| back & forth |
February 08, 2013 @ 4:11 p.m.
Be a madman too

       It's not like I lied to the Mormons. Because god is in the library. On all that ink and paper. I can hear the universe through the voice of every author, every opinion, and every story told.
       And about three years ago, I was spending so much time reading, Athan developed a kind of devotion to libraries.

       I read everything.
       If it caught my eye. A cover or a tittle. An author's name. Booklets and totems. Diagrams? Yes. Pictures? Even better. Something I knew about. Something completely new. Real stories and trashy stories. Bad stories. Classics. Kids' books. So many kids' books.
       I read everywhere.
       Anywhere I had time and attention to spare. At the library, while he learned the alphabet from a crocodile. Before he woke. After he went to bed. Outside, inside. Story time. The park became a sanctuary. And eventually I started getting audiobooks. Because I couldn't read 24/7. I had other things to do. I could listen during laundry. Making dinner. Cleaning. Driving. Dark? iPod! trusty friend.
       I read anything.
       I read about science and fairies. Moonlighted walks. I read sex filled stories with mythical heros. Theories on god, on A.I., on love, on human origins. I read horror books, ninja books, and assassin books. I read about magic and magicks and wiccae and witches and potions and waxes and the power of will. The body as an electrical system, the universe as an illusion. I read about cells and psychology. Astrology and physics and mitochondrial DNA. The chemistry of the teenage brain and the wisdom in Winnie the Pooh.
       I read anything.

       It was a need. An addiction. Sure the next author would give me that high. That sought after... something. Because that was the problem: I didn't know what the hell I was looking for. There was something I had to find. And I was so very desperate for whatever it was.
       It lasted two years. Two grueling, mentally and emotionally draining years.
       And then it just ebbed. There was no eureka moment; found nothing in particular. Anti-climatic. But eventually, I reverted back to those days of yore when spells of reading took hold and then, the craving sated, was released.
       No more maniacal reading. Just reading.

movingsands | o | p | n | d |