johannes k.

or rather, some of the books i've acquired over the years and which have somehow survived the great culls, for example wagga wagga, 2011 and the books i lost when i split up with k. in 1994.

there is a rather dull but very famous essay by walter benjamin called unpacking my library in which he says that ownership is the most intimate relationship one can have with objects i.e. books but 'not because they come alive in him; it is he who lives in them'.

of course, there is great value in being able to make use of things and having them to hand, which ownership can afford, but for me there is no intimacy in ownership of books or anything else. i am no bibliophile — maybe a bibliotheekofiel 🙂 — but what makes a bunch of books in twenty or so boxes a library?

by a great stroke of fortune, or genius perhaps — who can tell? — in the middle of a pandemic with all shops that are 'not essential' closed, i've acquired two large bookcases, very simple and plain, with some age to them, at a reasonable price; as well as the most beautiful and unusual confession chair i've ever seen for €5. perhaps too elaborate to have been made by shakers about whom it was said that they would make chairs as if an angel could be expected to sit on it.

the bookcases were efficiently transported to the aprtmnt (this is going to be the name of the wifi network as soon as i figure out how to change it) by strong men who like doing things and who know how to move heavy things and for the existence of whom i was most grateful. some days are just like that.

let the bell sound eight times.