The Greatest Book Ever Written

Books give me ideas. Ideas that are great; ideas that aren't; ideas that may seem crap to you but seem to be the smartest thing to me. This is why I read, voraciously.

I don't always take books, statements, lines, for what they are. I always, like nine out of eleven times, turn them into something that matters to ME. Sometimes, often times, the words, the statements, the lines would be entirely different from what it is originally used to mean. Talk about screwing communication, language.

But this is what works for me.

I've read the Catcher in the Rye, hoping to be have Aristotle's bathtub-Eureka moment I experienced when I read On the Road. But no, I didn't turn into a psychotic serial killer or a possible Pope assasinator. Having read Fight Club, and after taking in the nouvelle cuisine of anarchy that the book offered, I admit I thought of becoming Joe's Smirking Revenge but I remember the sense in life and the belief I have in life, in the world, in everyone. There lies in each soul a glimmer of hope, a tinge of goodness that is waiting to be ignited into one, big, warm ball of kindness that would light the almost-dying light in other people's soul. It's a never ending cycle that awaits to be started by one's glimmer of hope, tinge of goodness.

See how books stimulate me to think... To rediscover the ideas I thought I have lost or were covered by other seemingly important but are useless pieces of information pretending to be knowledge.

One of my greatest fears is that: if I don't read my mind, my ideas, would be only as great as the last book I've read. And you and I know the last book one has read isn't, almost always, nine out of eleven times, not the greatest book ever written. There remains that one book, that one story, that one group of words, that IS the greatest book ever written, waiting for your eyes, your thoughts. It is my quest to keep looking for the Greatest Book Ever Written, and keep hoping never to find it.




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