22 January 2016


Up until I had dinner with my mom last night the oldest thing I had in the house was 111 years old. That is pretty old I guess. About 50 years older than my oldest rock 'n' roll records. If it was single malt scotch I would be rich.

"I have a copy of Shakespeare's Complete Works for you. Your great grandfather bound it," she told me before disappearing around a corner to the study my mom and Reggie have piled with all kinds of strange shit.

She plunked it down on the kitchen table when she came back. About 4" high it is. Bound real nice. One of the old dude's many talents.

Naturally I flipped through it.

"Look at this," I said surprised.

Inside the pages, unopened since it was placed there close to a century before, a few flowers pressed. My grandfather painted in many styles as well. The flowers a physical reminder of flower species he had painted early last century.

Book is from 1833. In those days some people figured one day 62 motherfuckers would hold more than half the world's wealth and that in time those 62 would dwindle further still.

Shakespeare would not approve.

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