Moleskines in the mail today*. It was unexpected and overjoying. I'm thinking of letters I've written. I'm thinking how, like some people remember clothes, I remember empty journals I've been given.
The History of the Moleskine inserted in the ones I've just received says it is 'a reservoir of ideas and feelings, a battery that stores discoveries and perceptions, and whose energy can be tapped over time.'
It's a good sales pitch, an audacious one too, considering that all paper is potential.
But today they were entirely right. I am elated, pulled back and forward, restless with energy.
From the time I opened that package, the day's been good.
*Did I forget to mention they were a gift? I forgot to mention they were a gift. They were.
4 comments:
Oh my, fancy-shmancy moleskines :)
//my literary opuses and dirty confessions all reside in 99-cent school notebooks.
Writing on paper is so last century.
km: and some of my best lines are stored in my cellphone.
falsie: well, considering that I have one foot in the last century and the other in this one, I feel I ought to (don't say it! don't say it!) hedge my bets.
km: do the dirty confessions involve laptops, guitars and showers? Or is that the literary opus... now I am getting confused. :)
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