Coming home with a book
Dec 24, 2023 1:40:10 GMT -3
Post by account_disabled on Dec 24, 2023 1:40:10 GMT -3
Have you ever left home to buy something, anything, and then returned home to find nothing, but with a book? It's happened to me more than once. I went out to buy shoes, which I invariably couldn't find, and before returning home I went into the bookshop and, singularly, I discovered an interesting book, which I couldn't help but buy. My mother saw me return with an envelope in my hand, satisfied that I had finally managed to buy my shoes. “You found them, then,” she told me. “No, it's a book,” I replied. "Behold, when you are barefoot, you will put books on your feet." I've never worn books until now. But I bought quite a few.
I even went out to buy books to give as gifts and instead came home with books for myself. I am therefore convinced that the most coveted commercial object for me is the book, so much so that I overlook clothing, which is not so indispensable, other people's gifts and any other purchase. Coming home with a book is a double surprise. The first is Special Data experienced in the bookshop, when you discover – or rediscover – the book and decide to take it. The second is experienced at home, when you take the book out of the bag and leaf through it and smell it. And then the new book, precisely because it is new, every now and then you pick it up and look at it, read the back cover, some passages, leaf through it again to get to know it better. Because a book must be known before reading it, but we'll talk about this another time.
Have you ever come home with a book when you should have bought something else entirely? An eruption never seen before. Krakatau seemed to have become the mouth of hell. The Sea Meteor was pitching terribly, my men were down and some were injured. The sky was turning the color of tar and, even from afar, I could distinguish the red of the lava and the clouds of ash rising in a gigantic black column.That's when he understands. He has already gone back many times in his life, back to write unread stories that would pile up on top of each other without generating readers. But what is a story if it doesn't have a reader? It is a silent reality imprisoned in unconsciousness. He doesn't even notice it. The legs move on their own and you see yourself flying over the unknown void.
I even went out to buy books to give as gifts and instead came home with books for myself. I am therefore convinced that the most coveted commercial object for me is the book, so much so that I overlook clothing, which is not so indispensable, other people's gifts and any other purchase. Coming home with a book is a double surprise. The first is Special Data experienced in the bookshop, when you discover – or rediscover – the book and decide to take it. The second is experienced at home, when you take the book out of the bag and leaf through it and smell it. And then the new book, precisely because it is new, every now and then you pick it up and look at it, read the back cover, some passages, leaf through it again to get to know it better. Because a book must be known before reading it, but we'll talk about this another time.
Have you ever come home with a book when you should have bought something else entirely? An eruption never seen before. Krakatau seemed to have become the mouth of hell. The Sea Meteor was pitching terribly, my men were down and some were injured. The sky was turning the color of tar and, even from afar, I could distinguish the red of the lava and the clouds of ash rising in a gigantic black column.That's when he understands. He has already gone back many times in his life, back to write unread stories that would pile up on top of each other without generating readers. But what is a story if it doesn't have a reader? It is a silent reality imprisoned in unconsciousness. He doesn't even notice it. The legs move on their own and you see yourself flying over the unknown void.