There was no instance of precipitation today, so here’s a light hail of bullets. Crime and Punishment by Fyodor Dostoevsky  Cities in Flight by James Blish  The Confessions of Max Tivoli by Andrew Sean Greer  You Don’t Love Me Yet by Jonathan Lethem  Summerland by Michael Chabon  House of Leaves by Mark Z. Danielewski  Youth in Revolt by C.D. Payne  There was no instance of precipitation today, but at around five this morning a flash flood swept through our apartment. We live in the fourth floor. A couple of months ago I posted a picture of most of the books I’ve acquired since I moved here in Metro Manila three years ago. It shows a collection of titles which more or less assumes the role of a to-be-read pile, and it’s quite a lovely photo, if I must say so myself, my low-resolution iPhone camera notwithstanding. Here it is again:  In the paragraph accompanying this two-month-old photo of my shelf-deprived books in the original post, I wrote that I intended to “move them to higher ground,” like inside “the cupboard above the kitchen sink,” since they were “poorly arranged along a narrow corridor leading to the bathroom.” Being a man of my word, I did relocate some of them, particularly the ones in the arbitrarily chosen second and fourth stacks. The first, third, fifth, sixth, seventh, eighth, and ninth stacks were, rather carelessly, left behind and, last night before I and my flat-mates went to bed, were left at the mercy of the bathroom and the impressive wetness it could bring about. And bring about wetness it did. Last night, a few minutes before midnight, our water supply was cut off. Then one of us had the brilliant idea of going to the bathroom right before he went to sleep, opening one of the faucets in the bathroom, and, after seeing that there’s no water coming out of its spout, blissfully forgetting to turn its handle screw back to the off position. Four hours later the water supply was restored and water started escaping from the faucet in question. The kitchen floor must have been flooded in a matter of minutes. It wasn’t until an hour had passed since the first drop of many came out that we got our “kick” (You didn’t think I’d post about sleeping without mentioning at least one Inception reference, did you?) and got surprised by the sight of all the wetness, whose essence is moisture and which in turn is the essence of beauty (You didn’t think I’d post about an abundance of tap water without mentioning at least one Zoolander reference, did you? You did? Oh.), around us. Instinctively, I dashed to where my books were, towards the “narrow corridor leading to the bathroom,” and I heaved a sigh of relief when I saw that only a portion of the bottom books, listed and pictured with the wetness-absorbing Spongebob above, were out of sight and under water.  I have since apologized to these ill-fated books, caressed their covers and flaps, and blew their pages dry to some extent. I have also promised to read them one after another as soon as they regain every ounce of their non-wetness, or else I cease to be a man of my word.

There was no instance of precipitation today, so here’s a light hail of bullets.

There was no instance of precipitation today, but at around five this morning a flash flood swept through our apartment. We live in the fourth floor.

A couple of months ago I posted a picture of most of the books I’ve acquired since I moved here in Metro Manila three years ago. It shows a collection of titles which more or less assumes the role of a to-be-read pile, and it’s quite a lovely photo, if I must say so myself, my low-resolution iPhone camera notwithstanding. Here it is again: 

In the paragraph accompanying this two-month-old photo of my shelf-deprived books in the original post, I wrote that I intended to “move them to higher ground,” like inside “the cupboard above the kitchen sink,” since they were “poorly arranged along a narrow corridor leading to the bathroom.” Being a man of my word, I did relocate some of them, particularly the ones in the arbitrarily chosen second and fourth stacks. The first, third, fifth, sixth, seventh, eighth, and ninth stacks were, rather carelessly, left behind and, last night before I and my flat-mates went to bed, were left at the mercy of the bathroom and the impressive wetness it could bring about.

And bring about wetness it did. Last night, a few minutes before midnight, our water supply was cut off. Then one of us had the brilliant idea of going to the bathroom right before he went to sleep, opening one of the faucets in the bathroom, and, after seeing that there’s no water coming out of its spout, blissfully forgetting to turn its handle screw back to the off position. Four hours later the water supply was restored and water started escaping from the faucet in question. The kitchen floor must have been flooded in a matter of minutes. It wasn’t until an hour had passed since the first drop of many came out that we got our “kick” (You didn’t think I’d post about sleeping without mentioning at least one Inception reference, did you?) and got surprised by the sight of all the wetness, whose essence is moisture and which in turn is the essence of beauty (You didn’t think I’d post about an abundance of tap water without mentioning at least one Zoolander reference, did you? You did? Oh.), around us.

Instinctively, I dashed to where my books were, towards the “narrow corridor leading to the bathroom,” and I heaved a sigh of relief when I saw that only a portion of the bottom books, listed and pictured with the wetness-absorbing Spongebob above, were out of sight and under water. 

I have since apologized to these ill-fated books, caressed their covers and flaps, and blew their pages dry to some extent. I have also promised to read them one after another as soon as they regain every ounce of their non-wetness, or else I cease to be a man of my word.

Notes

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