It is nice to read on a phone.
Many will enjoy this pleasure for years to come.
You may find yourself asked why are not books able to call?
Is it a shyness, or just nothing to say?
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Marcel Duchamp outlived his own fame and orchestrated his own canonization.
Buckminster Fuller began the work for which he’s most known by arguing himself down off a bridge.
Genesis P-Orridge said you don’t have to wake up as who you were when you went to sleep.
Be good to yourself.
Make of today what you wish.
Be connected, please.
And please stay.
A man I hadn’t seen in ages sent an email the day after Christmas, asking what book I would recommend he give someone with three weeks to live. I thought he was speaking hyperbolically. Asking as a measure of superlatives and not a sincere request. When I ran into him tonight, his face told me I’d been both wrong and too late.
I let nine days pass before choosing Jack Gilbert’s “Refusing Heaven” and that after long considering Rilke’s “Book of Hours.” Then earlier today, I’d come across my first copy of that particular Rilke in eight years or more, and returned to it in the bookstore just before I saw him. It was still there so I dashed and put the Rilke in his hand tonight. We hugged for the first time I think ever and then he gave me a banana from his pocket.
There is never a slight request, and never too much time.