I waited a long time for a small skeleton to read me Dark Tower comics in bed.
You could burn a book, love a book, hate a book, mistreat it, beat it and wear it down.
You can spit on it, make love to it, be its best friend and its worst enemy.
It doesn’t care that you didn’t call or if you left it out in the rain to fall apart.
You can sleep on it, wrap a book around yourself to keep warm.
Its family doesn’t hate you and you never have to say thank you.
Its there when you want it and there when you don’t but it only borrows your time.
With one story to tell the pages don’t go through phases and a books favourite colour is always its favourite.
It is always on your mind but doesn’t make demands on your time.
Content in your bed or on the table beside it a book is the faithful –
Dustcatcher, doorstop, coaster, mousemat and table top levelling device.
A cracked spine, a broken spine, a beaten, worn or pristine cover, hard or paper backed –
A book cannot learn new tricks once it has learnt its only purpose.
It never sleeps but doesn’t yawn and it never eats but doesn’t feel hunger.
When you are tired the book wants to sleep and when you are hungry the book wants to eat.
A book is never jealous and doesn’t seek to control matters out of its own control.
It is there, constant and waiting, but does not mind the company you keep when it is not its own.
It loves you for who you are today, were yesterday and will be tomorrow.
It loves without selfish pride or deepening disillusionment.
It is perfectly flawed and it knows that you stopped caring a long time ago.
“This is what you shall do; Love the earth and sun and the animals, despise riches, give alms to every one that asks, stand up for the stupid and crazy, devote your income and labour to others, hate tyrants, argue not concerning God, have patience and indulgence toward the people, take off your hat to nothing known or unknown or to any man or number of men, go freely with powerful uneducated persons and with the young and with the mothers of families, read these leaves in the open air every season of every year of your life, re-examine all you have been told at school or church or in any book, dismiss whatever insults your own soul, and your very flesh shall be a great poem and have the richest fluency not only in its words but in the silent lines of its lips and face and between the lashes of your eyes and in every motion and joint of your body.”
– Walt Whitman
…just in case you were wondering what you shall do.
So I had a chalk board in my living room, the quote written on which would change week to week.
When I moved and thus the chalkboard (that had seen better days) was abandoned, the quote read – “Their embrace had been a battle, the climax a victory…it had been a political act.”
Loosely paraphrased from Nineteen Eighty-Four by George Orwell.
“Hank and I had met when we were both mature seven year olds in primary school and our friendship had begun with a rather vicious fight that ended with the two of us sitting with our parents in the head teachers office and a trip to accident and emergency. And what do seven year olds fight about, exactly?
Pokemon cards. More specifically, rare Pokemon cards.
And Henry Rosenbaum had had his eyes on my Charizard for weeks.”
From my current manuscript “Rooftops.”
“There was a desperation in her smile, an unwillingness to push the expression too far for fear of breaking it, a tentative respect for the effort it took to form such a face.”
From a manuscript titled “Experiment.”