I moved today. I realized that the bulk of my possessions are books

Terribly sorry I’m obliviating rather than rebounding, but I believe I’ve got a bit of spring to my bones yet; my new study is coming together–it’s nice and cozy and tome-lined.

I can really relate to how you feel about words. I am in love with words, yet I agree with Mr. Eliot (I bought a book of his poetry the other day) in believing that words are strangely burdensome and fail at articulating transcendant metaphysical reality or emotive soulish depth. If everything really is text, then the world is a boring, limited place.