A Surfeit of Words
Nov 26 2022
The bricks and mortar store
had the familiar smell
of 2nd hand books;
the yellowing pages
of cheaply made paperbacks,
and whatever it is
happens to print
when it sits for years.
It was seductively dark inside.
The wooden floor was warped.
Shelves were stacked high
and haphazardly
so you never knew what you might find.
And you navigated the narrow aisles cautiously,
as if at any time
a stack might topple,
a lethal volume
drop on your head.
The proprietor was knowledgeable, if cranky,
the prices good.
But he was reluctant to part with his books,
so not so much a businessman
as a librarian.
An enthusiast?
A hoarder
collector
completist?
I would prowl the place
hoping for that serendipitous find.
“Serendipity”,
an 18th century word
derived from the Sanskrit,
and referring to a fictional place
based on Ceylon
which now is called Sri Lanka.
I learned this
from a book I found there.
A good example
of synchronicity?
A more recent word
coined by Carl Jung
for a meaningful coincidence.
Imagine, inventing a new word
whenever you need it.
As if a whole bookstore's worth
wasn't enough,
the thesaurus
-- 3rd row
last rack
top shelf --
inadequate.
An over-abundance of words
to choose from.
A surplus
surfeit
glut.
A plethora,
a bellyful.
There is an ongoing debate about the future of commerce: internet, or “bricks and mortar”. I came across that expression again today, and thought it would be fun to riff on.
The bookstore immediately came to mind. A natural candidate, since Amazon — the original, and now the behemoth, of online commerce — began as a seller of books: the small local independents (and later, the chains) were its first victims.
I pictured a 2nd hand shop, because that kind of store has character: dark, musty, claustrophobic. It's a home for enthusiasts and a place for serendipitous discoveries.
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