Stacks and Stitches


Dear Eugene,

The library is surely a strange place.  Books are strange, that's why.

Really, how many of them do we need?  Still, mankind is churning out pages like crazy, as if we are to stop saying things to make sense of stuffs the stuffs of life will turn in on themselves and stop making sense.

Story, especially stories, stuffs that make up life as we make life up, do we actually need another one?  Seriously, if I am to live another five times the way I've been living (as an avid reader), I still won't be able to even finish what is called the "classic canon of literature."  Come on Pastor Pete, don't lie to me now: you haven't read every word of Dickens, haven't you?  I have unread Dickens on my bookcase like stacks of Pickwick Papers.

I was at the library last week reading random books, picked one off the shelf, let it carry me for however long and then onto the next, fiction, non-fiction, if the distinction is there or even helpful.  There were a few really good ones, windows opening up to familiar strange lands, but still I've forgotten the titles by now.

God doesn't.

God forgives but does not forget.  We've been always writing to an audience of One.

Yours, Alex

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