Did I make this stack of books as some sort of art piece? As a way to express an opinion on literature and culture? Perhaps, as a sculptural metaphor of how shaky it is on top of so much knowledge? With perhaps the duality of a whimsical (sub)statement, of spending the entire early wee hours, taking all my books out off the shelve and stacking them, just to have the crash back down, time and time again, in a sisyphusical (a word, I just made up) way...
...or did I do it, because it reminded me of the first scene from GHOSTBUSTERS?!
