My affinity for reading stemmed from my love of stories, which began with my grandmother reading Golden Books to me. As I aged, the “fullness” of printed stories were more appealing than television, though I did succumb to the electron beam during my teenage years. It was shallow form of escapism that ultimately lead me to literature.
We read “of Mice and Men” for tenth grade English and my passion for reading was rekindled. Steinbeck’s piece was the only book we read during sophomore year that did not pertain to the holocaust. I finished it in a night and wanting to dwell in similar emotional landscapes, I reread it. Again, I was re-connected with stories.
I have a fondness for Beat writers, in particular, William S Burroughs. His dark and subtle sarcasm unveils a word rooted in ancient mysticism where no one is safe. A much more playful writer, who I also adore, is Tom Robbins. Light hearted yet unpretentiously profound, his novels also draw from the ancient beliefs, but he uses then to fill the void that is inherent in the human condition. He makes his readers see that this moment is but a stepping stone towards the future while always reminding us of the cosmic goof, which at times can cause us to loose our smile.
If you never read Tom I IMPLORE you to do so. If you already have, I’ld like to know what you think about Seattle’s newest painter… Erleichda!!!!
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