Is it bad?
Pushing farther, maybe it's entirely the contrary of living.
I notice that when i want to read i can't sit still, i need to move, so i walk, i pace around my appartment, or i make an excuse to go by foot meet a friend in the suburb, on the way i'm reading along the sidewalks, and when the urge is there, even when it rains, i inconveniently hold an umbrella and a book before my eyes, i battle with the wind, and for the drops to spare the fragile paper. When i arrive i got blisters on my feet, and that impression that i traveled way farther, on imaginary lands, and that finally this time was worth the discomfort.
If my mind wasn't so troubled and such a coward, i wouldn't need books or writing, i would eat this present life with all my teeth, and bump into flesh, rust, bark, and bricks till my skin is bruised and i feel full to disgorge this life.
So, is it bad?_________________
Here's my journey for those days, when the sky is grey, when the air is cold and humid, and the city is slippery, i don't feel heavy, i go like a ghost and sink into the scorched and ruthless atmosphere of this island, a sort of foreign nostalgia about people i could never become acquainted with, but there, in this place that my mind create, i feel confortable.
You can experience more through reading, all through the power of imagination. It's interesting that you need to move while reading. I feel the contrary, I cannot focus on a book if I try to read it while walking and reading on public transport makes me nauseous.
RépondreSupprimerI need motion to write, otherwise I feel I have nothing to say... or don't have the words. I notice I feel motivated to write when I live something, go for a walk, watch people and my surroundings. If I'm sitting around or doing the same thing, day after day, I have the sensation that I'm a caged animal with the same thoughts playing over and over.
I can't read in buses either, my body needs to be active, that way i practice my physical strenght and my intellect at the same time.
SupprimerI think my need to read when it comes is a need to escape this reality for a moment. I also noticed that i like piling up read books (or anything else actually, i like stacking up on knowledge, getting interested in something heavily for a short period of time then once i stuff myself with that knowledge i skip to a new subject, totally different), i'm searching for new interesting ones then when i finished reading it, i cross it, and i'm over it, it's time for the next one.
(Fun fact : One day i was walking in the street, and reading, holding an umbrella, and someone shouted "Hey Mary Poppins!" at me from afar, it was midday in the summer, the sun was high and there was no cloud. Ah ah ah! That was funny, i had taken an umbrella that day because i didn't want to burn, but i recognize i probably looked like an eccentric. eh!)
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