Reading the apocalypse in bed (Bookstore #6)

(Spontaneous Prose)

Personal File
You are Curious to learn
What a poet of today does
He talks to the indifferent
~Conversation with the prince

Tadeusz Rozewicz (Born in 1921)
From Forward written
Rozewicz set about doing it, deriving meaning from the rubble, and few poets have written with more modest restrain and power about Auschwitz itself. He was no longer confident that words or ideas held any validity at all; neither religion nor science nor art he said had managed to protect common humanity
But as a Polish writer in the aftermath of the most massive necropolis in human history, he felt compelled to reinvent everything. For him, writing is hard labor- herculean, Sisyphean, and his plays invite us uniquely into the creative process. Many of Rozewicz’s characters are afraid of the end of the world but it has already happened and no one seems to have noticed.

The bookstore is a tomb of culture, people walking around like children, but its more than that, a song when you wish upon a star, and is that the song, somewhere over the rainbow, yeah that’s the one.

The Bookstore. The talking about concepts about “a big growing period where it’s nice to have a dollar in your pocket you know?” Just being here within the time of “the growing-up period” and who knows what that means. The voices and the radio and the coffee shop and buy one get one free, “ya’ can’t beat that kid”…”no you can’t” I said and the bathroom clean and blue and the toys. The bookstore, they sell more toys at bookstores than toy stores these days and…

You should have to take a test when you work at a bookstore. No you should have to be a writer when you work at a bookstore. No. you should have to have a personality when you work at a bookstore. No. you should always be reading a book and look so excited reading that book that the pages rip out of your eyeballs and everyone says “hey what’s the worker reading on the job must be something real damn good…”

Bookstores are revolutionary without even knowing and that’s what’s amazing about them….

And…Did you get the emails and did you get the point of this and that, and send this, and ideas, and thoughts and new books and used books and a book making machine (print on demand robot) that has ropes around it as if it’s a marvel of the modern book death song. Over two hundred thousand books for free on Google books and this machine will print it for you, and there’s nothing to be overly critical of here because that’s pretty damn amazing…

THE BOOK STORE: The kids running around and being yelled at to stop and pick up the books and the candy next to cards and globes and stuffed animals and the coffee and the bookstore needs to sell food to keep the bookshelves clean and books never come down in price…

The price of books. For such a yelling industry (the one I’m in) well I’m not sure why the publishers can’t make a Hemingway series for five bucks because that would seem reasonable for a man who’s been dead for a long time. All these books I would like to buy and so would all the poor uman customers…but no, all the versions are super collectible edition with ribbons and look like high-end wine that’s made in the winner’s circle of good for you, and that’s what they do and that’s why they’re having to close up shop because they run an insane business model and haven’t gotten the blame more than they’ve played the victim of those….the digital times man…

This is what they hope for, the thriving on the sales of less than four percent I would say of GREAT authors that people actually recognize….

Oh calm down because this is simple child’s play for a social setting these days. Nothing is too big of a deal here. I’m just saying that’s what it is, that a bookstore is now a library for the consumer culture, and I guess oh never mind…

I’ll stop there. Time to close down shop. It’s fun and spontaneous and my eyes are tired. It’s been a while since I’ve written in public and it sounds nice hearing people around and typing in public. Yawns and laughter and book racks and terrible music overhead but at least it’s turned down. The sounds. Hearing people talk about where they stand against the dollar and James Joyce’s dusty wrinkled book goes yawn talking about a portrait of a young man as an artist, and people talking around books I guess that’s a great thing. All I’m saying is give me some gorilla glue and a typewriter and I’ll make you a book for five bucks in real time. YAWN…

I’m beat. No more old holes in shoes, new boots and sitting with cold coffee against wall and alone in public doing the tap…tap…tap. This is where I feel most at home. Writing in public and I need a drink. A book to be done, starting doing the contents, and well the end of the world has already happened but nobody seems to notice. I get the joke. I’m not going to tell them though. What would be the point of doing something like that? If the world is over, well then might as well make it as pleasant as possible.

Bought one book, add it to the pile that will just get in the way of my books that I keep saying are coming soon. The dead are some of the biggest distractions for a writer, both of the living and dead, as in, dead and dirt variety.

The book I got, the first words besides legal jargon In Hunter’s Book, On the Campaign Trail are…
Between the idea and the reality…falls the shadow…T.S Elliot

I think I’m the shadow, more likely the idiot, anyway. I’m going to have to put the other ICZ polish man’s book back. Too rich for my dead blood. I need a Drink. Hey, even the dead get thirsty. Thank you for reading.


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