QAR:The Library

[caspai]

Walking into the library and patting Darren on the shoulder as I walk behind his chair

Everything is fine with the Utes, especially now that the weather has cooled down a bit. It does get warm here at times. *smile*

How have you been, Darren? Get everything settled in your mind again? I hope so. I just recently got back from a little hiatus of my own, and the reality check did me some good, I think.

 

[darrenfate]

The place is empty - for now.

I still thrill at touching these leather clad books, containing the entirety of classic western literature as it was known at the time.

I think of the people who have been in this place before me. Thoreau perhaps sat here ruminating on the simple things in nature that touched his soul. What a marvelous confluence of events that would make that man the father of the conservationist movement.

Who is next? Perhaps a poster here that learns to express their writing voice - or who can take chances here cloaked by these avatars to remain anonymous.

Break molds. Turn on your creativity that is so often expressed in these forums. Prose that captures the heat of passions and the elemental joy of living.

Write with me you wraithlike spirits that haunt this castle. I'm waiting .....

 

[quintessential]

Hesitantly walking into this handsome library, I am overcome with the spirits of the many others who have visited and read here before me.

Not wanting to disturb the peaceful tranquility you are most certainly experiencing I hold back from entering any deeper into the sanctity of your reverie.

I take in the aroma of the worn leather, the scent of the well read pages and wonder who might have touched these books like I'm watching you do at this moment. Could the poets I have longed to know have graced their fingers along these walls? Would I find the imbedded fingerprints of the authors I so desired to become of the same world with?

It feels so warm and inviting, yet I decide to let you be, allowing my mind to take in the magnificence of the splendor all around me.

For the beauty of touching a book as you're opening the pages lends itself to the imagination of your heart. It takes you on countless journeys to far away places, to lands that have yet to be discovered. Reading the words printed just for you create visions of such color and take you on your escape through the wonder of what is printed.

The words will reach out to you and gently take you inside, allowing you flight and freedom to be whomever you dream of being.

Good day to you. Let your imagination soar through the beauty being held within this room.

 

[caspai]

*Walking into the library, softly singing*

I know you're out there somewhere...
somewhere, somewhere...
I know your out there somewhere,
and somewhere you can hear my voice....

*Finding a piece of paper and a pen, leaving a note*

Darren,
Went to a concert last night I just know you would have loved. Thought about you during the encores.

~Cas

 

[darrenfate]

*Slowly entering this hallowed place, it transforms me every time I enter. Perhaps its the ambiance, rich texture of the carpet and the leather books lining the shelves. I smell the sweet scent of a woman ... lingering in the still air. Cas! I act differently here thinking aloud in soliloquies like Hamlet or Lear, all in asterisk bound sentences. I spy a loose note written in a beautiful hand and read it...*

Oooo a concert I do so love them and yet so rarely attend! Going to make me guess eh? Let's see - the Pipe Organs of
Temple Square performed then in Salt Lake City ... but I somehow doubt that is the one you refer to. During the encores wow what an obtuse clue. Hmmm....

Hope things are going well for you Cas. Its been too long. I miss your wit and edge. Your simple post made me smile.

 

[caspai]

*A soft voice floats along a draft gently drifting through the library, finding Darren's ear*

I left a clue as to the nature of the concert....think of the song I was singing as I walked in.....*grin*

 

[darrenfate]

Looking for a period piece to set the stage for life in the 20's.

Going to find the right book here on these dark cherry bookshelves. Let's see now Faraday, Faulkner - no, ahh Fitzgerald. Perfect. Crazy wife, drank too much - I'd say he qiualifies!

Let's see "Gatsby", no - ahh here "Seven stories from the Jazz Age". There has to be a speakeasy reference or two in there.

The morning sun is bright, and that red leather chair is right there by the window has my name on it!. I wonder if there are any references to gorgeous female detectives and slinky lithe lounge singers ...

 

[caspai]

I do believe that you are more of a rogue than the pirate is. *laugh*

 

[darrenfate]

Ahhh how this place still rekindles the spirit and puts one's mind into the proper frame to write again!

A man's castle may be his home, but his fortress of solitude shall forever be his library. The one place where it is still perfectly legitimate to selfishly tune out the world and curl up on a fantastic journey of the mind. That is why I shall always come back here.

These walls are lined with the great books of times past and present, yet it is still those lesser known volumes that came to me via the lips of others that I remember most fondly. There near the end of the shelf is Alison Weir's epic The Princes in the Tower. I remember it well.

It is said that all books ever written or, more importantly that have yet to be written, are stored here. Magically, they appear when called forth. Perhaps it is the proper time to test that theory.

Somewhere here is a story as yet untold set in a tavern Elisabethan England, where characters mingle and roam, couple and decouple freely letting the breezes of circumstance and the whimsical attutude of their authors dictate their next moves. A giant mosaic, if you will, where the actions of one affect the rest.

Human sexuality is explored, not as pornography - defined as the mere graphic descriptions of the sexual act - no in this story it is better defined as erotica. Erotica is in its essence experienced, it excites using a multitude of the senses touch, taste, sight, smells. Erotica in this ideal story excites from the mind down, and not the reverse. These writing standards are high, and embraced by many. Writers past and present will flock to join this new tale of chaos and mayhem.

This anthology awaits it's time, as the one who has been chosen to start it off finally yields to that inner voice compelling her to write again. You know who you are. Fulfill your destiny.

 

[caspai]

Opening the door to the library, I fold my arms, and rest my left shoulder and hip against the door frame, tipping my head just slightly to the right. Arching an eyebrow in his direction, I have a half smile playing across my lips, eyes dancing...

So, Darren, is this your idea of subtlety? Go check your box.

Turning gracefully from the door, I walk slowly into the shadows, deeper in the grand old Victorian mansion.