Monday, April 19, 2004


Well, I'm still in Ohio. It's been quite a while and we've been delayed by circumstances but all is well I suppose. I've started laying vocals for one demo and will soon move on to another. I'll let you know when it's finished.

I'm using a computer at the local library and being amidst both poetry and prose am feeling quite maudlin. I'd forgotten how much I love libraries, particularly when they're old. I was an anomaly in college--I actually enjoyed spending time in the library. I would even venture into the huge building for pleasure to research a topic which had piqued my interest. The first year I was there they still had the old card catalogue system whose cards were smudged and grubby with many a Baylor student's fingerprints long before mine touched them. Those days are long-gone. Yes, we have the internet where a wealth of information is but a mouse click away--and I am eternally thankful for it--but for someone as kinesthetic as I am, a place where I can indulge my tactile nature is sometimes more stimulating.

I love the smell of old books, mixed with new ones. Love the worn, mottled tile on the floor and the fresh smell of new wax upon it. Love the feel of the stones and bricks that have been mortered for years. Love the discolorations on the walls where old artwork has been removed to allow for new. Love the new artwork--an assortment of renderings, some inept and some quite promising, from a 3rd grade class on the hazzards of smoking and drugs.

I love being surrounded by books; I am often more comfortable in this environment than many others. I feel like a kid in the candy store, I don't know which one I want to read first. There are so many to choose from and I just get a little tickle in my tummy at the thought of being able to transport myself to worlds unknown with merely my forefinger and thumb.

I love the doting older blue-haired ladies behind the reference counter, their pinched noses holding spectacles, like their coiffures, reminiscent of the 1960s. They always make me feel as if I've done something I shouldn't have and am therefore being watched.

I love how the halls are sometimes cold and have an oddly musky smell. I wonder how many people have walked this path between the shelves before I have. I wonder how many people have touched the spine of this book on the shelf between Brown and Browning. I wonder whose life this book may have touched.

Most of all I wonder why everyone doesn't love these places as much as I do.


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