One thing that always makes me feel good, can lift my spirits when they are low, or can just top off the most wonderful of days is the discovery of a bound , hard backed book of blank paper.
I love words, sentences, dialogue, phrases, doodles - and these wonderful resting places for that which was once a thought and is now concrete excite me.
It is almost a compulsion - I have to have one when I find such a treasure.
Blank paper is the divinest man made object in the world - and the most dangerous. The deeds to property, the poems of Salomon, the plans for the atomic bomb, the ownership and the freedom of men enslaved, the treaty that ends wars , the simple card on a bouquet of flowers - all start with a blank piece of paper.
I love my electronic forum, and the instant public responses they provide - but many darker, deeper, sillier, more vulnerable thoughts, whimsy, pains and joys have been logged on simple paper - sometimes to be intentionally destroyed when the mood passes or the pain is soothed, or the worry becomes a reality.
I love the feel of paper, the texture, the smell, the edge so sharp it cuts better than steel, but the surface so soft it can hold thoughts of man's future, history of his past, and his hopes for the present.