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August 26, 2014 by musehick

I am like a crack addict in a library. I buy books every week – I kid you not, at least a few a week. I am behind on my reading but that doesn’t stop me. Then I decide for the first time since I moved to America to go and get a library card, and what do you know? There are never enough books to be stacked around the room. Nah, i am being hard on myself – i read a lot, even if it is research in the form of online articles. It is so different to how it was back in the nineties, or when I was at university … back in the day research represented some kind of mammoth task that often involved a holy grail type quest to find the books that you needed.

I am never an advocate for the idea that you need a little suffering to make it all worthwhile, but there is something to the idea that a lack of immediacy does breed patience and doesn’t spoil you into becoming a demand feed baby. And the thought occurs to e that, God, I must be getting old because I am starting to think in terms of: back in the day. I realised some of my favourite teenage albums are now classics; I am pulling white hairs out of my nostrils … the illusion is shattered.

The cool thing for anyone reading me is that the aging process and all the insecurities it throws up makes for great fuel for writing. I am sitting here reading Wilson by Daniel Clowes, which given the character seems apt. I am listening to Dark Star, a group I haven’t listened to much since the nineties. The borken mirrors of my writing will surely reflect this. and all this at a point when I have started reading The Invisibles again, and am closer in age to King Mob than Dane … the sigil shifts, and the world is too. The things are still pertinent, but in different ways. the police state is closer, but I am more spiritual and enlightened as a person. I am invisible in some senses, but am also even more firmly embedded in the grid. And so we begin again. Beetle synchronicities.

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