In my deep aching for books I finally remembered to look into the public library system of Hunterdon County. Found the site, found a “search online” function. Except every book I tried to find came up negative. No Helene Cixous. One book on Ether, but not the ones I was looking for. No translations of Derrida. Absolutely nothing of Ponge. I want to get back into reading things that excite me, things that blow my mind, but the library has best hits and that seems like it.
Books are now my answer. I need books and I feel like an addict looking for a fix; the thing that will open me and make me once again the person I was.
Gaby’s book, Controlled Decay, and Helene Cixous’ Stigmata: Escaping Texts are now on their way through the ether and over the roadways to my doorstep. I shouldn’t be buying these things but I can’t help it. And then I can build stacks around me of my page-ed friends and be surrounded again.
It’s raining here. A sudden rain, summer kind of thing that I heard approaching through the fields, building on itself until it was against the porch and the roof, pouring over the house. (The house. What that article now implies. The Apartment. Where is my?) It will be over by morning, the grass damp as we back down the driveway and head towards things to be lifted and cataloged and replaced. But my books are on their way. Oh books.