B*itches in Bookshops

I don't think I need to explain why I like this song and these lyrics. Watch the video here.


B*itches in Bookshops
Read so hard librarians tryin' ta FINE me­,
They can't identify me,
Checked in with a pseudonym, so I guess you can say I'm Mark Twaining. 
Read so hard, I'm not lazy.
Go on Goodreads, so much rated. 
Fountainhead, on my just read, gave it four stars, and then changed it. 
Read so hard, I'm literary. 
Goosebumps series, TOO SCARY!


Animal Farm, Jane Eyre
Barnes & Nobles, Foursquare it
No TV, I read instead 
Got lotsa Bills, but not bread
BURROUGHS , GOLDING, SHAKESPEARE -- all dead


Read so hard, got paper cuts
On trains while you're playin' connect the dots 
All these blisters from turning pages 
Read so hard, I'm seeing spots 


Your Sudoku just can't compare
Nor Angry Birds cos lookit here
My Little Birds is getting stares 
(pause)
This print's rare.


Read so hard, I memorize, The Illiad... I know lines.
Watch me spit, classic lit, epic poems that don't rhyme.
War and Peace, piece of cake, read Tolstoy in 3 days.
Straight through, no delays.
Didn't miss a word. Not one phrase.


Read so hard librarians tryin' ta fineee me - That shit cray x 3
Read so hard librarians tryin' ta fineee me -- That shit cray x 3


He said Shea can we get married at the Strand 
His Friday Reads are bad so he can't have my hand 
You ball so hard, OK you're bowling 
But I read so hard, I'm JK Rowling 


That shit cray 
Ain't it, A? What you readin'?
AQ: DeMontaigne.
You use a Kindle? I carry spines. 
Supporting bookshops like a bra, Calvin Klein. 


Nerdy boy, he's so slow 
Tuesday we started Foucault
He's still stuck on the intro? He's a no go.
It's sad I had to kick him out my house though --
He Mispronounced an author - MARCEL PROUST 


Don't read in the dark
I highlight with markers
While laying in the park
And wearing Warby Parkers
Marriage Plot broke my heart 
And it made me read Barthes 
I special ordered a 
A softcover not hard- HUAH?AHEHA?! 


Read so hard libraries tryin' ta fine me x 2


I am now marking my place
Don't wanna crease on my page
Don't let me forget this page
Don't let me forget this page
I may forget where I left off so I'll use this little post it...
I hope it doesn't fall out, I hope that it stays stickie... 


I am now marking my place
Don't wanna crease on my page
Don't let me forget this page
I got bookmarks at home
But I forgot one for the road
AQ: I got a bookmark I can loan
La Shea: Know how many bookmarks I own?


I am now bookmarking my page x3
Don't let me forget this PAGE....

The Night Circus - Erin Morgenstern (2)

"Why did you call that man Alexander?" Celia asks.
"That's a silly question."
"It's not his name."
"Now, how might you know that?" Hector asks his daughter, lifting her chin to face him and weighing the look in her dark eyes with his own.
Celia stares back at him, unsure how to explain. She plays over in her mind the impression of the man in his gray suit with his pale eyes and harsh features, trying to figure out why the name does not fit on him properly.
"It's not his real name," she says. "Not one that he's carried with him always. It's one he wears like his hat. So he can take it off if he wants. Like Prospero is for you."
"You are even more cleaver than I could have hoped," Hector says, not bothering to refute or confirm her musings about his colleague's nomenclature. He takes his top hat from it's stand and puts it on her head, where it slides down and obscures her questioning eyes in a cage of black silk.

---

"I have had affairs that lasted decades and others that lasted for hours. I have loved princesses and peasants. And I suppose they loved me, each in their way."

This is a typical Tsukiko response, one that does not truly answer the question. Isobel does not pry.

"It will come a apart," Tsukiko says after a long while. Isoel does not need to ask what she means.

"The cracks are beginning to show. Sooner or later it is bound to break." She pauses to take a final drag off her cigarette. "Are you still tempering?"

"Yes," Isobel says. "But I don't think it helping."

" It's difficult to discern the effect of such things, you know. Your perspective is from the inside, after all. The smallest charms can be the most effective."

"It doesn't seem to be very effective."

"Perhaps it is controlling the chaos within more then the chaos without."

Are We There Yet? - David Levithan

David Levithan and I have a good relationship. I think this is the eight book from him I read. I like his way to write a lot. Two brothers traveling in Italy. Watching art and trying to get on together. What's not to like?



Elijah moves over in his bed and Cal lies down beside him.
"Do you wonder...? she begins. This is their game  Do you wonder? Every night - every night when it's possible - the last thing to be heard is the asking without answer.
They stare at the glow-in-the-dark planets on the ceiling, or to turn sideways to trace each other's blue-black outlines, trying to detect the shimmer of silver as they speak.
This night, Cal asked, "Do you wonder if we'll ever learn to sleep with our eyes open?"
And in return, Elijah askes, "Do you think there can be such a thing as too much happiness?"
This is Elijah's favourite time. He rarely know what he is going to say, then suddenly it's there. 
Above them. Liftning.
A few minutes pass. Cal sits up and puts her hand on Elijah's shoulder.
"Goodnight, sleep tight," she whispers.
"Don't let the bedbugs bite," he chimes, nestling deeper under the covers.
---


Morning.
Breakfast.
"You fool," Elijah says, glancing at the menu.
"What?" Danny grunts.
"I said, 'You fool.'"
Danny looks at the menu and understands.
"No," he says. "I won't quiche you."
"Quiche me, you fool! Please!"
"If you say that any louder, you're toast."
"Quiche me and marry me in church, since we cantaloupe!"
Elijah is giddy with the old routine.
"Orange juice kidding?" Danny gasps.
"I will milk this for what it's worth."
"You can't be cereal."
"I can sense you're waffling..."
Danny looks up triumphantly. "There aren't any waffles on the menu! You lose!"
Elijah is surprised by how abruptly disappointed he is. That's not the point, he thinks.
He turns away. Danny pauses for a second watching him, not knowing what he's done.
---


Elijah watches the chair disappear around the corner and immediately feels loss.
He can't believe that you can meet a person in this way and then lose touch with them forever.
He could check all the hotels in Venice and look for a Greg and an Isabel, but he knows he won't.
He wants to, though. Because he wants to believe in sudden fate.

The night circus - Erin Morgenstern (1)

I read The Night Circus by Erin Morgenstern with great pleasure. The language, the story, the time and all just fitted me and I really enjoyed reading it. Morgenstern's debut I can recommend to everyone that like magic, late 1800 - early 1900, a love story and something new. I never read a book like this and I'm so happy I did.

The pool of tears

The sign outside the tent is accompanied by a small box full 
of smooth black stones. The text instructs you to take one
with you as you enter.
Inside, the tent is dark, the ceiling covered with open
black unbrellas, the curving handles hanging down like
icicles.
In the center of the room there is a pool. A pond
enclosed within a black stone wall that is surrounded by
white gravle.
The air carries the salty tinge of the ocean.
You walk oute to the edge to look inside. The gravel
crunches beneath your feet.
It is shallow, but it is glowing. A shimmering,
shifting light cascades up though the surface of the water.
A soft radiance, enough to illuminate the pool and the
stones that sit at the bottom. Hundreds of stones,
each identical to the one you hold in your hand.
The light beneath filters though the spaces between
the stones.
Reflections rippöe around the room, making it appear as
though the entire tent is underwater.
You sit on the wall, turning your black stone over and 
over in your fingers.
The Stillnes of the tent becomes a quiet melancholy.
Memories begin to creep forward from hidden corners
of your mind. Passing disappointments. Lost chances and
lost causes. Heartbreaks and pain and desolate, horrible
loneliness.
Sorrows you though long forgotten mingle with sill-fresh
wounds.
The stone feels heavier in your hand.
When you drop it in the pool to join the rest of the stones,
you feel lighter. As though you have released something more
then a smooth polished piece of rock.

Life of Pi - Yann Martel (1)

I read 80% of "Life of Pi" by Yann Martel before I gave up and thought that it can't be worth reading the rest. No spoilers but that book has a bit to much life at sea, killing fish and hanging out with a tiger for my taste. I enjoyed the begin of it but it all just when downhill from there.

Just beyond the ticket booth Father had painted on a wall with red letters the question: Do You Know Which is the Most Dangerous Animal in the Zoo? An arrow pointed to a small curtain. There were so many eager, curious hands that pulled at the curtain that we had to replace it regularly. Behind it was a mirror.

--

My life is like a memento mori painting form European art: there is always a grinning skull at my side to remind me of the folly of human ambition. I mock this skull. I look at it and I say, "You've got the wrong fellow. You may not believe in life but I don't believe in death. Move on!"

The skull, snickers and moves even closer, but that doesn't surprise me. The reason death sticks so closely to life isn't biological necessity - it's envy.

Life is so beautiful that death has fallen in love with it, a jealous, possessive love that grabs at what it can. But life leaps over oblivion lightly, losing only a thing or two of importance, and gloom is but the passing shadow of a cloud.

Elephants Can Remember - Agatha Christie

Second Christie book I read.

"Well, I'd have though it more likely he'd just have a shot the General. If he shot the General and the wife came along, then he'd have had to shoot her, too. You read things like that in books."

"Yes," said Mrs. Oliver thoughtfully, "one does read all sorts of things in books."

---

"You enjoy life altogether, don't you?"

"Yes, I do. I suppose it's the feeling that one never knows what might be going to happen next.

"Yet that feeling," said Mrs. Rosentelle, "is just what makes so many people never stop worrying!"

All My Firends Are Superheroes - Andrew Kaufman (2)

'Think about your girlfriend,' Ambrose commanded.

'My wife,' Tom said.

'Whatever, just picture her face.'

Tom pictured the Perfectionist's face.

'Now picture her best feature,' Ambrose instructed.

Tom pictured the Perfectionist's nose. He felt Ambrose's hand on his heart. Tom took shallow breaths. Ambrose reached behind his heart. He squeezed form underneath and quick line of blood squired up, hitting Ambrose face.

'That might be it,' Ambrose said, reaching to his back pocket, grabbing the rag and wiping of his face.

'What? What is it?'

'When was the last time you had this cleaned?'

'I never had it cleaned.'

'Exactly,' Ambrose said.

---

Someone knocked on her door.

'Just ignore it and it'll go away,' the Perfectionist said.

She leaned in closer. Tom felt her breath on his lips. There was another knock.

'I'll... I'll get it,' said Tom.

The Perfectionist sighed. Tom wiped his hand on his jeans. He got off the couch and opened the door. He had almost no time to react - the monster at the door was struggling to claw his face off.

Tom slammed the door shut. He locked it. He put his back to it. The thing stated screaming. It sounded like a blender.

'Was it tall?' the Perfectionist asked him.

'What?' Tom yelled. The thing was screaming very loudly.

'Was it tall?'

'Yes!'

'Pointed fingernails?'

'Yes!'

'Long, scabby arms?'

'Yes!'

'It smelled like cigarettes and cough syrup?'

'That's it!'

'That's an anxiety monster,' she said. 'I'm having a bath.'

'What?' Tom screamed.

'It's for you, not me. I'm having a bath,' she stated. Tom didn't reply. His back remained firmly pressed to her front door. She saw the look of terror in his eyes.

'Do you love me? she asked him.

[...]

'Do you love me?' the Perfectionist repeated.

'Yes' Tom said.

'Then trust me. I'm going to have a bath.'

The Perfectionist got off the couch. She walked around her living room collecting objects: candles, a lighter, a portable tape deck. She carried these thing into the bathroom. The bathroom door closed.

Tom heard her filling the bathtub. The tape deck played Motown. He sat on the couch with his legs pulled up to his chest as the Anxiety Monster's fingers ripped splinters from the door. It started throwing its weight against the door. The hinges came away from the wall. The Monster slammed into the door again. The door-hinge screws were three-quarters out. Tom was overwhelmed. He fainted.

When he woke up, two hours later, the Perfectionist was playing solitaire. She looked over at him. She smiled. She looked back at her cards.

'Feel better?' she asked.

He did. There was no sign of the Anxiety Monster.

'What happened?' he asked her.

'It left,' she said. She moved a black nine onto a red ten.

'It just left?'

'There are two ways to get rid of an anxiety monster, my friend - either you take a bath or a nap.'

Neverwhere - Neil Gaiman (2)

Richard was not dead. He was sitting in the dark, on a ledge, on the side of a storm drain, wondering what to do, wondering how much further out of his league he could possible get. His life so far, he decided, had prepared him perfectly for a job in Securities, for shopping in the supermarket, for watching soccer on the television on the weekends, for turning up the thermostat if he got cold. It had magnificently failed to prepare him for a life as an un-person on the roofs and in the sewers of London, for a life the cold and the wet and the dark.

---

"He..." Richard bagan. "The marquis. Well, you know, to be honest, he seems a little bit dodgy to me."

Door stopped. The steps dead-ended in a rough brick wall. "Mm," she agreed. "He's a little bit dodgy in the same way that rats are a little bit covered in fur."

---

"Oh. The poor dear," said Islington. It shook its head sadly, obviously regretting the senseless loss of human life, the frailty of all mortals born to suffer and to die. "Still," said Mr. Croup chirpily. "Can't make an omelette without killing a few people."

---

"It's is of no matter now," said the angel. "Soon, all the rewards your revolting little minds can conceive of will be yours. When I have my throne."

"Jam tomorrow, eh?" said Richard.

"Don't like jam," said Mr Vandemar. "Makes me belch."

I love reference to "Alice in Wonderland" or "Though the Looking Glass".

All My Firends Are Superheroes - Andrew Kaufman (1)

Andrew Kaufman is a great writer. I read the tiny book "The tiny Wife" in December and loved it. "All My Friends Are Superheroes" is also a super good book. Short with it's 106 pages and it made me laugh and wounder how Kaufman's brain works that can come up with all the things he writes about.

It's about Tom, a non superhero, that is married to The Perfectionist. She has a bit of a jealous ex boyfriend, Hypno, that hypnotize The Perfectionist not to see Tom. Tom does all to make her see him again.

All the friends that Tom has are superheroes, he's the only one without super powers, and the book presents some of the superheroes. Falling girl is my favorite, but there are so many good ones.

FALLING GIRL

Falling girl won't go higher then the second floor of any building. She's never set foot on a balcony and the floor is the only place she'll sit. A small sample of things she's fallen from includes trees, cars, grace, first-story windows, horses, ladders, bicycles, the wagon, countless kitchen counters and her grandmother's knee.

Smoking beside the Ear on winter night, she wiggled deeper under the sheets and admitted the only thing she's never fallen from, or into, was love. 'If that's how you do it, I would have done it,' she said. Then she leaned over to butt out her cigarette and fell out of the bed.

---

THE COUCH SURFER

Empowered with the ability to sustain life and limb without a job, steady companion or permanent place of residence, the Couch Surfer can be found roaming from couch to couch of friend's apartments all around the city.

The Couch Surfer is not only able to withstand long periods of acute poverty but is also able to nutritionally sustain himself with only handfuls of breakfast cereals, slices of dry bread and condiments. Mysteriously always has cigarettes.

---

The next night Tom stated having pains in his chest. The first one came at ten in the evening. It was sharp and enduring. He doubled over but it passed. The next two hours later; by the morning they came every ten minutes. The Perfectionist was sleeping and he knew not to touch her. He called the Amphibian.

'Hey.' said Tom.

'Hey,' said the Amphibian.

'Ahhhh,' said Tom. A pain shot through his heart.

'What is happening?'

'Pain in my chest.'

'Sharp and enduring?'

'Yes.'

'But recurring?'

'Yes!'

'In great frequency?'

'Less then ten minutes now.'

'I'm sending over a doctor.'

'What is it?'

'He's the best there is.'

'Tell me what it is!'

'Your heart is breaking,' said the Amphibian said.