by LJ Frank

To dwell is a primitive desire whether in a distant place or in the present minute, a collection of the material and an inspiration for the metaphysical, and yet through it all I find the minute a sterile concept of time;  

So I translate time by the books I read and store in an ever changing place I call a cozy retreat – a space for my brain to play and meditate, and each remaining book is carefully selected to fit into the small space, though to be honest the result for my mind is anything but cozy, for ideas create the opposite effect;

 If another book is added then the work it replaced is weeded from the shelf and passed along to a family member or a friend as I admit I’m not impressed by or fond of the so called “free enterprise” of the buying and selling of knowledge, still I seek ideas to recharge my brain and so find my life quite ambiguous in such rhyme-less details;

 And I know that eventually the retreat will no longer be a nostalgic reminder of the limits of my mind and the expression of past voices, for it too shall dissolve into the archives of the minute and the passage leading to dust, but for now this peculiar reality I find myself in will do.