Splinken i had a bad dream last night about pictures on his bookshelf. pictures that weren't there before, that were there only because he never thought i'd see them.

weird pencil-drawing pictures. one of them was of jesus, i think. or a regular picture of a man that he drew on so that it looked like jesus. but it had a name written on it.

lordy, i'm neurotic. the thought of those dreams coming back makes me awfully nervous.
once again New bookshelves... towers of gleaming sunshine oak, yearning to be filled. And i caress the covers leafing through the pages, that I know so well. Recalling the story... for it is not alwasy the words that are important but the stories... and I know them and I love them. And slowly one by one I shelve them, placing them carefully, for only one who knows and loves them as I do would understand the inate sense of order they have... leaning stacked or lined neatly on the shelves, and they are happy there, but never so happy as they are when i hold them gently in my palms and caress their pages with my gaze. 031022
Freak the one goal in life I have is to have enough books (good books) of my own to have my own personal little library 031022
pipedream i don't have enough. i need some in my loo, most definitely. my books are spilling out of their closet, their shelves, on my bedside, im surrounded by their glorious papery bliss and i need more bookshelves. 031022
Adam and the Ants with the books
and the plants
i am borges "The universe (which others call the Library) is composed of an indefinite and perhaps infinite number of hexagonal galleries, with vast air shafts between, surrounded by very low railings. From any of the hexagons one can see, interminably, the upper and lower floors. The distribution of the galleries is invariable. Twenty shelves, five long shelves per side, cover all the sides except two; their height, which is the distance from floor to ceiling, scarcely exceeds that of a normal bookcase."

celestias shadow one of my best friends. 031028
ClairE Everything was messy and neat, and the shelves were gleaming white.

"They're bookshelves, but only one of them has books on it."

I know. I admired all your CDs while you were in the bathroom. The collection of someone who did not lose all her CDs almost two years ago (like losing_me). Reading the titles reminded me of the way things could have been, if not for funny fate.

"I built them myself." You say everything with a grin in your voice. I take your level and pretend to check your handiwork. My bookcase came in a box and I was happy when I put it together. I wish I could take your hand and lead you to the corner of my room, point to the top shelf of music and show you where my heart lies now, crouch down and show you what books I have on my shelves these days.

You'd never invite yourself over like I used to, browse through your white bookcase and find Ondaatje, use your bathroom and take deep breaths, pick up the phone and demand that I be important in your life. Damnit, I want someone to take into my room and shut the door, and I'm starting to look at the pieces of my life and wonder if this need has anything to do with a desire to erase your phantom following me every time I unpack my boxes.
pipedream *blinks*

how wonderful. clarity and poignancy rolled into a neat, well-worded passage.
you make my heart sing.
what's it to you?
who go