library #5

Homeless people are sleeping in the library. You make many attempts to decipher the students from the homeless. The library seems unusually quiet, maybe because there are so many words that aren't worth reading. Perhaps it is the vast amount of written syllables that makes them silent. No matter what, the words are here to stay and there are more words on the way. All of this information is penning itself at the top of a mountain.

There is no snow here, only tables, chairs, people reading, and stairs with ants on mountains. The clouds outside the library window move like a freight train. There is a blonde girl wearing rain galoshes. When people walk or run, the stairs become drums, especially when the mallets are flip flops. It is strange how so many people can sleep in the library. You find it scary. A boy speaking loudly on a cellphone disturbs the thinkers. You find this rude. The homeless don't mind though. Today the library is hungry because the chairs feel like digestion.

The elevator bells are meant to sound pleasing but they are terrifying. You have a feeling of guilt about adding more words to a collection of words that will never be read. It doesn't make sense. Nothing makes sense. Everyone looks dyslexic. There is great trouble deciphering past from present tense. There is heavy emphasis on the word "decipher" and the chairs. They don't look hungry so you think maybe they are all just acting. When you came to this library, you left your sanity at the front desk. The librarians keep everyones sanity in the closet and you can pick it up when you leave.

The homeless check their watches and go back to sleep. Turning the page is like leaving a funeral. A girl is perched on the balcony and looks down like an eagle. She is joined by another eagle, a much fatter male eagle. As you contemplate peripheral vision the speed of your pen on paper seems alarming. A mouse's handwriting is interesting, especially to birds of prey. The eagles are frightening. You are writing as if your hand is a sprinter running a hundred miles at a sprinter's pace. Or like a thief running from police, pages blurring from sheer meaninglessness. The eagles are looking out the window or into your window. Its terrifying. The spelling is terrifying. The consequences of such meaninglessness are terrifying.

You can hear footsteps but there is an odd lack of heartbeats. There is a search for a word that means "information not contained in the brain," as your pen flows like a waterfall obeying gravity, or an officer ordering a soldier to harm innocent people. You notice every silly backpack and a broad range of female handbags. Strange looks are collected in a bin to be handed out to shy people.

The homeless check their watches as the air conditioning keeps their organs fresh; but the architecture of the building withholds the necessary nutrients to keep the comfy chairs well fed. Your terror fades as you contemplate meaninglessness. You forget about the eagles.You forget all about the satisfied homeless. You stop deciphering. As the words you write become tangible, the thoughts return to your conscience, and you become hungry again. The library is where you bring your screaming children to put them to sleep.