I read storybooks, that’s what I do. A good book is one I read
without paying attention to the question marks and the commas: it’s rather
unnecessary. I am beyond salvage at this point- a slave to the works! So my
advice to you will ring thus: pretend you haven’t seen me wipe that tear. Laugh
along with me when a suddenly burst out laughing…
Sometimes I have to put the story aside for a while or else I
might catch a fire. Perhaps if I took some time off, it might last longer. I am
not yet ready to be kicked out of this dream world. No, not yet.
The excitement and the joy that I experience –there is nothing
akin to it. Nothing I say! With whom can I share this bliss? No one! Sad face!
Where is a friend who shares my interests when I need one? I have the key to utopia
but not a soul I can invite in.
When I read, the world around me gives way to dark dancing
images. The imagination at work is at such a level, there is no other feeling I
can liken it to; maybe smoking a tree.
I express my heartfelt emotions to the shadows on the wall: I practice
for when someone who hears my heart may come along. I weep in awe. I gasp in
amazement. I pace the room waiting to physically jump right back into the story
and find my place; join the characters in the fray!
The audacity of the author! How dare he tease my imagination
like he does! Is he aware that I fall in love with every syllable my eyes
mercilessly crush? My mouth waters with every page I turn, my heart racing, my
armpits perspiring, ears ringing…honestly, is there a better drug? Because I am this addicted!
Reading is a marathon I never want to end. Do I read by word or
do I gobble the pages up greedy as a pig? Frankly, I am not even sure I read
the book at all, or was it a dream I just had? Was I asleep?
I read I am Become Death by this author, Rocco Ryg, and this is
what I experienced. Matter of fact, I will look him up right after this. I hope
one day to write so that my words can touch someone else the way his words have
touched me
Written on 23th November 2011
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