Boxes of books

Dayum, I have let this blog languish.

I was checking the blog and saw all this drafts and published a couple, but fucking annoyingly didn't make sure to change date.

Whatever

I think I'll start up a diff blog anyhow, one where I just write whatever instead of focusing purely on the things I watch.  I'm not watching as much movies as I used to anyhow.  Since I moved to my new place, I can count on my fingers the flicks I watched in last 2 months approx - far cry from my old habits of multiple movies a day.

I was feeling crap the other day. Figured out it was because of unpacking some books and letting go of a number of them.  

Esthero - I don't want to let you go playing as I ponder this chain of events lol

I've always been very attached to the things I own.  I gave up a Henry Miller - Quiet Days in Clichey. Dude I met at hostel that I stayed at when I first moved to Vancouver gave it to me. I found a transfer and a postcard in it.
.
Rilke - Letters to a Young Poet
I don't remember who gave me that or if I bought it myself, but I liked the dedication in it.  I like when you can tell a book had a life before you had it.

Books are romantic like that.

Any object can be I guess, if you think about it.  You can wonder on who made it, where it travelled from, any number of axis of what it is could take you on a thought journey.  All I'm saying is my things hold stories, and unpacking them, I realized these books maybe don't fit who I am anymore, don't complement where I want to be, and there's loss in that.