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My Back Pages
By
Shotgun011

My Back Pages

Sitting here upon a wooden chair, and seeing the filtered sunlight coming in as I sit with my back to the wall again. Looking up and seeing myself surrounded by both shelves and stacks of books, and feeling these tired eyes of mine renewed by this comforting sight here. It's like seeing all of my old friends gathered here with me in one room. And feeling that double dose of that silver bullet caffeine kicking in. As I look around, I see all of those old friends and familiar names, with literature near me: Edgar Allen Poe, Ray Bradbury, Harlan Ellison, Mark Twain, Ernest Hemingway, Rudyard Kipling, Bob Dylan, W.B. Yeats, H.G. Wells, and on. I am sitting here surrounded by the authors and their stories, dreams, fears, hopes, and visions, and is making me think if I might make a contribution and join them all here as I sit and look.

I may not be worthy or able to join them, but at least I have unraveled that knot that these words form inside of me. And know that the library of Morpheus, the dream lord we have all contributed to through our dreams and it is made up of books and volumes that all of us have written on his shelves. Written by each one of us through our thoughts and dreams and are of all subjects, thought up by each one of us when in traffic, on a train, or walking, or sleeping.

So as the effect of that double silver bullet's chemicals kick in, I know too that most of us are like each of these volumes that sit here, and that each one of us is a story that's sitting here waiting to be either bought or read. I also know too, that most would probably be read from the back to the front, in an effort to see if Epilogues, Bibliographies, or my back pages would say something different from what has already been seen or read.

We as people tend to think we are all different and separate. But we are all basically the same no matter how diverse by the order of creation, and most of our lives are induced as a narrative of subjective desire(s), with most feeling on the inside a feeling of separateness and feelings of being alone. Yet, we are all actually connected and are a part of everything.

Tomorrow is a long time away at times, and today seems like an endless highway that goes there, with the nights being able to stretch out like blades or be full of crooked winding trails. And I try making my way through them all the best way that I can as I make the rounds. With having seen and met a lot of people and most of the faces blur and get filed away. With a lot being like these volumes sitting on the stacks and shelves around me here. So where do we start reading as we take all play by play? As you can read some of what you're looking for in the eyes, and feel some of what's hidden in those back pages by the way some things are shown, for all that is seen is not truly known, and we can't be certain of anything.

Well it seems there are too many people, and trying to please them all is just too hard to do, and my head's full of questions and I'm looking for some answers. So my hat is in my hand and I'm walking on down the line here.

Copyright January 2004: Timberwolf International LTD.

This story is protected by International Copyright Law, by the author, all rights reserved. If found posted anywhere other than storiesspace.com with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.

Copyright © Copyright Timberwolf International LTD. All rights reserved. Copyrighted and protected under the copyright laws of both The United States and of The United Kingdom. Under U. S. Code Title 17 § 204. No unauthorized duplication by any means including electronic, or copying may be allowed unless permission is asked for in writing and permission therefore granted by the author or copyright holder, or his/her agent. In writing and signed by the owner of the rights conveyed or such owner’s duly authorized agent. And duly witnessed by his or her representative or duly assigned agent. Under penalty of copyright infringement or intellectual property theft. All violators will be prosecuted.

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