I didn’t know there was a short story that it was based on until this morning. The short story is Eight O’Clock in the Morning by Ray Nelson.
I liked the short story [spend] nearly as much as I like the movie.
Both the movie and the story have [consume] certain parallels to what is going on right now. How much of your thought is controlled by the talking heads on TV and what the media pushes through your phone?
My mother first brought me here when I was four. She had me reading then. By five I was joining in on the readers contests here. The VFW meets here now. It smells clean, sterile, Pine-sol permeates the air. It’s no longer a library. That has been moved to a newer, “better” building here in town.
That new building doesn’t have the smell of paper, ink and binding glue. It doesn’t have decades of “shhhhh” embedded in its walls. The floor doesn’t creak as old wood floors do. It’s not a place I enjoy going to.
Now, they are allowed to talk in the library. They don’t have the reverence they should to enter a temple of knowledge in order to worship at it’s altar.
I am a worshipper in a strange church and the librarians of old are preachers without pulpits.
I want it back.
This is an old post from my old blog but I can recycle that stuff because you probably haven’t seen it.