Today, I hastened my way home.
“Why are you in such a rush?” inquired my neighbor.
“A book awaits”, I quickly replied, “and I do not wish to miss my flight.”
The written-word is a mind-altering substance, and, when I read, I am initiated into a linguistically-induced psychedelic trip of the highest order.
Books are my tour guides leading me on abstract adventures and surreal journeys through platonic realms of conceptual ecstasy.
The books I read do not merely reflect the philosophies I espouse. They represent entire worlds that I wish to explore.
Reading is my looking-glass, my rabbit-hole, and my wonderland.
I do not read solely for the sake of being educated. I read to get high. I read so that I may be lifted up and transported into a world that knows no limits.