But this changes the further along I get, like a hallway stretching further into infinity while in a running dream, where the end of the hall is just out of reach. The more pages pass beneath me it seems, the more get added. I'll have to mind this.
Gonna paint a picture here: I have a desk just outside of my living room that faces diagonally the living room and the TV, and I'm leaning back now and watching the news from behind this desk after declaring myself done with the book for the night. And damn, do we live in strange times. And I'm beginning to wonder if aesthetics will survive this shift in America, if the literal will now gradually consume the conceptual as the norm when it comes to "art."
Everything has become so ... simplified.
I hope that reading and writing will still be a thing after this version of America runs its course.