The distant yet persistent calls of the books itched me to trod to the school library despite the forecast of an inclemency. And there were certainly some bone-nibbling chills, a fueled seeker on her solitary route, leaves swayed and eventually parted. The magnetism of books never wore out, nor is it cast away when the object of its possession is outlandishly transported. It is the ultimate mind-assuagement when out of home.
The elephantine figure of the library bears no resemblance of that fantastical one of Jorge Borge's, but it stands in a most alluringly spooky way. Not a single soul breathed through the bookcases or signaled a cough- this sombre silence set my heart to a still, dreaded a slight tremble might disturb this solemn balance. This feeling is not staggeringly different from what T.S Eliot created in The Wasteland, though in the latter the debris is all scattered around, the silence is more formidable, and the abundance is replaced by the barreness, which is being perversely focused upon.
I'm greatly enchanted with The Wasteland. It depicts my ideal of taking a stroll through everything in tatters, and to make stories of them insofar to ascertain their distorted beauty. The intervals of this peculiar venture is spent under a dim lamplight, chessing. The room should be occupied by as less human beings as possible, so to grant those anonymous apparitions its domination.
To be made perfectly metamorph into a practical-minded, straightforward, forthcoming real human being, I shun melodramatic, pulp fictions and renounce them as crass. But my propensity of being alone almost draws a parallel line to that of dallying between lovers from day till night. This thought enraged me, for when the following two were placed on a scale, to be an optimistic dunce or a morbid waif, the former definitely sunk deeper.
Therefore I picked up my grocery bag and went to the supermarket to prove to myself that I was never a social inept, and the task was put to an abrupt halt by my inability to force up a smile. To clear others' misconceptions of me dreading some scurrying crowds, I was simply let dowm by my incurable clumsiness.
In regard to how one of the few of my readers has been complaining tirelessly of my deliberate ellipsis of music in my post, I happened to harbour this song in my head when taking the excursion to the supermarket. Enjoy this with your Guardian and tea, my friends!