‘The Kindly Ones’ have just changed the course of my day. Probably of the days to come as well – but who can tell, perhaps by this time tomorrow I will be asleep once more and forget what it was like to have touched awakening. Already it seems like this was the dream and not the other way around.
Were there no books I would die. There are no turks, no withdrawal. I would beg around for shampoo-bottle labels, read the sides of crates, write endlessly, mindlessly, just so there would be something to read. This is addiction at its highest. And unlike other kinds, at the darkest phases I withdraw from what gives me the most comfort.
I follow other addicts around, ignoring their dark sides and give in shamelessly to their demands just so they may allow me to touch their equally jealously guarded libraries. I sit all day in a daze after a particularly strong hit and wonder if I should just curl up and will myself to die so I never to lose that feeling.