On Reading

words will tumble off the page into my eyes and up into my brain again and again and again and I still never will tire, I will never grow bored of inhaling sentances. I always seem fond of taking in pages and paragraphs. Choosing indiscriminantly, newsweek, shakespeare, the latest murder mystery by some obscure fictioneer. As long as I understand it, I savor it, each a new perspective, a new glimpse at the world, a new chance to broaden my perspectives. Who needs tv, that cheap empy pleasure drains me, turns me dumb, makes me yearn for more than what I need, and helps me turn a blind eye to the suffering. It is sinful. But not the way chocolate is sinful. Words are timeless frozen still, a snapshot of a life kept forever within a single pages. I hunger, I starve, I crave, and when these chronicles of life fulfill me, I am at peace.