If Book Is A Woman Then The Library Is A Whorehouse
I love books. Not just the words that make some kind of sense we usually call stories, but the books as objects. Pieces of paper glued together and spilled with the ink in the shapes recognized as letters. I love the feel under the fingers, the smell… you know that stuff, it's been written million times so far.
But that won't stop me from masturbating the subject once more. And I'm gonna do it in the library.
photo by dandellion
A library book is a promiscuous one. Unlike those on your bookshelf, this one is not just yours. OK, maybe those on your bookshelf get to give some fun to your friends as well. But none of them has seen so many eyes, nor touched all the fingers that library book has. None of yours had so much working hours, nor had so much interpretations. None gave so much fun nor knowledge around. None has been dumped so many times for being boring or not the right thing for the particular moment.
Sure, age is not their friend. Too many fingers on their bodies, too many nights slept on their bellies, wings stretched. Those things add up leaving the marks and scars. But the scars and wrinkles are not to be ashamed of if they were honestly earned. Nor of the occasional missing page that some sociopath tore out as a souvenir. Or of the scribbled note on the white margin, stupid comment of an anonymous smart-ass.
Now, those piss me off. Who the hell told you that pen is a reading tool? Get yourself a notebook or keep the bloody thing away from the paper! Don't move, relax, just lie down in the bed and enjoy the ride. Let the pro do the job.
And I don't want to hear the story about the germs on the pages. Yes, they've been touch million times, by thousands of fingers. Not the clean fingers, mind you. You probably don't want me to take you on a ride telling you where all those fingers were and what they were doing and touching just before and during the interaction with the book. If you do, you're probably kinky enough to imagine it yourself. And paper is a nice place for germs to spend some time.
So it makes you want a brand new book, one that nobody has touched before you? The sweet idea of virginity. So your dirty fingers are the only one she's going to feel. Well, each to its own. But save some respect for those whose destiny was not to be a one reader's captive for ever and ever. Those that had a hard mission of bringing pleasure and wisdom to many.
Don't ever forget that you have never obliged to just one book in your life. So they didn't obliged to just one reader. It's a fair deal. Go to the library. Open one of them and smell. Because nothing smells like the history of a promiscuous book.