“I love books! I fucking love the ever-loving shite out of them! I would do things to books that would cause most decent societies to frown upon me and never return my calls again. Alas, I do have restraint so I stick to the age old tradition of reading them. For now.”
That’s what Andrew says in his latest post. Haha, I totally subscribe: I don’t love books, I capital F-U-C-K-I-N-G L-O-V-E B-O-O-K-S. And, just like Andrew, I’m appalled at people who don’t read books. Even people who don’t at least read a newspaper or two, or even a magazine, surprise me (gossip mags don’t count and are a bane on modern civilisation; to quote Mr. Hunter S. Thompson, only dullards, bums, and hacks, hag-ridden with myopia, apathy, and complacence, and generally stuck in a bog of stagnant mediocrity can successfully play Jesus and turn not water into wine, but bullshit into articles. And, of course, the vice versa works brilliantly, too: only dullards, bums, and hacks, hag-ridden with myopia, apathy, and complacence, and generally stuck in a bog of stagnant mediocrity can successfully read the above mentioned holy metamorphosis… you’re not one of this God Squad’s dudes, are you?)
What’s not to love about reading? And what better item to read than a motherfucking book? There are trillions of the bastards out there, each one suitable for every taste and niche. And there are trillions of capital TALENTED writers out there, one for every stomach and each one suitable for a stomach-safari, for hunting down all of your butterflies. (For stalker reference) I’m going to write down just a few of those capital blow-minding Misters (and one fine Lady): Miller, Clarke, Bulgakov, Hesse, Hassel, Mann, Kerouac, Faulkner, Keyes, Rice, Auster, Forster, Martel, Barnes, Asimov, Vargas Llosa, Marquez, Whitman, Byatt, Palahniuk, Fitzgerald, Ellis, Bukowski, Ginsberg, Sontag, Carr, Christensen, Hemingway, Dickens, Davies, Spark, Patterson, Bassani, Anaïs Nin, Makepeace Thackeray… there’s an infinite world of delicious possibilities, you name it, you choose it!
Even if it’s a book about a lonely little puddle of sick called Hitler that has a magic tax exemption from which feeds on babies and car exhausts, even if it’s a book about an orange water buffalo who licks lamp shades, even if it’s a book about an hi-class lady who’s always matching pink roto-hammers to pink forklifts, there will still be someone out there who will read it and think: “Christ, I throughly enjoyed reading that from my hovel on the moon!” Books are awesome! To quote again Andrew, if a book was sex, it would be that merrymaking scene in Stanley Kubrick’s “Eyes wide shut”… in slow motion.
If a book was alive, it would have very perfumed, blazing, white fangs (yes, like a baby vampire) and it would suck your mind and soul the hell out of you and then would spit it into a rollercoaster made out of a whole galaxy of multi-coloured uppers, downers, scremers, laughers. It would be an appasionate fan(g)tasia or a super-solar blitz krieg, it would be be an explosive and highly pissed off terrorist with unlimited ammo and a licence to kill mediocrity… always in slow motion.
UPDATE: Another thing that I love: libraries (book houses essentially). To quote once again Andrew, libraries aren’t just places where hobos can go for a little cry and a come down. Oh no, good Sir. They are much more than that. They are buildings where you can gorge yourself on pure beauty, they are buildings of great warmth, great knowledge and great stories, as well as a place to remain dry and escape everyday chaos outside. If magic was to exist, then it would certainly live in a library. How can a library fail to bring even a slight degree of inspiration to the mind? The incredible beautiful fact is that it can’t fail, it’s impossible! I know I love listening to rock and metal, and I know I love violent games and sports, and yes, I’m even partial to playing a trombone naked on the street. But in a place such as a library I think: “Fuck that noise! I’m staying here and running my eyes over page after page of printed word!” Then I’ll promptly high-five the nearest homeless person to me.
Oh. But don’t make the huge mistake to imagine that our libraries look like their libraries… Oh no, good Sir! Our libraries look NOTHING like their libraries: our libraries are modest in size and have massive empty gaps in the volume department shelves. In my experience, a library should NOT have massive empty gaps unless there was a serious plague spreading among the writers around the world. Our libraries are just a pale and poor shadow of English, American, Spanish, Italian or German libraries and you just can’t help but feel a slight pang of despondency when you compare our local establishments to some of their local establishments (go google the Real Gabinete Portugues de Leitura, in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, and then think of when you last saw smth like that in Romania…)
Whenever I will be able to find (once again) some spare time, I’ll share with you some great links listing a variey of stunning libraries around the world. Pitty I don’t have the time to show you right now some of those amazing cultural spaces (public libraries, university libraries, school libraries) created around the world by societies that know how to spend their money on wise cultural strategies and long-term projects. Those links are listing the kind of photos that are a middle finger up to our Education/Culture ministers. Those links are listing the kind of photos that are saying to Mrs. Andronescu, Mr. Athanasiu, Mr. Miclea, Mr. Hardau, Mr. Adomnitei, Mr. Anton, Mr. Funeriu and to the rest of the fucking retarded officials in this country: “Suck it, bitches!” Having said that (for hitmen/pimps/stalkers reference), this, this and this are the places where you can find the above mentioned ladies.
I promise I will continue this post as soon as I can. In the meanwhile turn off your computer and turn on your fantasy: kiss, read and tell! (;