Sitting here, I thought "if that little band grows in number, would one poor soul eventually be forced to spend the rest of his days reciting the chapters of Captain Underpants and the Incredibly Naughty Cafeteria Ladies from Other Space endlessly in his head?"
I tend to read a lot of non fiction, of history. I like reading about long ago. know more about my own life when I know more about the past. It's a sense of perspective; of days full of people that killed, tortured, struggled and suffered, agonizing for things that were of the utmost importance to them; working and living for reasons that may be well the same as ours. Now they've been gone some 500 years and all that is left to us is the essence and quintessence of their lives.
Quantum Physicists have stated that time, as most of us think of it, is an illusion. They have postulated thatthe past,the present and the future are here, now, captured in a touch, the blink of an eye, or perhaps,simply between two pages.
Let the weather play God with my itinerary, let the tanker bringing in supplies break down somewhere, let the post sell the last bottle of whiskey, but if I'm laid up alone in the middle of no where after I bust a move down the Himalayas and break my leg, I want a book. Curled up in strange places among a couple artifacts of family that get toted around in my suitcase, I may be lonely, but I will be be content.
For I have a book.
My work is put aside for at least an hour or two before bed and I'll pick up that book. I'll let it transport me to somewhere far away, until a chime will toll for warriors, for battles won and those so easily lost. As my hand turns the pages, I will move among people who lived and died, or perhaps never existed at all, their shadows not of flesh of blood but of imagination, shadows as strong as finely honed steel and shadows as quiet as murmuring breath, forgotten until they were put upon paper.