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Tuesday, August 2 2022

So tomorrow will be day 1 of a long spanning period of time of pure asceticism, of not spending a penny on further books. The truly exciting time is before me now.

An engulfing, engrossing, enveloping, encircling and enlightening feast there is, it's girth and monumentality dwarfs even the cosmos, it's beyond description is what it is.

The whole of literature even in ancient times was seen to be too vast for anyone to see the end to, there's something Solomon said that i'm alluding to, and here we are in 2022. So in my mind i do like that Hendrix song and stand up to a mountain and chop something down with the edge of my hand, dividing the wheat from the chaff, the common consensus as a rough guide, the classics and the interesting, with a 3rd section for entertainment.

How short sighted it is to casually say that nothing good is written these days that can be considered future classics, same with music, for those who seek out the good with sufficient earnestness, their search shall be fruitful.

Only an iota of just what is solidly great, less than an iota, but in a fantasy reckoning a noticeable dot on the radar of what is great, that is what is currently within my personally acquired reach and on the way. And i am beyond thrilled, and i feel that after a good long sleep, my activity on here as a norm will be minor, it was never major to begin with, but less than usual, it has to be, i cannot have my cake and steak and potatoes too. I have to choose which will be the greater and what will be the smaller. Reading shall be the monolith, socializing will be a little kite floating once in awhile in the soft sun drenched skies of opportunity. Thus spake the stars, fate, the destiny of a small pitiful little stain upon the decrepit earth. Utterances few and far between lest the rank obscenity of existence rise to such an extent that it would completely ruin the appetites of all a 100 or so miles radius to it, it the reader who has to sew his lips together, become deaf to distractions and go into the endless emerald forest of beautifully constructed prose, of timeless provocative thought sources, and bejewelled inspirational lyricism, that only when the moon curdles into cottage cheese will it be supposedly fitting and right to parch open the vocal chords to perhaps not automatically place curses on itself by asinine insufficiencies.

GN :)

 
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