reading xy's blog puts me to shame and makes me sound really bimbotic. lol.
i really like browsing through books at secondhand bookshops. of course, it's really nice to finger shiny new books that could become yours, but i like the selection at barnados etc somehow. it seems like practically every book gives off a frission of excitement. i nearly got three books including one by anita desai and another by frank mc court (not angela's ashes), but in the end i got 1000 student recipes from oxfam, £2.99, not bad ;p
we were saying we should clear one of the cupboards out and make a bookcase! i think that's a very very good idea. haha.
the power of poetry is so inexplicable. i could never do lit crit actually. it just sits there glowing in jars, waiting for someone to open the book and find it. it's the complete antithesis, or perhaps the perfect complement of (as in literally, the other half of) loud angry music. it is a well of silence, the missing jewels from the treasury, stolen moments and imaginings. it is the castle in the air, the sound you hear in your heart when you turn off the music, the place you turn to when everyone seems ridiculous, yourself included. it is the one thing that can never go wrong, even in dingy bookshops off a smoky, greyish street. the poetry i read is like the view of rooftops out the dining room window, the thread of sanity within haystacks, within endless noodles of computer cables, within waterfalls of unwashed laundry.
i have found the answer to my seemingly neverending quandries. i may go broke now but who cares i'd rather die happy than be rich and unhappy.
and i just found a book for my ssc in the library!!! ahahaha
good times. too many emails to answer.
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