Saturday, January 12, 2013

Stowing.


    Big consignment of books to stow.  There are probably several miles of shelves with books, at the place that offers me gainful employment through the weekend.  Books interlaced with what ever those plastic things are called that you stick in a machine and music comes out, or you stick in another kind of machine and as long as it's attached to a television screen you can watch movies, or flicks as some might still call them.  Big surprise for me, was seven copies of Wittgenstein's Tractatus.

       I thought I was hallucinating.  These seven slim darlings were at the bottom of a gathering of books, all of which had most familiar titles, and some of which were heavy.  There was bloody Hobbes and his Leviathan,  they've given him a red cover, this time.  Plato's Dialogues, naturally.  And a fine parade from the English empiricists, on why Liberty should make sense if only people could behave themselves.  Perhaps best not to enter diatribe when still frail from the work of fulfillment. But I'll tell you this, you've never really lived unless you've had the chance to stow a copy of Tractatus right next to "How To Memorize Bible Verses."  I forget who wrote it.


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