Sunday, November 04, 2007

Love is... How love is...

Concerning people I have no clue.
I am not entitled to give any diagnostic recipe.
I forgot.
It is not in my hands. It has been. Or it has never been.
But concerning the kindest variety of love, I can submit a short questionnaire.
How do you know you love a text?
How do you know it is love and not an adventurous affair?
What are the details you can give of that lover's face?
Where did you spend the shared days and nights with the paper beloved?
How does it feel the missing after you close the back-cover?
Do you discuss and what do you discuss with it and the elusive provider (author)?
How do you diffuse the news about the lover?
Would you reach the point of sharing with others?
Would you try to know the whole family (sister books, cousin works)?

Take your time, I will come back to them all.
Just I give you here a photo taken on the British Isles.
And another, taken on a Mediterranean shore.

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Anonymous Anonymous said...

δεν μπορεισ να ξεχασεισ.. γιατι, απλα, δεν ειναι κατι να μαθεισ...ειναι κατι που αισθανεσαι μια φορα, and it persists...anyway, I know I'm in love with a text when I go back to it so often, when I read it all over again with something new forming in my mind each is when I spend a long time trying to understand some of its sentences or words, and at the end, when I think I did, I just face it again, trying to show it that I unerstand what it says, but something new appears that keeps me preoccupied for another good deal of time..

Only Time tells whether it was true love or just an adventurous would caertainly be love if your heart beats and your mind storms however often you meet the text..a lover's face is so deep that you can sense its depth from its surface.. bright, attractive, mysterious and full of perplexities.....

Would be a wonderful companion everywhere, but a unique one when Im all alone, on a chair with faint light, or even in bed..the last thing I get in touch with before I slip into dreams.

When I close it, the first thing I would probably have in mind is the fear of the coming days that I am to spend without it..but a sense of relief when I know that whenever I decide to go back to it, it would be more than happy to see me again.. Telling others about it would be done suspiciously by me... I would elaborate about it according to how positive they are about it, otherwise I'll just enjoy love on my own.
Yes I would share it with people, very rarely though and with certain people, for the fear that the rest wouldnt give it the respect it demands... for the fear that it would subject to their underestimation, miunderstanding or even humiliation..
Going further in the family is fine, but wouldnt be as delightful and effective as the first one..

μ'αρεσε παρα πολυ πωσ η αγαπη μασ για τα κειμενα η τα βιβλια, δεν ειναι τοσο διαφορετικη απο την αγαπη για ενα ατομο...ετσι αισθανθηκα τη στιγμη που απαντουσα.. it lead me to think..

5:58 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

I forgot my name! Luma :)

5:59 PM  
Blogger Vas said...

How certain you are about oblivion... Yeah, I thought of the analogy that our relationship to books has with the one to "real" people. Of the few artifacts one takes in bed, to sleep with, to wake up with, and to talk to at breakfast. Not to mention, that they are made of monologues of the other part, and they are rare such monologues to be accepted without irritation. I notice that in your perspective, the crucial notion is time. How long, how many times in an imagined future. Yeah, maybe. For me also counts the density of the instance: perhaps the moment of real communication enlarges the scale of time, beyond its regular features. Other than that, I have found in them virtues that I considered people falling short; and certainly virtues that the author does not possess.

6:25 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

It is because I don't really believe in oblivion, it's human made. The density of the instance.. I agree..

6:38 PM  

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