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Recollection 612:01am thursday, 28th november
I have lost many books. The one on the left there, that was one of them. I recall that I named the place I saw in my mind's eye in that book (where all the cartoon people floated around when they talked to me); I decreed that it would be Purgatorio, and so I wrote in the inside cover of that tome: "Purgatorio, a place of learning." I had a slew of them that I wrote in, in the ones with pictures I scried many a mystic word (mystic to me, gibberish to everyone else). I created a temple of peace within the book Sacred Mirrors, I lost the Archangel Michael in a book about underground comic books, I talked to trees from the pages of an Escher book. And all of them I know not where I left them, or if they were thrown away.

I don't think I read any one of them, those books. I would craft stories from the pictures and my scribblings upon them — or actually, the stories would happen by themselves, as if they carried me with them, and my pen. There was a book on art which starred John Lennon as the primal god "Peace", to whom Rosanna Arquette led a procession to test free will, in the ether previous the world that we know: when Heaven was all there was. (Something went wrong there — she never made it — and that was the start of the Earth and universe, to the tune of the Beatles' "Blackbird".) ...I wonder what stories I'm forgetting, which ones I would remember if I had those pages again. I wonder where lost books go.


  x8:25am thursday, 28th november
Lost books tend to find the people that need to read them at just the right time!

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