I Continue To Think

I will randomly list things I gotta fix in myself in 2023 as they come to me.

I am but a lump of clay, waiting to be molded into a genuine Joe by the hands of a sculptor. The sculptor being me, of course.

Anyway, I gotta stop apologizing for my need to own books.

I have found myself doing that multiple times recently, strangely enough, and it twists my guts up into a Gordian knot as the words escape my lips.

I went through my books a while back, weeding out the fluff stuff - you know, the stuff I read purely for entertainment. There was quite a bit of it. The sag of the floor in my room eased up considerably once these books were removed.

I started downloading the fluff stuff to my tablet. This is a reasonable and defensible approach. One I can live with.

Ostensibly, what is left behind are the important books. The books I love. The books that open up a window to my soul. Why the fuck would I get rid of them?

A fucking house without bookcases is a house without a soul, without a center, without a personality. Burn the motherfucker down.

Everyone has their own obsessions. Mine is owning the books I love. I will no longer defend or apologize for that. My books are beautiful to me. I'd sooner cut off my fingers than get rid of them.

Lately I have accelerated my book buying. I don't know why, but I am bringing these spirits into the house at a faster clip, and it soothes my soul.

The problem is when you talk to people about acquiring books, not owning them sounds so logical. An unassailable truth. Who needs the clutter?

I do. "I have my books and my poetry to protect me." Paul Simon understands.

I am constantly apologizing for things that make perfect sense to me. Things that make me happy.

That is fucking ridiculous. And weak.

I am going to stop doing that. Into eternity. Until I am fucking dead.

I am going to stop aplogizing for who I am and just be who I am.

You will fucking love me for it.