Maybe I read to think differently than I do. To introduce some thought or phrase or poem or character that wasn't there and becomes a catalyst to view the world other than it was.
Maybe I read to find someone else out there who thinks like I do. To connect or confirm that the shit transmigrating from my brain to soul and back isn't completely cracked.
Maybe I read for inspiration. To get smacked in the face or kissed or surprised by that one line or passage that seems seamlessly conceived and stretches the bar for me.
Maybe I read for diversion. To forget the bills, the trash, the commute, mortality, poverty, suffering. To escape. Temporarily
Maybe I read out of compulsion. Because I couldn't not. Because it seems like something is missing or awry if I don't have a book going or I'm not percolating with a magazine article.
Maybe it's all those things. Or maybe I just read.
1 comment:
AP Stylebook. Spook Country. These grace my shelf as well.
"Whacha readin' for?" Bill Hicks was famously asked this questions by a Waffle House waitress.
"What am I reading *for*?" he replied. "Gee, I don't know. That's a good question. I guess it's so I don't end up as a f*cking waitress at a Waffle House."
Readers do it for inspiration,
TWM
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