The Illusion of Temperature and Humidity

September 12, 2011 § Leave a comment

One of the persons from this emerging story is obsessed with books.  He makes them out of anything he can find.  I believe he is the same person who, in an earlier post, was skimming rocks over the boathouse.  He says:

I feel this alphabet of my roots,

The illusion of temperature and humidity,

Marvelous books I arrange by color.

These next phrases refer somehow to him as well:

Beloved folk interested in bare paper,

A painter tied to ghostly gallery walls,

A passion for mysterious unfathomable books,

Unbelievable alternative forms.

When I read this, I visualize fantastic bindings, marbled papers, ornate calligraphy, riveting stories, pop-ups, fold-outs, folded structures, flip books.  But if want to see what’s inside these various volumes, I will have to make them myself…I could clear off the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves in my studio—they take up an entire wall—and completely fill them with my own one-of-a-kind handmade books!  I wonder how long that would take…

Though maybe I should heed the message from the Oracle


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