One of my younger brothers is a bibliophile. His library doesn't fit in his small apartment. I'm the kind of person that can fit all of my belongings in the trunk of my car. (I used to have more stuff. Gave the nice things away, threw everything else out. Left art on the street. Was going to burn all my old notebooks, but I unceremoniously dumped them in the trash instead. If you're really gonna let go, then just let go, you know?) Now most of my space is filled with his books, too. Books, books, books, everywhere I look. I'll take pictures sometime. I'm certain some of you will be jealous.
One book or another will 'call' to me occasionally. Recently Gravity's Rainbow and Lot49 have both been very insistent, but I keep refusing. I don't know why. It's like I'm playing a game with them. Or it's an experiment. Like if I pretend to ignore them for long enough, they'll actually hop right off the shelf, or I'll wake up with one of them on the pillow next to my head.
Of course as I'm typing this, I look over and a collection of Pynchon's early short stories, titled 'Slow Learner,' catches my eye. I jut my chin out defiantly.