La muerte en la biblioteca

More often than not, death occurs in a library, between books and carpet and dead air and silence, whispering children and a stern atmosphere, the crackling of pages turning, the tapping of keys on a board, the hum of multimedia, the beeping of materials checked out and checked in, the frantic wordless activity of a thousand nerds. Old people and schoolchildren, part-time students, and transplants. These are the tenants of the old public library, and more often it is here we come to die.

(Rain) Song of the Day: Jorge Ben - Chove Chuva

for the LA rain today...

In the beginning men worshipped stones

He said, "In the beginning men worshipped stones. Then fire. Today we find those practices funny. Wouldn't men tomorrow find the practices of today funny?"
--From V.S. Naipaul's Among The Believers

I Know Why The Caged Bird Loves

"And why does it make you sad to see how everything hangs by such thin and whimsical threads? Because you're a dreamer, an incredible dreamer, with a tiny spark hidden somewhere inside you which cannot die, which even you cannot kill or quench and which tortures you horribly because all the odds are against its continual burning. In the midst of the foulest decay and putrid savagery, this spark speaks to you of beauty, of human warmth and kindness, of goodness, of greatness, of heroism, of martyrdom, and it speaks to you of love."
- Eldridge Cleaver, Soul On Ice