escape the mind, the miserous dwelling

Stupidly curious, I kicked an ant pile. Ants, clearly thinking "What the fuck?!" poured out in a chaotic stream. The ants, my thoughts, are ADD. The pre-kicked pile, with it's humming nest of happy creatures- that's compulsive reading, a place for racing thoughts. My mind, in this way, is afflicted. It is unkempt, unhinged, confusing. To cope with it I have to read constantly, and I have to read a huge variety of things...if I stick with one genre or style, I skew like a centrifuge off-balance. The reading list this week: a book on globalization, Ann Rice, Don Quixote, a pile of comic books, Balzac, a few magazines, and a childrens picture book. Tea leaves. Cereal boxes. Constant, constant reading, until my eyes hurt and I can't sleep. Insomnia sucks, but it's preferable to the painfully racing thoughts. It's fun to tell people about my reading lists, to hear their reaction. My smart friends ask, "Of all the books, why would you read Ann Rice?!" My tv-loving, anti-intellectual friends ask, "Why are you reading Balzac? He's boring!" Everyone asks, "Why in the hell are you reading comic books?!" And it's because: it doesn't matter, all reading is medicinal, all distinctions elitist...just read and your tumbling thoughts will rest.

So later this week I will offer up a list of summer reading. Fun stuff, bright books. You likey? You no likey?