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In the end, each life is no more than the sum of contingent facts, a chronicle of chance intersections, of flukes, of random events that divulge nothing but their own lack of purpose.
Christmas came a bit early today, in the form of a cardboard amazon box containing these three beauties.
It’s actually quite difficult to photograph three books while simultaneously concealing my ghastly hands, and making sure that all titles are legible. We have here Moon Palace, In The Country of Last Things, and The New York Trilogy, all by the great Paul Auster.
Thanks mah, I’m a happy camper. My life has been reduced down to books. I like it.
