Deserted Libraries Hold The Shades Of Writers

At Night, Here In The Library, The Ghosts Have Voices.

Deserted Libraries Hold The Shades Of Writers Who Worked Within, And Are Haunted By Their Absence.

Ultimately, The Number Of Books Always Exceeds The Space They Are Granted.

Old Or New, The Only Sign I Always Try To Rid My Books Of (usually With Little Success) Is The Price-sticker That Malignant Booksellers Attach To The Backs. These Evil White Scabs Rip Off With Difficulty, Leaving Leprous Wounds And Traces Of Slime To Which Adhere The Dust And Fluff Of Ages, Making Me Wish For A Special Gummy Hell To Which The Inventor Of These Stickers Would Be Condemned.

Through Ignorance, Through Faith, Through Intelligence, Through Trickery And Cunning, Through Illumination, The Reader Rewrites The Text With The Same Words Of The Original But Under Another Heading, Re-creating It, As It Were, In The Very Act Of Bringing It Into Being.