he orderly reading, taking the book X and sticking with it until it is finished, apparently has the advantage of the conclusion: the action is quite similar to the classic structure of any story: beginning (we begin to read the book), knot (we fight against all external interference that can delay us in reading), outcome (we turn off the computer, close the cell phone, take hours off sleep and finally finish reading the book).

That's good, but there are other ways of reading: starting at the end, skipping pages, dwelling more on the prologues than on the text, or what I call - without much originality - the potpourri of books.

That, very easy to infer, consists of the disorderly, chaotic, joyful, untidy, inverted, subversive reading (another version, another furrow of the facts), of books that apparently have nothing to do with each other. Which I do not agree on: bodies -animal, book, stone, river, tree, etc.- are related to each other; I am convinced of this: everything is a Great Correspondence (baudelairean), and any body contains in itself the entire universe.

Ultimately the books are cracked, armed, measured, stamped, sexualized, lived, narrated with words.

Books of philosophy, law, psychology, literature, sociology, economics ... what is that madness? As if literature were exempt from the social or the economic, as if the philosophical did not shape legal thought, as if sociology was built to the detriment of psychology.

The enjoyment of the potpourri, who can get bored having a table where rabble like Feinmann, Maupassant, Rulfo, Emerson, Stevenson are determined to chat with us, to deliberate among themselves in our presence?

The enjoyment of potpourri, reading for reading, reading for living, reading with the intention not to be smarter - my old man never read a book and he was an excessively intelligent guy: he never fucked anyone, and it was pure love - because that's It is stupid, but to read for love, that simple, to read because we are an indelible part of a universal culture that overwhelms us and embraces us, that unites us and scares us.

The joy of filling the table with books and being alive and grateful to be able to read and be happy, really happy, with that.