port of the land

like many land bearing creatures without the ability to sustain a pliable living situation under colder conditions, when it rains, the humanoid tends to find its way to various structures of habit that will supply the humanoid with warmth, sustinance, and even an intellectual stimulation from time to time. while perusing our way through the greater northwest coastal states this weekend, my travel companions and i found ourselves within the gentle grasp of a beautiful region known as portland, oregon. in our temporary residence there, we noticed how these regions were consistently more moisturized than our southernly comfort zones. the light rainfall that settled there seemed to softly nudge us to the focal points of the city, where warmth eminated from within the buildings. downtown portland swayed like an ebbing tidepool, back and forth the rain escorted us out of the streets, whilst the indoors wooed us towards their presence. like the dust covered moths we travelers were, we fluttered aimlessly until confronted by the brightest luminescence to grace our eyes. delicately bumping and shuffling until huddled inside, we shed ourselves of our soggy coats only to find we had stumbled upon the dustmop of dustmops itself: powells books! the scent of aged pages eeked its way through the walls of this castle until reaching our nasal olfactory receptacles. nostrils flared, eyes focused, ears perked, the journey into bookdom had begun.
taking up one city block of portland, and rising up four stories above the ground, powells becomes a land much like an oasis; a plentiful source of wonderful attributes, yet there is always a barrier that will not allow for full enjoyment within this paradise.
as mine eyes begun to wheel around the room they rested on certain titles and signs projecting what the rooms contained; 'self help' section, 'pulitzer prize' winners, 'sandwiches for mutes cookbook' sections. my mind galloped through the aisles like an adolescent great dane. slow down marmaduke. i centered my canine chi, and collected my thoughts as i walked past the 'helpless cats that should be eaten by dogs and/or robots 'books section of powells. onward my legs ambled, head and neck turning into a sprinkler. what was that last bright book, maybe i should go back and check it out, it could be a winner. no, move forward, focus. but that one is on sale, i should buy it, oprah would, easy kyle, easy. spinning and spinning, people began to quietly look at me and tuck their kids behind their stable parental legs, whispering the answers of the universe to their seven year olds as i careened down the stairs away from the gawkers. it wasnt until i reached the literature section that i knew something was wrong. sweating profusely by now, one sock long gone to who knows where and clutching with sheer terror to a clump of duck feathers i ran trying to seek refuge close to the floor. for a while there was silence, and faint footsteps became a metronome off in the distance, calming the heart rate until it reached a reasonable pace again. something once again caught my eye even in this maddening state, but this time it wasnt an oprahs book club badge, it was something very different. i raised my head slowly and looked towards the source just as i had when i fluttered towards powells in the first place. the light this time yeilded an unfamiliar face, one of a ghost, a ghost with little words. joseph heller, is that you? what are you doing here? mr. heller looked at me and without a stutter explained to me the secrets of the universe. you see young kyle, he said, for this is the curse of powells; your love for books is infinite, yet when surrounded by all the books in the world you cannot seem to grasp a single book of which you'd like to purchase. i cried a little as he exploited the truth deep within my lungs, loins, and estomago, and then i walked out of powells and down the street and enjoyed me a nice macdonalds half pounder of meat and watched some ultimate fighting championship reruns.