I'm reading The Anthologist by Nicholson Baker. So far, it's interesting. I'm on page 19, which is the first page of chapter two.
I love books. I love libraries and I love bookstores, especially ones that sell used books or books gone out of print.
When I was younger, like 8-12, I would take out 30+ books from the library, and do nothing but read all day. I remember one time when I took out so many books that I couldn't carry them all, but had to pile them on the floor and push them to the counter to check them out. I remember, when I took those books back (the next week, I think) the annoyed look on the librarian's face. She obviously was not looking forward to the prospect of checking in all those books.
Coles had books on sale for $2 today. I bought The Art of War by Sun Tzu and The Selected Works of T.S. Spivet. Can't wait to read them.
...
I got up a few minutes ago, and a verse of poetry came to my head. And it was pretty good, too. The problem is that I couldn't write it down just then, and then I got distracted because I forgot I had been mopping the kitchen floor and waiting for it to dry, and now that it was dry I needed to put the kitchen mats back into place and finish the dishes, and when I sat down at the computer again, I forgot completely what it was. It started out like this:
Forget the past
And then it went on, for three more lines. But I can't for the life of me remember what the rest of it....
Something like:
Forget the past, for it is gone
....?...
...solitude and pain
...?....
This isn't it, but this comes close to the general idea of it:
Forget the past , for it is gone
...?...
The days of solitude and pain
Will never come again.
This happens sometimes. Like when I was walking to my house through the alleyway at night, looking up at the moon through the trees, a beautiful line of poetry came into my head. But I had no pencil, no paper, no way to make the thought substantial enough to stay in my memory... By the time I made it into the house, I couldn't really remember it. The general idea was there, but I forgot the exact wording, and I tried to make it work but it just wasn't the same. So I gave up and just left it.
I love books. I love libraries and I love bookstores, especially ones that sell used books or books gone out of print.
When I was younger, like 8-12, I would take out 30+ books from the library, and do nothing but read all day. I remember one time when I took out so many books that I couldn't carry them all, but had to pile them on the floor and push them to the counter to check them out. I remember, when I took those books back (the next week, I think) the annoyed look on the librarian's face. She obviously was not looking forward to the prospect of checking in all those books.
Coles had books on sale for $2 today. I bought The Art of War by Sun Tzu and The Selected Works of T.S. Spivet. Can't wait to read them.
...
I got up a few minutes ago, and a verse of poetry came to my head. And it was pretty good, too. The problem is that I couldn't write it down just then, and then I got distracted because I forgot I had been mopping the kitchen floor and waiting for it to dry, and now that it was dry I needed to put the kitchen mats back into place and finish the dishes, and when I sat down at the computer again, I forgot completely what it was. It started out like this:
Forget the past
And then it went on, for three more lines. But I can't for the life of me remember what the rest of it....
Something like:
Forget the past, for it is gone
....?...
...solitude and pain
...?....
This isn't it, but this comes close to the general idea of it:
Forget the past , for it is gone
...?...
The days of solitude and pain
Will never come again.
This happens sometimes. Like when I was walking to my house through the alleyway at night, looking up at the moon through the trees, a beautiful line of poetry came into my head. But I had no pencil, no paper, no way to make the thought substantial enough to stay in my memory... By the time I made it into the house, I couldn't really remember it. The general idea was there, but I forgot the exact wording, and I tried to make it work but it just wasn't the same. So I gave up and just left it.
I have nothing left to say. I've always been terrible at conclusions, whether they be to stories, essays, poems--even just saying goodbye. The beginnings are usually more concrete and clear than the endings, which usually reiterate things already iterated or just trail off into something vague and uncertain.
So, um, I'm just going to go now.