Mar 2017
there's just too much coming in,
you can own about 100 books and
never keep up;
a bit like alan harper's frustration,
or quiet simply meltdown in
the bookstore... "i just want to
read melville!"
too bad, i want a nobel prize for
something or other... but i did manage
to fetch a memory of the summer
i spent reading bertrand russell's
history of western philosophy,
lying down on the balcony in my
grandparent's flat... in a building,
that if translated into western standards
of housing (or apparently none
these days) would be deemed a housing
project, or an estate...
but then this is post-communism,
and it gave rise to an exponential reply
to the losses incurred in the second world war.
i hate to call my methods "natural selection"
but there goes the tool of metaphor...
gone, done, gone gone... gone.
do i need this tool, as in (doubled-up
ambiguity): the way i might need
the distinction between verb and noun?
enter the nerd, with a baggage
of tricks and quirps...
no... but i just stopped reading
books by my contemporaries...
might be that there is some sort of
ageism roaming the planet...
being younger i could relate
to older people... now i can't seem to find
a position to take with them...
or maybe i do...
then again once you read enough books and
say to yourself: enough! you get to
read book reviews, so a bit like an orawellian
double-think concept:
there's a c.c.t.v. camera over there...
should i be bothered, or shouldn't i be bothered?
and then the cascade of happenings
enter and you lead into sitting on a park
bench, where there's the alternative to c.c.t.v.:
a crow perched on a branch...
then again, i always thought that crows
are bowing (boeing)... bow-wow...
out of all the birds i've seen, crows actually
look humble, as if bowing, hunched...
try spotting a crow at night...
an insomniac crow is very hard to spot...
i know that crows are capable
of attacking storks... seen that happen with
my naked eye...
and sure enough: a kestrel once
visited me, perched on my garden fence...
if it sat any closer i'd go all underwater cross-eyed.
i have literally lost the capacity to *******
people... it's too consuming in terms of time
and it really ***** up your memory...
trying to remember all the lies... beginning
with the first one? takes about 10 years off your life.
so as book reviews go, you enter a world
of double-think... and as this book review clearly
proves, a doubling of standards to understand something...
christopher knight, the north pond hermit...
27 years, living alone...
cites his favourite book that's
1,200 pages long (william shirer's the rise and fall
of the third *****)...
and then he cites freud:
"there is no such thing as a joke... it's only veiled
hostility."
rings true... but you really have to
spend 27 years alone to read a book, that, if thrown
could **** someone (in hardback edition)?
i guess you do.
we can't read them all...
but we'd love to just write all of them.
you can own about 100 books and
never keep up;
a bit like alan harper's frustration,
or quiet simply meltdown in
the bookstore... "i just want to
read melville!"
too bad, i want a nobel prize for
something or other... but i did manage
to fetch a memory of the summer
i spent reading bertrand russell's
history of western philosophy,
lying down on the balcony in my
grandparent's flat... in a building,
that if translated into western standards
of housing (or apparently none
these days) would be deemed a housing
project, or an estate...
but then this is post-communism,
and it gave rise to an exponential reply
to the losses incurred in the second world war.
i hate to call my methods "natural selection"
but there goes the tool of metaphor...
gone, done, gone gone... gone.
do i need this tool, as in (doubled-up
ambiguity): the way i might need
the distinction between verb and noun?
enter the nerd, with a baggage
of tricks and quirps...
no... but i just stopped reading
books by my contemporaries...
might be that there is some sort of
ageism roaming the planet...
being younger i could relate
to older people... now i can't seem to find
a position to take with them...
or maybe i do...
then again once you read enough books and
say to yourself: enough! you get to
read book reviews, so a bit like an orawellian
double-think concept:
there's a c.c.t.v. camera over there...
should i be bothered, or shouldn't i be bothered?
and then the cascade of happenings
enter and you lead into sitting on a park
bench, where there's the alternative to c.c.t.v.:
a crow perched on a branch...
then again, i always thought that crows
are bowing (boeing)... bow-wow...
out of all the birds i've seen, crows actually
look humble, as if bowing, hunched...
try spotting a crow at night...
an insomniac crow is very hard to spot...
i know that crows are capable
of attacking storks... seen that happen with
my naked eye...
and sure enough: a kestrel once
visited me, perched on my garden fence...
if it sat any closer i'd go all underwater cross-eyed.
i have literally lost the capacity to *******
people... it's too consuming in terms of time
and it really ***** up your memory...
trying to remember all the lies... beginning
with the first one? takes about 10 years off your life.
so as book reviews go, you enter a world
of double-think... and as this book review clearly
proves, a doubling of standards to understand something...
christopher knight, the north pond hermit...
27 years, living alone...
cites his favourite book that's
1,200 pages long (william shirer's the rise and fall
of the third *****)...
and then he cites freud:
"there is no such thing as a joke... it's only veiled
hostility."
rings true... but you really have to
spend 27 years alone to read a book, that, if thrown
could **** someone (in hardback edition)?
i guess you do.
we can't read them all...
but we'd love to just write all of them.
