House of Book II
If I were to build a house where we would meet, my reader, it should probably be a house of books, of meeting thoughts. On the ground floor: books for daily use, to talk, to find common ground. Architecture books, some older heroes, some brave new worlds, short stories, biographies. In the kitchen: books of places, tastes and colours and coasts and faraway bridges. At the fireplace: Bachelard, of course, and books to forget time with. Proust, Joyce, Gárçia Marquez... In a basement: Jung, Borges, what we know but cannot say. And on the attic, under a roof, our own books, the published ones and the hidden, pages full of sketches, notes and scribbled lines, our poems, our theories and ambitions, our surreal stories, our parallel worlds.