I'm reading blood meridian. Its sad and hard to read and I'm not sure I fully understand it. But i can't stop thinking about it and I keep wanting to pick it up. I'm hoping there's some second-hand spirituality and insight im gaining by fumbling through the pages. If not, the ride alone has been fulfilling in its own way. Maybe the things you don't understand are the only things worth thinking about. Or maybe thats just what an idiot like me tells himself.
judging a book by its cover, picking up the ones that call out to you, reading the first paragraph or page or chapter (but not the blurb on the back, no spoilers please), choosing the one that really hooks you in
there's something so comforting about this aesthetic and how it always takes you back to a place. i'm obsessed with the concept of third spaces, so my mind drifts to a coffee shop with some norah jones track playing on the background while people chat about the mundane yet beautiful.
