a few days ago i woke up from a 12 hour sleep with my face pressed against a possibly drooled upon copy of alchemy and mysticism, which i had fallen asleep next to. it's been this way. i just wrote last month about falling asleep hugging an elmore leonard book, and a couple of weeks ago, during a difficult weepy night as i sat at my desk crying it out, i realized that i was clutching loba for comfort.

in our lady of darkness by fritz leiber, the main character does two things i can relate to: he stares at sutro tower (and other parts of san francisco) so much that he reaches a mystical state that leaves him open to realizing the psychogeographic details of the city, and, he sleeps in bed next to what he calls his "scholar's mistress." in his case it's a pile of books in the shape of a lady. my pile is not so shapely but i do find myself filling the current hugless void with books.