Library

I like the library. I spend alot of time here. It's quiet. It's warm. It's organized. Three things home used to be, but no longer is. For a place full of information, it is surprisingly restful. Unlike what's available on the internet, the information here is unobtrusive. You can walk up and down the stacks and everything stays in its proper place until you reach for it. I wish the rest of the world was like that sometimes. I've been here for over an hour and no one has tried to sell me anything.

It's not the books that make this place special -- although the books are a key element of its charm -- it's the silence. Nothing is being said because nothing needs to be said. Words are not wasted, movement is at a premium, energy is conserved. It's frightening to think that in decade or two such places might be gone or so drastically altered that what we define as a library today will not be defined as a library tomorrow. Technology changes us, both as individuals and as a species. Change is basically good, but not all changes serve the common good. 

Imagine Superman's temple of solitude without the solitude. I come here to get away. From the sound of the pipes creaking and the doors opening and the walls settling. From well known voices and the strain of watching others' romantic interactions. From everything I've ever bought or acquired or possessed. Here I am alone. Here I am only myself. Unfettered by material objects, emotional estrangements, or distracting noise. I don't need much, but -- right now at least -- I need this place.