to DO more reading. And read about people meeting at book clubs to discuss their reading. The Dumas club perhaps, now that is a book club worth going to. Worth reading about too, even better perhaps (yes, I do have a weak spot for Perez-Reverte).
Maybe I should start a book club, my own book club. Wait a minute, I am my own book club already. And I am sadly closed to new members however… At my club I sometimes read very exclusive writers, you know. Writers that have never been read by any other readers at any other book club in the charted world. Writers like myself, for example. Or like my fiancée, whose text messages are sometimes filled with such inexplicable sadness. Is literature a function of the technological world? Is fiction an app?
I will look for an answer in the books…And if I find it out, I will write it down somewhere, in an obscure note at the bottom of a page in a book about the soil composition in Bolivia and the extinction of the Eocene elephants. So make sure you read the fine print at the bottom of such texts if you want the key to knowledge. Or you could just google it…
The speed of thought today defies reflection. Action, terrorizing action pushes thoughts through, unsanctioned by the judge of beauty who was once the master of our soul. We process rather than slowly digest, swallow whole rather than taste, shout rather than sing, demolish and rebuild rather than consolidate and beautify. The world has awoken me to madness and I want to go back to sleep, back to the slow movement of waves, the slumber of the deep. And dream of life, not one but many, different and bizarre, as many as there are mouths to speak or eyes to see and minds to think them. So give myself back to my books, let me slide away from what is real and discover what was real or will be real, let us all just pause and…no, not think, but rather stop thinking. And just read about thinking, read about ourselves reading about ourselves reading about ourselves reading…
nusitatu said,
May 3, 2010 at 2:27 pm
If you want to capture a fragment of a different life just now, listen to Asta, by Mozdzer Danielsson Fresco. Instantly googlable…Continue with Asta II and Suffering and finish triumphantly in the arms of Asta III. Fall asleep and dream of the end of the sunniest summer you can remember.