Books. And Beer.
I'm reading a book called Pieta right now, by George Klein. I'm sitting in Baileys, just after work, nursing a beer that is half barleywine, half heaven.
Well, ok, I'm actually typing RIGHT now. But only because of this book. I hate it when I have these thoughts, thoughts I want to remember later, but I'm too busy reading the book that inspired these thoughts to write them down. I'm going to try and write and read at the same time. We'll see if this works.
He writes about the great question posed by Albert Camus (a man I've trained myself not to like, due to years of religious references). "Is life worth living?". Yes or no.
My heart responds with yes. But the way he writes about the darkness... the ravens black wings, the black pool waiting at the edge of your sight, the knowledge of Nothingness that pervades every beautiful thing. I relate to those, deeply. So, light, or dark? I see both.
These words. These simple symbols on a white page. They are what it means to be human. I run my fingers along the page as I read, because I can almost touch these words, feel their shape. The transmittance of an idea, reading another human beings thoughts... this is magical. When I was a kid, I imagined living in a library. A cottage out in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by knowledge and thoughts and romance. As an adult, that dream seems dusty and dull. I'd rather find my own knowledge and thoughts and romance. But... the thought of immersing myself in this beauty, all day every day. It still holds so much appeal.
Well, ok, I'm actually typing RIGHT now. But only because of this book. I hate it when I have these thoughts, thoughts I want to remember later, but I'm too busy reading the book that inspired these thoughts to write them down. I'm going to try and write and read at the same time. We'll see if this works.
He writes about the great question posed by Albert Camus (a man I've trained myself not to like, due to years of religious references). "Is life worth living?". Yes or no.
My heart responds with yes. But the way he writes about the darkness... the ravens black wings, the black pool waiting at the edge of your sight, the knowledge of Nothingness that pervades every beautiful thing. I relate to those, deeply. So, light, or dark? I see both.
These words. These simple symbols on a white page. They are what it means to be human. I run my fingers along the page as I read, because I can almost touch these words, feel their shape. The transmittance of an idea, reading another human beings thoughts... this is magical. When I was a kid, I imagined living in a library. A cottage out in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by knowledge and thoughts and romance. As an adult, that dream seems dusty and dull. I'd rather find my own knowledge and thoughts and romance. But... the thought of immersing myself in this beauty, all day every day. It still holds so much appeal.
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