The zoo

So. I just (unsuccessfully) attempted to log into my netbook using my corporate password. Thank Cthulu, it's Friday. The morning light is seeping into the kitchen through the mosquito net along with traffic and noises from the Kaponiera disaster, er, construction-site. I kind of hoped it to be more misty, but I suppose that will come soon enough. I feel surprisingly awake for this time of day. Just got back after a brisk ride to Lazarus groceries market, a night at work, and assembling another set of book racks together with M. Regarding the last, after we finished stacking the shelves I had a brief recollection of Fadiman's "Marrying libraries" essay. I don't think we ever went through that phase, disregarding volumes pertaining to Japan studies or art history kept separately for expediencies sake, the rest of menagerie just mingled together of their own on the now defunct, formerly cramped shelves which are waiting for a one way trip to the basement. However, with shelf space coverabundant (a fleeting state, I know), I started thinking - is there a method to this madness? Should there be? Alphabetically? How lame is that. By genre? Nope. By size? Uh-huh. Eventually I settled for pragmatism - cram the maximum number of books per shelf. Keep same author books together. Some patterns emerged. Dukaj next to Gibson, who neighbors with Gaiman, who in turn neighbors with Thompson, which sits next to Palahniuk. I don't quite know what the pattern is here but I'm pretty sure there is one. Couldn't figure out what to do with a volume of Piekara's "Inquisitor" short stories collection though. In the end it went together with the other orphans into the "Gifted or won in some contest or other, pulp fantasy & sci-fi" section. And the remaining empty shelves tug at me. The emptiness waiting to be filled. Must.. resist. Avoid.. bookstores. Block amazon. For my wallet's sake. Yeah, like that will work.

Hour of the wolf

A jagged sickle of a moon smiles low over the eastern horizon. The night air, redolent with a promise of frost, washes over me while I make my way to the gas station for a pack of cigarettes. Clamor of steel ropes whipped by the wind against metal masts. Rustling of leaves. A car in the distance. The faint breath of a sleeping city. I stop, raise my head and look up, into the black. A searing slit of white hot light cuts across the sky leaving a smoky trail hanging for a few seconds in its wake. The afterimage burned into my retinas. The moment frozen in my mind. Too quick to think. Too quick to wish. Vanguard of the Perseids.