the_books birdmad my little treasures, ancient miniature volume of Wilde's "Salome" in bound in green-dyed leather. Equally old copy of his "Observations" both rich with the vaguely cool scent of old paper, that smell of slow, but not unpleasant decay that one only finds in a used bookstore. sometimes the reading isn't all of the adventure the mind can set about on in acquiring a sufficiently old book, wonder for a moment over the collections of Shakespeare - whose hands these volumes might have passed through, did someone reading through it ever experience a flash of MacBeth's deadly ambition, the scheming of Iago, was there ever a bit of old Falstaff in whoever owned these last? were they the only ones to own them? Did someone stifle a laugh in polite company over the sexier jokes and entendres of this uncensored translation of Aristophanes? How many nights in a smoke filled room either in close proximity to a stiff drink or a strong coffee did this copy of "Being_and_Nothingness" spend, and were there any worthwhile debates that sprang between its owner and someone else about the nature of our existence. It could always leave a person to wonder if all of the inanimate objects around us, all the items we've ever possessed contain within them some spark of who we are or have been in a given moment. Someone somewhere in this city where i live is in possession of a copy of 1984 that was with me in any of a number of nightmarish moments worthy of the horror of Winston's experiene with the rat-mask, i wonder would that fear imprint itself upon those pages and manifest itself in some intangible way to the reader holding that old volume now ghosts appear and fade away, clinging to whatever tethers of their time they can. the vanishing_point calls everything eventually. 030713 ... "The" Man Hit 'em! 080710 ... content Balance. Repetition. Proposition. Mirrors. Most of all, the world is a place where parts of wholes are described within an overarching paradigm of clarity and accuracy. The context in which makes possible an underlying sense of the way it all fits together, despite our collective tendency not to conceive of it as such. But then again, the world without end is a place where souls are combined, but with an overbearing feeling of disparity and disorderliness. To ignore it is impossible without getting oneself into all of kinds of trouble, despite one’s best intentions to not get entangled with it so much. Meanwhile, the statues are bleeding green. And others are saying things much better than we ever could; as the quiet become suddenly verbose. And the hail’s heralding the size of nickels. And the street corners are gnashing together like the gears inside the head of some omniscient engineer. And downward flows the garnered wisdom that has never died Then finally, we opened the box, we couldn’t find any rules. Our heads were reeling with the glitter of possibilities, contingencies... but with ever increasing faith we decided to go ahead and just ignore them, despite tremendous pressure to capitulate with fate. So instead, we went ahead to fabricate a catalog of unstable elements and modicums and particles. With not zero total strangeness for brief moments which amount to nothing more than tiny fragments of a finger snap. Meanwhile, we’re furiously seeing green. And the map has started tearing along its creases due to overuse... when in reality it’s never needed folds. And the air’s withholding the sound of its wellspring. And our heads approach a density reminiscent of the infinite productivity of the center of the sun. And therein lies the garnered wisdom that has never died. Expectation - leads to disappointment. If you don’t expect something big huge and exciting... usually... I dunno, just, uh yea..." 081211 ... In_Bloom Take the rug Yes, the crystal too And the china, go ahead Not the books, please just leave them there I'll box them myself and carry them away You don't know but in their pages are my loose sheets of thought Years of love and waiting 081212 ... unhinged $80 well spent at my favorite local bookseller yesterday the way of the bodhisattva - shantideva shine with the very lonely firefly - eric carle (he is currently my niece's hero. she has decided she wants to write and illustrate her own books just like him. the story of this one seems to be a little bit of dramatic_irony coming from auntie nicole which will probably remain unbeknownst to her) on the road with jack truck - jon scieszka everyday sudoku - usa today new moon - stephenie meyer limbo (a memoir) - a. manette ansay the reasons i won't be coming - elliot perlman along with the winter issues of buddhadharma and tricycle christmas gifts for myself and my family. i love when schwartz puts their bargain books on sale. that's not a bad bag of books for the cash. 081213 ... twenty-two good band...? 081214 ... hsg "And our heads approach a density reminiscent of the in_fun_it productivity of the center_of_the_sun. " i believe that that in_form_ation from_hydrogen_to_helium is contained in every grain_of_sand in the universe. holograph i_c kindness seems to bring a more lucid unfoldment for one's potential for awareness. zerone one_two_three fiveighthirteen 090618 ... silentbob That's the picture. You s-you see it for yourself. There it is. It's a man. There it is, with uhhh... 090618 what's it to you? who go blather from